“God is doing a deeper work than you realize or are ready for.”
I’ve been in this weird place the past week or so. Maybe the past two weeks. It’s like I don’t want to be honest with the Lord. Has anyone else ever felt like that? The truth is that I haven’t quite felt like myself. I can’t pinpoint it. I have felt more alone. I imagine part of that is stemming from preparing to go back to Peru, knowing that most people don’t understand why I am going back in the midst of my motherland’s presidential transition, in the midst of my destination’s presidential impeachment and therefore also presidential transition, in the midst of this unicorn-of-a-virus pandemic, in the midst of further developing in a dating relationship, in the
midst of such uncertainty.
Why run against the wind when you could just turn around and let it carry you?
I’m already really sad about leaving. Like really sad. Like the instant thought of it catalyzes tears to well up in my eyes. But no one quite seems to understand that either. There’s the ones who then re-state that question with greater confusion, “Why run against the wind when you could just turn around and let it carry you?” There’s the few who respond with,“You’re still here, though. For now. So why be sad already?” Sigh.
I’m not one to naturally open up. So when it feels like the access of my own troubled thoughts to others is a burden, a conundrum, or an anomaly, when my act of vulnerability is not met with a response that communicates safety, I retreat. The walls come up. The door is shut. The vault, latched. The face is put on. The eyes glaze over. The part is played. And I don’t want to break the act even when I approach the Lord. So, what do I do? I avoid Him. I still spend my “quiet time” like a good Christian girl, to not alarm any of those around me; I read a Biblical passage, I say some prayers and thanksgivings and praises and some unrelated complaints. But I withhold my sorrows. The only sorrow I am willing to relinquish is, “I’m sorry, but I can’t right now.” It’s ironic, because He’s actually the safest place I could retreat to right now, a place where the walls could come down, safety could be felt, healing could take place. And yet.
I know it is really just a part of processing it all. I know that God is actually so kind and patient and gracious that He is still blessing me through this time. I know that He is ready to listen whenever I am ready to finally talk. I know He is ready to show me His care, comfort, provision, and fearlessness whenever I am ready to surrender my hurt, sorrows, doubts, and fears. He’s always ready.
I’m not ready. This is a brokenness. That makes me broken. It does. I am aware that I am broken. But I take great comfort in knowing that it’s okay to be here. God’s divine Word says:
“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” –Psalm 34:18
‘“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.’” –Matthew 11:28
“Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you.” –Isaiah 60:1
I know that God’s Holy Spirit of grace is still covering me. I know that His Holy Spirit is still guiding me. I’m trying my best not to resist it. In the times that I do, even there His grace is covering me because I am still His child.
The sorrow still lingers. I heard in a teaching this week a girl encouraged to remember the joy of our salvation, so that when we advance in what God has called us to, however great or small, when the difficulties and the inconveniences and the obstacles arise, we can still find joy and promise.
So, despite my current struggle of trying to even figure out how to articulate my fears and worries and sorrows in planning to return to Peru, despite my current failure to open up to the One who created me, I am relieved to know that Jesus’ victory still shines over me, to know that it isn’t all dependent on me having it all together or not, to know that God is good and merciful and in control.
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