Duet 16:13-15: 13 “You shall keep the Feast of Booths seven days, when you have gathered in the produce from your threshing floor and your winepress. 14 You shall rejoice in your feast, you and your son and your daughter, your male servant and your female servant, the Levite, the sojourner, the fatherless, and the widow who are within your towns. 15 For seven days you shall keep the feast to the Lord your God at the place that the Lord will choose, because the Lord your God will bless you in all your produce and in all the work of your hands, so that you will be altogether joyful.” When I lived in New York City, we chose to reside in an uptown Jewish neighborhood and one of my favorite Jewish holidays was the Festival of Booths. Overnight, little man-made huts would pop up on the street, sidewalk, or on any patch of grass that one could find in the city of concrete. At night they would gather together in these booths and feast for seven days. In the midst of my angst and misery of living in NYC, I loved the idea of what this festival embodied. It was not only the quaint idea of building a tent of sorts (just like couch forts from childhood, but better!), but the idea of people gathering together for no other reason than to eat and enjoy each other. It looked like a taste of heaven. Their joy was enticing, beckoning me join them. Which is why it is so interesting to me that Deuteronomy 16:13-15, is the first passage in Scripture to mention joy. During the Festival of Booths, God makes the first declaration for people to embrace joy. (“so that you will be altogether joyful.” vs 15) The booths were erected in remembrance of Israel’s time in the desert, where they followed God’s literal path for 40 years. A testing of sorts, these wanderings were also intended to showcase God’s true love for them as He provided for their every need. My personal favorite verse even says that their clothes never wore out nor did their feet swell (Dt 8:4). Such practical little things that God was concerned about for his children. Not even their feet blistered. Remembrance is at the heart of the Festival of Booths. Remembering that God provides, that He sees all we need, even pain-free feet. What a thing to rejoice in. But notice that God actually commands this joy. “You shall rejoice…” It’s the same language used in the Ten Commandments. Initially I hated discovering this in the passage. My independent heart rails against all the things I’m supposed to do. And furthermore, how exactly does one make oneself joyful? Laugh track, anyone? Real joy can’t be produced. Then I remembered the Indicative/Imperative. (Insert nerdy (but helpful!) knowledge from seminary) Put simply, the Indicative (what God does) and the Imperative (what we are commanded to do), are closely connected throughout Scripture. God never gives His people a command without first stating what He will do or what He has already done for them. God reveals Himself in all His good glory before ever telling us what we “should” do. Verse 15b says, “Because the Lord your God will bless you in all your produce and in all the work of your hands, so that you will be altogether joyful.” Notice that the “so that” follows what God has done for them. During this time, there was no guarantee that people’s crops would produce what they needed for the year. Famine was a true fear. And if the crop failed, there was no grocery store to pick up needed materials. An abundant harvest = God’s love and care. So this is not forced joy! This is true and real joy. God has provided and made abundantly clear that He loved them. Rejoicing likely overflowed from all of them. So why the command to rejoice? I think we still need to be reminded that all that we have comes from God. Often “the work of our hands” seems like just that, the work is my doing, not God’s. How often have I found myself despairing, unable to see the blessings that God has given me. When I am unable to see God’s blessings, I miss a huge aspect of my relationship with Him. Because He does bless us, even in the midst of hardship, and sometimes we need a command to rejoice to see these blessings. Yesterday a huge wind storm blew into town with gusts up to 80 miles an hour. As I took my morning walk today, I stared at the ground, lamenting the many beautiful fall-colored leaves that at been ripped from the trees. Branches, limbs, and leaves littered the ground as I carefully navigated the sidewalk. How sad I thought. All around me was the carnage from the storm and I found myself depressed, thinking only of loss. And then I chanced to look up at where the leaves had fallen from and found myself smiling. The bright blue sky shown in brilliance and the tress were still adorned in their glorious colors. One small glance changed my perspective. The aftermath of the storm remained, but it was not the only truth. In the midst of my struggles and pains I tend to focus on what I do not have. I see only the negative and suffering I experience. It can seem as if that is all there is in my life. My sufferings can loom so large that it can blot out the joy that still remains, or even the God who walks alongside me. If I only looked at my feet I would only see what had fallen. But it was in looking up that I could see the full beauty surrounding me. I still don’t think you can force joy, but I do think we can miss how God is working for good in our lives. I believe there is a choice before each of us. You can choose joy when you know what God has done for you first. Which is an act of worship in itself. As you turn your eyes back on the Lord and onto His good provision, your heart changes. When you choose joy, you choose God, and true joy follows. Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash
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Do you ever experience moments of joy? For me they are few and far between. Moments when there is no fear, no guilt, no doubt, no worry. All you feel is elation. It need not be exuberant joy, just a steady feeling of calm thankfulness. I had one of these moments this weekend. God was loving me. And I knew it. He was loving me at that moment and I had nothing else to do but respond with joy. I relish those times. Because for me they do not last long. As soon as I have formed the thought that I am joyful, my heart does a truly sickening thing. Instead of embracing it and enjoying what I can from that moment, I instead become fearful. If I am experiencing joy, that means that right around the next corner lurks suffering and pain. Somewhere deep within my soul lies a belief that joy does not last and only precedes trial. I am always waiting for the “other shoe to drop”. Typically thoughts of my daughter or husband dying flood my mind. And instantly, joy evaporates. How could joy exist amid such dark thoughts? And that’s when it hits me. Here I am searching for the true definition of joy and I realize that I AM NOT ALLOWED TO BE JOYFUL. Silly me. I write this humorously, but I can honestly tell you that I am terrified. Terrified that if I allow myself to continue in joy, something or someone in my life will be struck down and taken away from me. It is heartbreaking for me to even write these words. What a horrible way to live. And how Godless. Not only have I planned the way that I will suffer, but none of this is biblical or from the Lord in any way. But it is my way to control life. Which is then completely hilarious in itself. What do I really think I am controlling???!!! It is ridiculous on so many levels and yet I cannot let myself embrace joy. I don’t believe I am the only one who feels this way. But this is not right! If we are given joy from the Holy Spirit, it cannot be followed by tragedy. That is not how our God works. He does not give us a stone when we ask for bread (Matt 7:9). And if joy is a fruit of the Spirit, it simply does not follow that joy is tainted fruit. No. It is life-giving fruit. It is from God. Joy is from God. A gift. Not something to be paid back in pain, but something to be enjoyed. Have you experienced this? My pray for you is to embrace the glimpses of joy that you get to experience! Those glimpses of joy are glimpses of God. Photo by Дарья Жданкина on Unsplash One of the first things my nerd-self did as I prepared to start writing about joy and contentment, was to go to dictionary.com and define Joy. I love words. I love seeing how their definitions open up new avenues for understanding and, by defining them, I find deeper complexities of how that word can be applied and used. I love to find their nuances, their meanings, or at least their culturally defined meanings. Because truly that’s how dictionaries work. The people putting the dictionaries together do not define a word based on its historical definition; on their own, they define the word based on how it is actually being used by everyday people. (I was blown away by this little truth bomb from a friend who is a lexicographer; i.e. dictionary editor.) Which means that definitions change, if they are based on human usage. This is then why I can say that I truly hate the dictionary.com definition of joy. But it is in fact, how most people would currently define the word. And therein lies the problem. It is defined by people of our surrounding culture and, as a result, its definition is devoid of God. It's devoid of real truth, leaving me to define it myself. Here is the current definition of Joy from the dictionary: 1) a feeling of great happiness 2) a source or cause of great happiness : something or someone that gives joy to someone 3) success in doing, finding, or getting something 4) a : the emotion evoked by well-being, success, or good fortune or by the prospect of possessing what one desires : delight b : the expression or exhibition of such emotion : gaiety 5) a state of happiness or felicity : bliss 6) a source or cause of delight Here is my beef with dictionary.com. They define joy as an emotion or a feeling. I would call it a state of being. Joy need not be a fleeting feeling that comes and goes. Joy, here, is also defined as being clearly linked to something temporal (“success in doing, finding, or getting something”). Which is simply problematic. Once that “thing” that gave you joy is gone, your joy disappears as well. And don’t even get me started on “happy”. What does it even mean to be happy? I smile a lot, laugh out loud, am never sad? I cannot define joy this way. Or at least I refuse to. There must be more to it. So what is the definition? Since I am at the beginning of this venture, I will throw out a definition, but likely this is going to change. So beware. :) (It’s so much easier to say what something isn’t rather than what something actually is!) Joy: A settled, abiding state of being that gives one stability, peace, hope, and contentment, and has its source in God alone. To be continued…. Photo by Edu Lauton on Unsplash I thought I knew what it was to be ‘barren’. To be physically bereft of child, unable to complete what I was created to and so desired to experience. I cried and I cried and I wrote and wrote. Barrenness, to be without child, became my every waking thought. I found that Scripture was bursting with themes of infertility and barrenness. And I was comforted. I was able to stand and say that ‘God is Good’, no matter what comes; child or no. But then the child, the miracle, came. I was pregnant. “Aren’t you just over the moon with joy?!!,” people asked. No, I found myself saying. No. I was sick, sore, tired, hungry, and full of fear. There was no room for joy within me. But how could I say such a thing? Wasn't this what I had hoped and prayed for? And then she came. My life-altering, exuberant, spirited, beautiful daughter. I had waited 5 long years and she was here. I was so thankful… but I was not joyful. It was not as I had expected. As each day went on, I found I was not filled with the joy I had so long envisioned for myself as a mother. I was still barren, though no longer physically barren. I was shocked to discover that my barrenness followed me still, like a shadow I could not escape. Each time I looked over my shoulder it was there, stalking me with its dark persistence. How could I still feel this barrenness, this hopelessness, this lack of joy? I had been given everything that I desired, hoped, and prayed for. My God had given more than I had ever thought possible. Yet this little girl, whom I deeply loved, did not give me what I had expected. It took me some time to realize that it was never her job. She was never given the role to be my source of joy. What an immense, impossible job for anyone, let alone one so young. No, finding joy remained in my hands yet, in my spiritual barrenness, I discovered that I had no definition for real joy and contentment. What did it actually look like? I have grown up in the church, I know all of the answers. So of course the obvious answer is: joy can only be found in Christ. And at heart I believe that this is true. True joy and true contentment can only be found in Christ. I know I haven’t found it anywhere else. But a question nagged at me: Why haven’t I found this in Christ? “Something is wrong”, I found myself repeating day after day on my knees in prayer. This isn’t supposed to be how it is. So what am I missing? What does real joy and contentment look like? Is it even possible in this life? These are the questions I am seeking to answer. Because, I cannot live this way. I refuse to continue in spiritual barrenness, bereft of true joy. “Sing, O barren one, who did not bear; break forth into singing and cry aloud, you who have not been in labor! For the children of the desolate one will be more than the children of her who is married,” says the Lord.” Isaiah 54:1 Sing with me. Years ago I heard a beautiful NPR interview about the first Iraqi Eagle Scout in the United States. The news report opened with a dire description of life in Iraq wherein he and his family feared for their lives every day. One morning he and his young cousins were outside in their front yard playing when a car pulled up and ignited in flame, the driver having detonated a bomb. No one else was around except the children. His 6-year-old cousin was instantly killed and he lost his leg. He and his mother then came to the states and worked to overcome his disability. He joined the Boy Scouts and eventually received the coveted Eagle Scout award. But it was his reaction to the loss of limb that smote my heart. After his doctors told him they needed to amputate his leg he said, “Mom, I know what the doctors decide, I not care, and you not care Mom, this is from God for me.” This is from God for me. The power of those words struck me and I was undone. He wasn’t fighting what had happened to him, he wasn’t blaming anyone, he simply accepted his fate and believed that whatever came was from God. Oh, how simple and how faithful. I yearn to proclaim the same in my life. But I know I haven’t been saying such faithful pronouncements. I have fought God, and I have sought ways to please Him so that He would give me a baby. I have cried and I have pitied myself. But never have I accepted my fate. In my defense, accepting my fate has seemed like giving up. I don’t want to give up. I still want a child. But there is something profound to be gleaned from the wisdom of this boy. I cannot change my barrenness. I know this. I can continue to go to the doctors and I may still not conceive. I have no guarantee. But I don’t think I should just give up on a child either. There is something deeper. A heart change. An acceptance that God is Sovereign. That He has skillfully and perfectly planned the struggle with infertility for my life. “This is from God for me.” It think it is the ‘for me’ that gets me every time. For me. As if it is a gift. Infertility was given to me by God for a reason. It may or may not result in a biological child, but it is for me. And with that I am given some measure of peace, some means of letting go. If there is anything that the Lord is teaching me right now, it is letting go. Accepting what I have been given. When I do this then I can accept each negative result, each miscarriage, each disappointment with the belief that this is for me. It is ‘for me’ from a God who loves me and has my well being in mind. I may not understand it, but I know the Lord enough to know that suffering has been redeemed and given a purpose now that Christ has died for our sins. There is no condemnation for us and so all that we experience must and does have purpose. This is for me. Romans 8: 31-32, 35, 37-39 31 What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? 32 He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? 35 Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? 37 No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. 38 For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, 39 nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. (I searched for hours trying to find this interview, but since it was 8 years old I was unable to locate it. But here is a article about him.) Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash By Ashley Ward | ashleywardcoaching.com “It just…feels like I’m drowning.” I’ve said this, even though I’ve never actually experienced drowning, or anything close to it. This phrase for me is mere hyperbole; a way to try to explain the overwhelm, the desperation, the ache, the despair. I don’t know exactly how to explain what it feels like to be crushed by grief, to lose someone suddenly, to have my faith shaken, to face memories I would rather forget, to miscarry a baby, to watch my marriage crumble to pieces, to battle anxiety on a daily basis. But you know what I mean, right? You’ve felt it. You’ve lived it. One of my favorite stories in the bible is a woman who felt and lived it, too. Hagar was seemingly a minor biblical character; a slave; really more of a pawn in the story of Sarah and Abraham. She was used for her body; for her fertility, for the story Sarah wanted to write for herself instead of waiting. She was mistreated, and she was afraid. So, alone and pregnant, she flees. And in the desert, alone, she meets God. This would be an excellent time for God to save her. Provide shelter, water, a fresh start — maybe a new family and a new home? Hagar is weary and broken, and when she meets God and tells him why she fled, instead of saving her, He says, “Go back.” He hears her weariness and pain, and He sends her immediately back to the place she’d run from. Not only that, but He sends her back without the promise that everything will be better. He doesn’t promise her safety or comfort or protection. He only promises her hope. After this encounter, Hagar ends up being the only person in the bible to give God a name: El Roi; the God Who Sees. Even without safety and even without rescue from her pain, for Hagar, it was enough that God rescued her in her pain. It was enough that God saw her and was with her. God himself, the one who Sees, is the rescue. Is that enough for me? Is that enough for you? This idea of rescue has changed the way that I pray, and the way that I hope, and the way that I look for God’s provision. I’ve battled severe anxiety for years, with the ebb and flow of good seasons and terrible ones. So many times, I have prayed and asked God to take it away and to heal me of it completely. I have been so encouraged and inspired by people to whom He has answered that same prayer with “yes.” I know that He could answer me that way, too. But for me, so far, his answer when I try to run from my anxiety and when I ask him to rescue me from it, is just what he said to Hagar: “Go back. Stay in it. Do the work.” Sometimes, His rescue in the pain of anxiety is relief, and a good night of sleep. Sometimes, it’s the help of a remarkable therapist to help me untangle what is true from the lies. Sometimes, it’s medication. But always, always, along with this relief, comes this: “I see you. I love you. I’m with you. There’s hope. There’s rest.” I used to think that what I was waiting for was a rescue from my pain. And what I’ve learned is that sometimes, God rescues me in it instead. He has become the God who sees me. But it’s still hard sometimes to hold on, isn’t it? Do I hold the confidence that God is in the business of rescuing me, even when I’m not taken out of the darkness? Do I believe that His presence and His seeing me is enough? Can I look around and point to the places of his faithfulness, even when that faithfulness doesn’t look like I expected? Can I still hold on, even when the suffering lingers beyond what I thought I could endure? Hagar’s belief and God’s faithfulness to her are a continual reminder to me that his kindness and faithfulness exist outside of what I imagine them to be, and looking back at God’s rescues in my life continually moves my eyes forward, expectant that He will be faithful and kind again. Is there a place in your life where you thought you needed to be rescued from your pain, and instead God rescued you in it? How does this impact your faith now, moving forward? How does looking behind equip you to hold onto hope, today? I’d love to hear! About the Author, Ashley Ward: Coach, storyteller, writer, mom, wife. Relentless believer in the kindness of Jesus. Equipping women to find agency and take action in their stories. Find her at ashleywardcoaching.com Anxiety. Mine has gone through the roof during the Covid crisis. With our primary income deriving from music lessons, I mentally spiraled out of control, assuming and expecting the worst. Without steady income, people rarely continue to pour money into their hobbies and I feared my husband's students would drop their monthly lessons. And now as Colorado and other states gradually reopen, we're facing the unknown of heading back out into the world together. Anxiety can attack from every angle. This experience reminded me of my time at the fertility doctor. A time when anxiety became a daily occurrence. Fertility doctors (I've had three!) tend to make promises that they cannot keep, for example, telling you that with their help they see no reason you cannot conceive a child. When you are in a state of desperation and someone offers you your dream, you believe every single word that comes out of their mouth. But as I began the monthly routine of jumping through the hoops, one hoop failed, then another. My hope diminished with each failed attempt and was then tainted with fear. With reality. With distress. The worst part though was the two week wait after each procedure. Transforming my hope into an emotional yoyo string. Each twinge, each change in my body, was a sign to be interpreted. Is this a good twinge? One that will give me all I hope for? Or is this a twinge meaning all hope is lost... again? Or, better yet, is this just gas? There was so much that I could not control during my time at the fertility clinic, but hardest of all was discovering that I could not control my mind. My thoughts would go into overdrive with a litany of “What if's” that defied repression. What if I can never have a biological child? What if something is truly wrong with my body? What if I was pregnant, but that drink/food/exercise (fill in the blank) caused me to lose the baby? Which is torture because “What if's” have no answer. They will forever and always be hypothetical. They offer no answer and thus no help. Yet I cannot shut them off. By the end of the two weeks I am a stressed out, anxiety-ridden mess. Which I am aware is harmful for my body while I'm trying to conceive, which then causes me more stress and fear, leading me deeper into the endless cycle of anxiety. Is there any hope to live differently? Any hope to live with peace? I turned to Philippians, the “joy” book, as there are 16 references to joy and rejoicing within it's pages alone. Philippians also contains one of the go-to verses on anxiety. Philippians 4:4-7 Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. 5 Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; 6 do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. 7 And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. The first six words in verse six stun me. Do not be anxious about anything. Really? No anxiety at all? That seems impossible. The Greek word for anxious here is merimnao, translated as “to be anxious or careful.” This word has predominately been translated as anxious since we no longer use careful in the same way. (KJV uses careful) But I love looking at this other definition: Careful. To be careful means to be full of care or caring too much. (MacLaren Expositions) I think this perfectly describes anxiety. Being so weighed down with fears, unknowns, unanswered questions, circumstances out of our control. So full of care for friends, family, our job, our future, etc, that you can't even think straight. Or remember the Good God in control of it all. And what is the suggested antidote sanctioned by Paul? But in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.(vs.6) Prayer. It sounds too simplistic doesn't it? I literally wrote in my notes while studying this passage, “If anxious, pray. (...this seems too simple...)” My doubt rises in response to such simplicity. Prayer?! Yet this verse must connect to the words prior to it at the end of verse 5: The Lord is at hand. Or in other words: The Lord is near! We do not have a God who is enthroned in heaven looking down at us piously, unwilling to intervene in our petty lives. No. We have a God who is near to us and desires to hear our every request and supplication. He desires to know us, to listen to us, and understands what we experience in anxiety. (Consider Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane.) And He wants us to be near to Him as well. Which is what prayer is. A connection, a relationship with another. Prayer pulls my eyes away from my overwhelming cares and reminds me I'm not alone with them. That everything does not depend solely upon me. I do not presume to have the cure-all for anxiety. But in my deepest times of anxiety and fear, I needed some “helps” to answer the incessant “What If's” and fears that plagued me. I needed something to help me remember the truth. Here is a list of ideas that I gathered:
Experiencing anxiety doesn't necessarily mean that you are sinful or are turning away from God. One of my dearest friends struggles daily with chronic anxiety and it is often during her most acute bouts with anxiety that she experiences God most powerfully. He is near, yet her anxiety rages on. I love that she reaches out to Him in the midst of it. Her wise words remind me that sometimes “God gives us JOY in our ANXIETY, not INSTEAD of it.” I can't promise that all your anxiety will disappear if you incorporate any of these options into your life, but I do believe that our anxiety can blind us to the God who is near. It can overwhelm us so that all we feel is fear; believing in the negative only. Whether you are going through fertility treatments or have allowed a fear in your life to speak louder than our God, you do have a choice to turn toward Him, rejoicing in Him. And I pray that as you do this, the fear and the “What if's” will quiet, giving you peace and joy, regardless of your circumstances. Sometimes I have what I like to call ‘dark days.’ Days where I bleakly look all around and whisper, “Is this all there is? Is this my life?” Days where Satan’s lies speak louder than any life-giving words from our God. Days where it literally feels like I am shouting my petitions to God and they maddeningly come echoing back to me, bouncing off an impenetrable metal expanse. Days where all around me is crumbling and it is arduous to even take one step forward. Days where I believe that I am utterly alone, abandoned by God. Dark Days. Can you relate? Do you feel as if there is some invisible ceiling that veils your words from God’s ear? As if He can’t hear you…or won’t hear you? As the months stretch into years of infertility, the dark days can multiply. The lie that God does not care for me feels like reality as my womb remains empty. For many years I hid my dark thoughts, fearful that naming them would brand me with the title of “failure” or “unfaithful Christian.” Good Christian’s aren’t supposed to doubt or question God, right? “All His ways are right”, so I just need to believe, smile and continue acting like all is well. But bottling up those doubts, pain, and anger festered within me, eventually leading to a break with God. Never once did I consider telling someone around me that I was struggling. Never once did I think about sharing with God how I actually felt about Him. It felt easier to pretend as if all was well, that I could continue to state that He was good, even though I was crumbling within. Never did I consider that telling Him exactly what I thought of Him would lead to a deeper relationship with Him. That honesty would lead to real faith. But it did. And it can for you. We must take our pain to Him. Our anger, our grief, our despair and name it out loud. We are hiding it from no one. Not from ourselves, not from Him. He already knows our heart and pushing it down does nothing to resolve it. Eventually it will come exploding out. So bring it to Him, tell Him all you are feeling. Accept the truth of your doubt, fear, and anger toward Him – name it and lay it at His feet. And let Him work within you. (I talk more about this in another post: Turning our despair into an act of faith.) Gradually I stopped calling God mean. I stopped boxing Him in, based on my experience of three miscarriages and a round of ineffective fertility treatments. I asked for His help to crawl out of the pit that encompassed me, pleading with Him to not leave me where I was, and I clung to the truths that Scripture declared about Him. Deep down I knew that I couldn’t define Him through the filter of my continued infertility. So I cried out to Him in my pain and anger, and went back to His Word to remind myself of His fuller character. Song of Solomon became my mainstay – my life-line, as it reminded me that I was Beloved. That I was His treasured possession. That He delighted in me. Words that were the exact opposite of my experience with infertility. But words that were true, regardless of how I felt. If you are struggling to maintain your faith with God, don’t condemn yourself. But don’t close yourself off either. Find a trusted, wise woman of faith to confide in and immerse yourself in Scripture. Speak your words of anger and pain to the face of our God and remind you of His love for you in His Word. Words of the Bridegroom to His Bride (of God, to you): “O my dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the crannies of the cliff, let me see your face, let me hear your voice, for your voice is sweet and your face is lovely.” Song of Solomon 2:14 “Christ isn’t asking us to believe in our ability to exercise unwavering faith. He is asking us to believe that He is able.” (Beth Moore, Praying God's word Day by Day) This opening quote to my devotional one morning was intended to encourage and give freedom. But all I felt was anger. This was of course coming off of another negative result from the fertility doctor. Everything during preparations and treatment indicated that a pregnancy would result. But nothing. And to make matters worse, I felt completely exhausted all week, which I took to mean that I was pregnant! I, of course, know that exhaustion can come from so many sources, but my hope ‘meter’ had gone up several notches. I expected a meltdown when I heard the news, but I remained rather calm. Maybe numb is the better word. The trouble for me in this quote is that I do believe that God is able. I have wrestled with faith. I know my faith or faithlessness will not persuade God. So, I think I have been erring on the side of ‘believing He is able.’ Doesn’t that sound so faithful? “God I know you can do it!” “I trust you Lord!” “I believe; help my unbelief!” And yet, no baby. I was angry. But I think I know why. As I sat and read this quote in my quiet time, I realized I had been manipulating God… again. “If I just believe that God is able, a baby will come.” I can’t seem to escape my conniving, my believing anything just so that I can be blessed with a child. I sound like an addict. But the truth is I had created some standard in my own head – a standard of what it would take for me to prove to God that I was ready to become pregnant. And when God didn’t fulfill His side of the bargain, I lashed out in anger. I apparently forgot that there was really only a bargain with myself. God wasn’t involved. He never signed a contract. (Man, I wish He would sign a contract.) Then at least I could pin Him down! Hold Him to what He has promised. But He has not promised me a child. He is not at fault here. I am. I am the maker of my anger and hurt. God has not failed me. But what does it mean that He is able? Is He able only if He gives me a child? I realize now that that is an incredibly narrow definition of His ability. It opens the door for my anger. But that's how it seems to work sometimes. All I can see is what I want, nothing else matters. My focus is so narrow that, when I don't receive what I have asked and prayed for, my first assumption is that God has failed me or is unable. What if there was more to His ability? I am reminded again of the hymn How Firm a Foundation. Last week I talked about the promises of God found in those life-giving verses, but the third and fourth verses in particular have always resonated with me. “When through the deep waters I call you to go, the rivers of sorrow shall not overflow; for I will be with you, your troubles to bless, and sanctify to you your deepest distress. “When through fiery trials your pathway shall lie, my grace, all-sufficient, shall be your supply; the flame shall not hurt you; I only design your dross to consume and your gold to refine. Based on Isaiah 43, these verses give me such hope and call me out of my self-focus. We will all suffer in this life; there is no way around it. And at times even God Himself calls us into deep waters. But these verses proclaim God's presence, power, and purpose within the midst of hardship. That is not inability on His part; it's just not my definition of His ability. These verses remind us that we may not receive all that we pray and hope for. What they do promise is that our sufferings will transform us, that through our Savior our troubles will turn to blessings, that we will be sanctified through our deepest distress. When we walk through fire it is not to cause pain, but to refine and shape us into His image. The fact that God has not given me a baby does not mean He is unable, it means He is working on me in ways that I may not even see. That I am being molded by Him, lovingly shaped, removing what hinders me from seeing Him alone. And at heart, I think that is what these verses bring out with regard to our suffering: I am reminded of who He is. I am reminded that God is able, but may be so in ways that I didn't originally see. I will continue to pray for my heart's desire, but I will also pray that God will open my eyes to seeing Him work within me, giving me a deeper understanding of His ability. How firm a foundation, you saints of the Lord, is laid for your faith in his excellent Word! What more can He say than to you He has said, to you who for refuge to Jesus have fled? “Fear not, I am with you, O be not dismayed; for I am your God, and will still give you aid; I’ll strengthen you, help you, and cause you to stand, upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand. “When through the deep waters I call you to go, the rivers of sorrow shall not overflow; for I will be with you, your troubles to bless, and sanctify to you your deepest distress. “When through fiery trials your pathway shall lie, my grace, all-sufficient, shall be your supply; the flame shall not hurt you; I only design your dross to consume and your gold to refine. E’en down to old age all my people shall prove my sovereign, eternal, unchangeable love; and when hoary hairs shall their temples adorn, like lambs they shall still in my bosom be borne. “The soul that on Jesus has leaned for repose, I will not, I will not desert to his foes; that soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake, I’ll never, no never, no never forsake.” This hymn has been playing in my mind for weeks now. I want to share with you what the Lord has been teaching me about myself and about His character through these ageless words. In the very first stanza the writer speaks of Jesus being our refuge. Refuge. Jesus. Has the Lord really been my refuge? If I was honest I would say that I have been my own refuge, and a shoddy one at that. I like to tell myself pithy sayings that will make me feel better. “God is good!” “God has a purpose for my suffering!” “God works all things for the good of those who love Him!” These are truths of the Lord, but they are not the Lord Himself. Statements about God never have much of a lasting effect. So I escape into a book or a movie, or simply make myself busy and distracted. And why do I do this? I think part of it is because I don’t trust in the promises of God, or more accurately, I don’t even know what the promises of God are. How can we trust that the Lord is a better refuge when we have no idea what that refuge even looks like? But that is where this hymn fills in the gaps of my faith. This hymn, unlike most hymns, is written from the perspective of God (stanza’s 2-6). He is speaking to us! He tells us who He is and what He will do for us. The promises of God are laid out for us in this simple hymn. In the second stanza alone there are seven promises, which draw directly from Isaiah 41:10. I am with you. I am your God. I will still give you aid. I will strengthen you. I will help you. I will cause you to stand. I will uphold you by my all-good, all-powerful hand. Taking these promises to heart, changes how I experience infertility. I am not alone, I am not forsaken by God. Living out these promises, truly clinging to them as truth, changes my entire struggle. Those of us who rely on the Lord will never be deserted or forsaken, ever. That is by far the most incredible promise of all. Though I may feel alone in my struggle, I can cling to the promise that He has vowed to always be near. Refuge then is not a passive action, but it is an active faith as you place your sufferings in the hands of the Savior. Because of who God is and what He has done, we are able to put our faith, confidence, and trust in Him. Because we have the promises of God, we can face our sorrow with hope. I so easily forget who He is. My struggle with infertility becomes my filter through which I see the world and my God. His promises reframe my filter, opening my eyes to a God who is not against me, and who has gone to great lengths to remind me that I am loved. So, help me add to my list. What are some promises of God that have encouraged you? Found this wonderful website that brings this hymn to life with illustrated images. See here! |
AuthorHi! I'm Brooke. Welcome to Sing O Barren One! I began this blog after years of unexplained infertility that resulted in five years of trying, four miscarriages, one daughter, and continued secondary infertility. While in seminary, I dove into scripture to help me make sense of my pain and struggle. What type of God would allow this? What I found there changed who I was, how I perceived my struggle, and most importantly my view of God. I wrote this blog as an outpouring of my grief and to joyfully share all that God has taught me. Archives
October 2020
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