The hours I’ve bounced and paced with my son snuggly tucked in my arms are teaching me something. His cries are often relentless, but so are my arms around him. Tears stain both our cheeks and I wish he could rest in what is true: I love him. I find myself telling him, “you are okay. Do you know why? Because I love you. I am going to take care of you. I won’t forget about you.”
You are okay. Because I love you. Isn’t that what God tells us, His children?
Motherhood expands and deepens love to the fiercest form I have ever known. As I brim with love for my son, it has awakened my heart and mind to a deeper comprehension of what it means to be a child of God.
Our day begins in the corner of our living room. Light sprinkles through the windows onto our rug, scattered with toys. I hear a small voice, cooing and babbling, rattles and bells of objects being shaken and traded between tiny hands. I smile at him, and his delightful giggles flitter across the room. Many of my son’s wakeful hours are spent in this 4×4 area. This corner is what he knows, he has little awareness of what takes place beyond his domain. While he explores and learns, he does not comprehend the work done outside the home to earn and provide. He does not comprehend the perpetual cycle of laundry, shopping, or meal preparation that keeps him warm and fed. He is blissfully unaware of the workings around him.
I think we too often forget God’s presence in our lives, that He is working in ways we do not comprehend. His love as our Father means He won’t forget about you. But in our distress, we often forget His arms are around us. In our contentment we carry on, as if what was placed in front of us is our own doing. To be a child of God should soften our cries and lift our eyes – tear-filled as they may be – to beaming smiles of grace. In both sorrows and blessings, He is holding us with steadfast love.
My desire for my son – to ensure his future, to be with him through all stages in life – points me to the future that God promises me. These longings are only a single note arrayed in the melody of the most beautiful symphony. As children of God, Romans 8 tells us we are God’s heirs. The significance of this is breathtaking compared to what was once our destiny. We were children of a war-torn country; orphans in a land desolate and despairing. Blood saturated the ground to remind us that death was impending. Nothing was clean, not even our water. We were desperate and dirty with thirst unquenched. And then God takes us in.
The King of the Universe adopts us.
Tim Keller gives an example which helps encapsulate this astonishing truth, “The only person who dares wake up a king at 3:00 AM for a glass of water is a child. We have that kind of access.” We are not only under the reign of the good King, but we are His kids. He loves us enough to personally care for our needs, to be present no matter the hour. His water is cold and clean. And He promises one day our thirst will be forever quenched. There will be ultimate rest, satisfaction, and joy for the children of the King. He has made us His heirs, His inheritance will be ours.
This inheritance isn’t promised for just today or tomorrow, but forever. As C.S Lewis puts it, “…the cross comes before the crown and tomorrow is a Monday morning. A cleft has opened in the pitiless walls of the world, and we are invited to follow our great Captain inside.”* As we follow him, our paths will mirror that of Jesus, a path against the flow of culture, a path often marked by great cost. Even as our cheeks are stained from the brokenness of this fallen world, we must not forget: we are tucked in the arms of our Father, the King. We may not comprehend His workings, but we can trust His love. He promises to work all things – the wonderful and the terrible – for our good (Romans 8:28).
“…and if children, heirs also, heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, if indeed we suffer with Him so that we may also be glorified with Him.”
Romans 8:17
Friends, a crown is coming. Our inheritance will be in the presence of our Father. We belong to Him and will enjoy Him forever.
Our future is certain because our Father loves us. We tinker in our 4×4 corner and know we occupy only a sliver of what God is doing for our good; his care for us is beyond what we can see and beyond what we can comprehend.
Motherhood has revealed in what my heart rests, and it is not what I thought.
I find that my world is suddenly full–full of love and meaning; full of new worries and fears; and full of laundry piles and bursting diaper pails. As I care for my son, embracing all the new tasks and responsibilities, rest seems a fantasy.
In this new world of motherhood, I can’t simply wait for the weekend or the arrival of “the next stage”. This new world strips away all imitations of rest to clearly show the reality of who was always there. I am learning to be buoyed by God and the rest He is ready to provide.
My natural inclination each morning is to begin accomplishing tasks, instead of beginning in God’s presence. I choose to worry instead of casting my anxiety on Him. I pray most for sleep, instead of a heart that will seek His strength moment by moment. The flow of my days no longer has that self-validating pattern: work hard then rest. Mothers work hard and–even if in moments of relaxing–ever anticipate their baby waking and needing. Feeling the constant pull of chores half done and a racing mind are not outworkings of a woman who knows God’s love and trusts Him completely.
I realize that my old life’s pattern of productivity, organization, and crossing off the to-do list…to be rewarded with relaxation, only gave me a facade of rest. Motherhood is work never done. Motherhood is caring for a person’s body and soul. The weight of that can not be diminished by crossing it off a list. Motherhood laughs at self-sufficiency. Motherhood has shown me that to rest, I need to remember God’s love and I need to love and trust God first.
I am learning that for my life to be one that trusts my God, I must be disciplined to remember what He has done and then surrender my days to Him. The love that pulls me to my child must only be an echo of the love that pulls me to my God. My heart quickly forgets that God is my greatest treasure. He cares about every detail – the hiccups in my days (and nights) and stressors I encounter are not a surprise to Him. When I am too tired, too emotionally depleted, and trying to care for my baby through tear-flooded eyes, he is there. All the good I want for my son pales in comparison to the good God wants for him and the good that God has already done. When I stop to think, there is nothing more beautiful, freeing, and restful than to surrender my exhaustion and anxieties to Him.
I am also learning to surrender the outcomes. Some babies cry more, sleep less, and all babies require our time and drastically change what we accomplish. Rest doesn’t come when the dishes are done, the baby is [finally] in bed or occupied enough for some sips of coffee. I am not meant to feel satisfied in the parenting wins or depressed by my feelings of parental incompetence. This great privilege of stewarding a life for God must bring us to Him.
Elisabeth Elliot wrote:
“He leads us right on, right through, right up to the threshold of Heaven. He does not say ever ‘Here it is.’ He says only “Here am I. fear not.”
We can rest today and all of our tomorrows because God is faithful to complete His work in us. We can be certain of his love because Jesus went to the cross for us. He has held nothing back and His work for us is still happening when my kitchen is messy and it’s all I can manage just to feed my baby. He isn’t limited when I climb into bed and feel like I didn’t doenough.God simply wants my obedience to love my family through the strength and rest He is ready to give.
We see evidence of God’s care for us, not only in our salvation but in details of creation. Jesus himself reminds us of his provision:
“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all.” (Matthew 6:15-32, ESV).
When I am tormented by the “what-ifs” and “should-haves” for my son, I can rest. God gave His son for mine to provide a way for eternity. No matter future joys or tragedies, God is present for the details of our lives.
We rest because God is working and He loves us.
“Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before God. why, even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, you are of more value than many sparrows” (Luke 12:5-7).
“Thou hast made us for thyself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it finds its rest in thee.”
O come, o come, Emmanuel // And ransom captive Israel // That mourns in lonely exile here // Until the son of God appear // Rejoice! rejoice! Emmanuel // Shall come to thee, o Israel.
I see December nights adorned by light: they glisten in the main streets and along the rooftops of neighboring homes. I feel a collective anticipation of something greater, a striving for cheer, a realization that the world is not as it should be. Light amidst darkness sparks joy; it seems we instinctively long for darkness not to last. Even though a deep chasm lays between the purpose of celebration, the shared longing for something greater should point us to a lasting Light.
Christmas is a celebration of that light, of longing fulfilled. Jesus, the son of God appear, is the fulfillment of everything God has promised us, the climax of our history. My heart is challenged as I think of God’s people waiting through the ages, their longing for the Messiah, and the hope it infused. Through seasons of peace and those of exile, a string of hope threaded their story. As advent brings us to meditate on the world waiting for her Savior, I see the same thread in my own story. Living on this side of history, we carry an already-fulfilled promise. Friends, our Light is here: Emmanuel has come. God’s faithfulness of a baby born means that every single thing which breaks our heart will not mark us forever.
It means the death I have seen – watching my grandfather hold my grandmother during her final breaths is not their last embrace. It means holding my grandfather’s hand, so soon after she died, as he left us to join her, is not the last time I will feel his weathered, loving hands. It means the pang of sadness through my core each time I comfort strangers in death – this is not something to get used to. At this moment in history, we continue the thread – our lives are still waiting for the final restoration of the world. We have certainty – through Jesus – that he defeated death, and now we wait for his final return.
In this waiting, God continues to use you and me. As he has done throughout the ages, he works through unexpected and broken people – through our loneliness, fear, and inadequacy. We are characters in his continued redemptive story, and he is with us.
“God is in the manger, wealth in poverty, light in darkness, succor in abandonment. No evil can befall us; whatever men may do to us, they cannot but serve the God who is secretly revealed as love and rules the world and our lives.”
– Dietrich Bonhoeffer
I string lights and remember a baby – the life that brought all life to the world; the light in the darkness. An evergreen garland covers my door and I think of Augustine’s words that Jesus is victor because victim; his giving of himself in our place to defeat death and secure everlasting life. I am moved to give – to give freely of myself as Christ because I have received the greatest gift: being reconciled to God and the promise to reside in his presence forever – where his work in us is completed and where he ensured freedom from every sorrow. What greater reasons to rejoice?
O come, thou day-spring, come and cheer // Our spirits by Thine advent here // Disperse the gloomy clouds of night // And death’s dark shadows put to flight // Rejoice! rejoice! Emmanuel ~
I grew up in a home where I was a pirate and princess; running barefoot with my sisters outside in our imaginary worlds. I grew in a home of blankets and books, table work such as math and dictation. I was in a home where I learned to care for my younger sisters, where I watched my mother nurse, nurture, and change our sheets after potty or vomit accidents in the middle of the night. I learned to (mostly) land the dry ingredients into the mixer and how to arrange cookies on a pan.
Evenings were my favorite. I loved the smell of onions sautéing on the stove; of the scented candle, my mom certainly had burning. I loved that my dad was coming home. And that we would set the dinner table where we would eat and talk and learn. The rhythm and coziness to our lives seemed to me, as a child, so simple and perfect. Now as an adult – venturing on building my own home – I realized how all of those simple, beautiful tasks were purposed.
By age eight, my parent’s felt God’s call in their lives to start a church. I remember the chaos of Saturdays; alongside my mom, my sisters and I picked up, dusted, and vacuumed. After all, our bedroom became the nursery and our family room where we gathered to sing. After working his teaching job all week, my dad locked himself in his room to study and prepare to teach the word of God. The large oak desk purchased for his studies became the focal point of their room, which actually represented how the mission for our family took precedence in our lives; it was messy and chaotic, but sturdy to grow and yield a precious community and deeper love for God.
My husband and I are learning that this family-effort towards the ministry God called my family to growing up is not unique to pastors’ families. Every choice we make reflects an underlying world view; our choices show our priorities and values. How we orient our family tells the world what we think about our purpose. Are we always saving for the next vacation, working every spare moment for the sake of career advancement, or always relying on Netflix to distract from our own exhaustion? Being an expecting mother has opened many conversations on how to organize life and balance childcare, home, and work in the years ahead. I am realizing the bigger question to ask myself is not, how will we balance life logistically, but, what is the purpose of our family and my role in it. If our choices point to what we believe and hope for our family, this question is worth the pause and the pondering. As I think back to my parent’s home, they understood their vision and mission for our family, which brought clarity to their roles, and therefore their choices. Living our lives to magnify and point others to Christ is how God works in the hearts and minds of people, and is a purpose meant for each of us.
Partnership
Without ever speaking on the topic, my mom taught me the power of a wife’s role in marriage. In marriage, husband and wife exemplify aspects of both Christ and the Church. When in step, their dance of leading and following showed me how both roles are equally vital in accomplishing something greater. A complementarian understanding of scripture comes with great challenges and also misconceptions. As Kathy and Timothy Keller write in their book, The Meaning of Marriage: “The basic roles – of leader and helper – are binding, but every couple must work out how that will be expressed within their marriage” (187). God’s call in my mother’s life contains beauty that reached beyond the cheapened and ordinary label of homemaking we often see. It’s not about the fact my dad mowed the lawn and my mom did laundry or a plethora of other gender stereotypes. It is about the purpose of their family and propelling that purpose in how God created each partner to equally participate. Embracing these aspects of our position – even when it is unnatural and hard – reflects part of the character and person of God.
In obedience to Ephesians 5, I saw my mother gladly submit to my dad’s leadership; just like Christ submits to the Father. I now see the beauty in this comes from wives’ equal intelligence, strength, and worth – just like Jesus is fully God – and in that strength, willingly submits to God’s plan. Christ’s submission to God’s plan delivered the world and we can trust God’s work as we submit to His design for us. My dad taught me through his life how Biblical leadership is a sacrifice that truly requires all of yourself. Watching him live out sacrificial love for my mom and our family does not make me covet his position. Men are called to be like Christ; as Christ is the head of the Church, men are to be the head of their family. But this position is not about extra freedom. It is about being like Christ – who is responsible for making us right with God and pointing us to Him. Men have the weighty responsibility of answering for the direction of their families. They have the responsibility of being like Christ, who died to accomplish God’s plan. Husbands do lead through decisions, but as I have learned through observing my dad, his decisions don’t cater to him but to those he is called to love and lead. I also see in retrospect how his perseverance for our family is equally credited to the strength of my mom; each of them embracing the harmony of God’s design.
My mom’s successes are not measured by salary, 401k contribution, an Instagram-worthy home, or vacation destinations. I know it by the love I experienced in her home, the love and respect between her and my dad, and her actions for a continual and lasting purpose. There was no ‘her thing’ and ‘his thing’ in our home, it was together.
Parenting
Just as God has specific designs for two people in marriage, he also has equipped us uniquely for what is often the natural outflow of marriage – children. Secular outlets will tell us that our bodies provide no significant direction or evidence to our true selves.
Nancy Pearcey writes in Love Thy Body, “The biblical view of sexuality is not based on a few scattered Bible verses. It is based on a teleological worldview that encourages us to live in accord with the physical design of our bodies. By respecting the body, the biblical ethic overcomes the dichotomy separating body from person. It heals self-alienation and creates integrity and wholeness…It fits who we really are” (30).
The uniqueness inherent in my genetic makeup was of no accident or inconsequence; it is specifically part of how God calls me to relate to and participate in the care of the world. Women’s bodies are how God gives new life. This baby boy inside me is equally the makeup of me and my husband – yet I will experience him more than my husband ever will. Women know baby’s routines of kicking and tumbling; we feel the pain and stretching of baby’s growth. What our bodies touch and intake, so do theirs. Our choices directly concern people we have never seen. Our womb is our baby’s home and an avenue for oxygen and nutrition. We endure and embrace painful hips and tender breasts and easily decline our favorite foods and drinks because we know the purpose and goal: to nourish and protect our tiny human. The uniqueness of women to nourishing life does not end in utero: the incoming of milk after delivery makes it clear that babies are meant for their mothers. The task of mothering is unique, beautiful, and miraculous that God gives to women.
This embracing of a role again reflects part of Christ who meets all our needs physically, spiritually, and provides us new life. The story in John 21 displays Christ’s care for us in a simple, everyday task so beautifully. Jesus appears to the disciples as they are fishing and provides them with an unprecedented catch. When the disciples came to shore Jesus had a fire going with fish and bread ready; inviting them to a prepared breakfast. Here Jesus had just defeated death for us, providing us direct access to God, and yet he made breakfast. He is the bread of life. He is everything we need spiritually and he does not forget that God made us physical beings. His love and care for us can be shown in nourishment, which points us to Himself – who sustains us.
As much as children are meant for mothers, so they are for fathers. God’s design is equally specific to men. His presence filling our home was marked by teamwork, by my mom’s joyful devotion to give my dad the capacity and freedom after exhausting days to embrace us as she did. I am thankful he gently covered my small hands with his much larger ones and taught me how to pray; he sat across from us at the table, and while we buttered bread he asked us about who we were, through simple questions touching on what we loved at the moment, what we remembered from our day, and the most pressing issues in our hearts. Our conversations, bits and pieces here and there were the foundation for my worldview, the bones of my faith, where I saw what he believed in the mundane everyday.
I hear the road hum during drives, where he guided my faith while I questioned and doubted. I can still see the pile of used tissues as he wisely talked me through agonizing conflicts. How blessed I am to have a father who has shown me the detailed care for my life – each giving of himself in little moments a tiny piece of our heavenly Father’s own love and care for his creation.
Prayer
As I write, now 20-something years old, I still hear my mother’s narration of history, science, and novels. I feel her stroke my hair late at night as she listens to my swirling thoughts and counsels my heart and mind. Her parenting didn’t end with potty training and it didn’t start mattering when I could critically think; it has been present in every step of my life. I see my parent’s partnership, their work, and know its treasure: It is what God has used to shape me and stir my heart with hopes for my own family.
Lord, let us dance harmoniously as wife and husband as we expand our roles to mother and father. Grant us the grace to faithfully steward our son’s life. Help me not forget a mother’s influence to nourish and counsel, to foster creativity and learning, to treasure your word, to make a home. Let home be a cherished space where my husband can lead in our lives and father our son to love you. Remind my heart that my success is not measured monetarily – it is found in working, helping, loving, and obeying you in a work that has a continual and lasting purpose.
Seeing our baby on ultrasound is as clear in my mind today as in the moment. The detail of his brain, his small mouth – opening to suck his thumb – the perfection of his little fingers and toes, struck unprecedented awe in my heart and praise to God for this miracle. Having this joy to the backdrop of smoke and ash – reminding us of the forest fires and every other chaotic event happening in our world – made my heart even more thankful that God would give us this gift. Through this, he reminded me of his blessings, his goodness, and that he cares for every aspect of our lives.
Dear mothers, I am beginning to see on a new level that much love is often accompanied by many worries. Even nestled in my womb, I am aware of what can go wrong for my baby. The one concerning/abnormal finding on the ultrasound has seized my heart and threatens my sleep and rest.
And you mammas – who have children running about have more concerns than their physical wellbeing. They are not nestled in your womb or always in your home, but amidst the world projecting its values which are far from centered on Christ. I see the myriad of avenues for children to be exposed to so many horrors the world shamelessly embraces. I imagine the anxiety to protect children from what they might see or hear.
I am finding that as the love for my unborn child grows, I can cling more desperately to what I want for his future more than I cling to Christ. Elisabeth Elliot simply puts what our response should be:
“Faith does not eliminate questions. But faith knows where to take them.”
Reading Psalm 139:13-16 has reminded me that nothing is hidden from God. He knows my deepest fears and the chasm that is often between the truth I know and what I feel. He reminds me that there is no area on this earth or in my mind where he is not. He details the care of our lives:
“For you formed my inward parts;
you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
my soul knows it very well.
My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them.”
He not only oversees our development in utero, he knows our days before our birth. And he knows this for our children.
This should encourage us. Our struggles and worries for our children are not a surprise to God. And if we want good things for our children – people who are imperfect and learning to love well, God will certainly give what is best: “how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!” (Matthew 7:11).
When my worries and lack of faith feel overwhelming, I am reminded that “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).
When we feel overtaken with concern, God asks us to place those fears on him. He has shown us throughout scripture his goodness and faithfulness. And amidst the chaos around us, he reminds us of his goodness by giving unspeakable joy in everyday beauty; he allows us to see tiny toes and babes sucking their thumbs.
My prayer is that we seek God’s word, bring to him our worries, and cling to Christ above all else.
“Therefore everyone who hears these words of Mine and acts on them, may be compared to a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and slammed against that house; and yet it did not fall, for it had been founded on the rock. Everyone who hears these words of Mine and does not act on them, will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. The rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and slammed against that house; and it fell—and great was its fall.” ~Matthew 7:24-27
I am struck by how eerie our town’s main street has become. I still anticipate cars cruising past and the aroma of fine food and coffee, even though shops have been shuttered for weeks. I miss stopping at the local bookstore and seeing people smiling over meals. The bustling life is now confined to individual homes, where anxiety is stifling and loneliness rampant. Emotions flux with the reported cases, the new deaths; possible hopes of new medications or plasma of recovered patients; but followed by the lack of ventilators and other supplies. The media strives to highlight chaos and concern, to provide the greatest shock, to draw the most attention, to sell their product of daily novelty.
In his book, Disruptive Witness, Alan Noble writes:
“…death comes for us all, and all around us we see its work in decay, violence, evil, sickness, and suffering. The weight of this cross pressure is too much for most of us to bear, so we have outsourced the burden of death to specialists: doctors, nurses, paramedics, law enforcement, fire departments, soldiers, and the like. We obsessively fight death, we push the sick and elderly to the margins of society, we quarantine the dying, we turn our fear of death into a quasicosmic war against global suffering.”
Not only is our distracted busyness failing to deny the reality of death, but healthcare workers – no stranger to death – confront the fact they are not impervious to illness themselves. And for many, we have no place to outsource the burden.
In contradiction to expectations for modern medicine, local and national leaders are foregoing current policies and creating new ones – not out of proven outcomes but to ration of a lack of supplies. It takes me back to my experiences in clinics set up in third-world countries. All supplies are donated, resources limited and creativity – to address needs with available supplies – a necessity.
Caring for patients with infectious, life-threatening conditions is not a new requirement for healthcare workers. We enter rooms without a second thought because evidence has shown that following the correct personal protective equipment (PPE) will protect us from contracting a disease. But now the reality is that our allowance of PPE is inadequate. These changes make bedside staff vulnerable to patient’s wounds of resistant bacteria, flu, and the plethora of other respiratory viruses.
These changes also add concern for other patients who do not require contact precautions. There is a weight wondering if bedside staff are now a vector for infection to the immunocompromised. Suddenly a sneeze or a slight post nasal drip is a symptom of grave concern. Is this allergies or a seasonal cold? Or am I a carrier of a virus that might threaten the life I am assigned to steward?
The work of task forces and clinical engineering is continuous; the questions are weighty and the lack of knowledge looms; the disruption to routine has triggered fear, anxiety, frustration, and sadness. But these throbbing emotions have opened my eyes to an unquestionable realization – these feelings are a result of misplaced hope.
This virus has simply unveiled hopes that are vulnerable to storms.
COVID-19 has exposed the hope I have put in my country. In our response, we face a man-made problem of little PPE due to hoarders, budget choices, and a reliance on global trade. Even the most developed and progressive nations cannot provide us with the security and protection we desire. This hope is a sandcastle.
COVID-19 has exposed the hope I put in knowledge. Hospitals are, by nature, chaotic, but controlled by evidence-based practice and set protocols to ensure the best outcomes. But with the introduction of something unexpected, the threat of limited equipment and too little staff, we see how control was a mere delusion. Our knowledge is not omniscient and our plans are not infallible – hope in these alone is a sandcastle.
We see the stark limitations of human intellect and infrastructure; we see its failure. But friends, Christ has not failed us. The world spins in its chaos, but – in all of his love and power – God sees us. He sees the corruption, suffering and sickness and he does not leave us alone.
Our God today was king during the bubonic plague, Spanish influenza, and ebola outbreak. He sees the AIDs problem and Zika epidemic. He sees persons plagued by failing organs and festering wounds. His heart is broken by the earth’s state and he actively intervenes. Jesus came to satisfy justice – to pay the penalty for sin.
“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”
John 3:16-17
He asks that we believe, trust, and follow him, that we love him above our comfort and our plans, that we cast our anxieties on him and know that he is sovereign. We are to trust God, whose character is perfect, who is unchanging and who is good. He does not mean for us to carry the weight of this world or outsource it to someone else. We are called to rest in his arms, to cast our anxieties on him, and to press on with his strength.
The sufferings we are experiencing are momentary. God promises that he will restore creation to his perfect design and includes us in the process of redemption. We are not meant to simply survive or endure life. He gives our suffering meaning and our work lasting value.
The world is put on hold, but this should never prevent but rather propel us to what God calls us to – share the good news of his salvation. Our lives can be a witness of the assurance we have in both life and in death because of Jesus.
“By this we know love, that he laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brothers. But if anyone has the world’s goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God’s love abide in him? Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth.”
1 John 3:16-18
We demonstrate his peace by how we care for our neighbors, love our children, and serve others in our workplaces. We are called to act on his certain promises.
God does not promise me my health; he promises me something greater. And I must go where he calls. I can enter a COVID-19 room with inadequate PPE and be the hands and feet of Christ to a loved creation of God. I can touch and comfort patients when their family members cannot. I can trust my life to God on this momentary blip because he has promised me forever.
God does not promise me my health; he promises me something greater.
In a time where coworkers and neighbors are uneasy, I can work in such a way that holds nothing back because God has held nothing back from me.
God is giving me peace as I press into his word. He is blessing me with friends who remind me to pray as I enter each patient’s room and perform each task. My nerves are calmed because I know that I am not in control and never was; someone who is much wiser, more powerful, and exponentially more loving is reigning today and will tomorrow.
Friends, we entrust the reality of death and illness to a God who has already had victory over it. I pray that we will press on to how he is calling each of us with his strength. We do not have the answers, and we don’t need to if our faith is not in sandcastles but rather on the rock Himself.
Reflections of Terror and Beauty 