Are We There Yet?

Are We There Yet?

It's the oft-comical question of the hour, or more realistically, the minute. But it is most definitely our hearts' serious and desperate cry- our knees banging the cold concrete begging God like the Psalmist (David)- "How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?...How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart?... Look on me and answer, Lord my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death..." (Psalm 13)

I was reading this today and reflecting that when I memorized this chapter of Psalm back in high school I had no idea how many times I would come back to these words- with new eyes, new experiences, and new hurts. I had no idea how the rhythm of 'how long?' would bang around in my heart so regularly and so earnestly. It's a melody I've heard before. Dissonant notes I thought I left behind that just seem to come back in the next verse, the repeating chorus, or the ever-emotional bridge.

How long is God going to leave us in our places of pain, of grief, of despair? How long will we feel forgotten by Him? How long until we feel peace? How. Long. Must we wait?

Time can feel excruciatingly long. I know firsthand. Yet I know His timing is perfect. I desire all the answers and explanations yet I know He is the only Answer I really need. The sorrow can be like suffocating death, yet I know He is Light and Life.

I have walked this tension with Him before. He is a good Father. He loves me. He is perfect in all of His ways. I know these things are true, but I've also felt them like knives in my already bleeding heart. Suffering and pain are the seeming antithesis to every note that song pulses.

And when I feel that darkness I don't want to worship God. I don't want to love Him. I don't want to talk to Him. The tension between tragedy and purpose is hard to grasp and rarely reaches the depths of our feelings.

Yet.

Yet I know the truth. Yet I know who He is. I've walked this before and I know I will walk it again.

David has experienced that same oscillating strain- grief and peace, fear and love, despair and hope. He goes on to say- "But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing the Lord's praise, for he has been good to me." (v 5-6)

A lot of times trust and love are choices not feelings.

Even when the sorrow in my heart is a battle of suffocating death, I will choose to trust in His unfailing love, I will choose to rejoice in His salvation, and I will choose to sing His praise. Yes, I will. Because I know the truth and I know who God is and I choose to believe it day after 'uncertain' day. It's as simple and as challenging as that.

I don't have to be able to explain how the ways I feel hurt are 'perfect.' And I don't think I ever will. But I can still praise God for who He is and trust Him. He is faithful and He is good. And there lies one of the mysteries we have to live with: that somehow in these moments of hurt, He is loving me. I don't need to feel it or be able to explain it but I can trust it because He is trustworthy and He is sovereign.

It is not lost on me that my last blog post was back in January of 2019 where I reflected on similar things. The beginning of the year is a popular time to evaluate our choices. My word for last year was 'choose,' and the fact that I'm revisiting this again this year is a reminder that it's not a one-and-done thing we accomplish. It is sanctification- God changing who we are. It is very much a rhythm. It is alternating between strong and weak moments. It is repetition.

It is a song being formed by the Composer of all composers. He is making a masterpiece and we need to trust that the dissonant sounds and bangings that plague our hearts will somehow be beautiful when we experience the music of His presence, see His face, and behold all of His power and glory.

We just aren't there yet.