Breakfast at Tiffany’s: In absence of answers

One of the things God has continually asked of me when I write is honesty and vulnerability. This has often been a point of contention between us. I would much rather write flowery words of positivity that leave my readers feeling warm inside and believing me to be more talented and pious than I am. However, writing like that usually feels forced on my end and probably starts to sound like insincere platitudes on yours. Kind of makes me want to gag when I really think about it.

As I sit down at the computer today, I feel the gentle ache of the Holy Spirit’s nudge for more from me. Then in the mystifying way He always does, He speaks these words into my consciousness—words that could only be from Him:

“I haven’t called you to make yourself look transcendingly wise and holy. I’ve called you to remind hurting hearts that I am the God who sees. I meet them in the midst of their pain. I put on flesh and immersed myself in humanity. I experienced pressure, poverty, loss, betrayal, pain and death; then I conquered them so the world would have hope—so you would have hope. And if the God of the universe did not come to serve Himself but to seek and save the lost, what makes you think I’ve called you to do anything different? Stop hiding your weakness and pain, for they are integral to my plan of accomplishing my purpose through you.”

That is the essence with which I choose to write today. May the Lord forgive me for the times I have done anything less.

            I’ll come right out and say it. I’ve been mad a lot lately, and I’ve directed some of that anger toward God. The reason for my frustration? Absence of answers. I can’t tell you how many prayers I’ve prayed over the last few years asking God to either completely heal me or to help my doctors figure out why I feel so sick all the time and why I only seem to be getting worse. I keep reminding Him that I’ve got a great plan for my life and that this illness is really throwing a wrench in it. Still, there are a growing number of days when my normally strong muscles feel about as useful as Jell-O and my brain is so foggy that I can barely figure out what shirt to put on let alone write, do college homework, and run my shaved ice business. In short, I can go from “hear me roar” to “hear me snore” in seconds flat. The insurmountable number of inconclusive medical tests have contributed not only to my climbing medical debt but also to the delicate mental state that often accompanies overwhelming malaise. Additionally, the financial strain of not being able to work like I used to conjures feelings of uselessness. To be brutally honest, the absence of answers has at times made me doubt my own sanity and wonder if the God who could make it all better in an instant just enjoys messing with my head.

“Trust and Obey” seemed so much easier when things were going my way. But is trust really trust if it never has to contend with seasons of overwhelming doubt? And is obedience really obedience if it never has to operate completely outside the comfort of its own will? On the contrary, without the opportunity to be challenged, obedience and trust are merely noble yet abstract sentiments.

This challenging yet God-ordered season of life has gracefully forced me to see myself with more clarity. I didn’t realize how much of my hope was dependent on answers until the lack thereof threw me into cycles of despair. Then desperation uncovered hidden doubt and a demanding spirit. Like Peter who confidently stepped out on the water only to find how easily the waves distracted him from his Lord, I feel the shame of letting my circumstances make me question God’s goodness. I see Jesus’ hand reaching out to save me from myself and His words to Peter echoing in my own heart: “Oh ye of little faith, why did you doubt?”

You see, answers are never promised, but “all the promises of God in Him are Yes, and in Him Amen, to the glory of God through us” (2 Cor. 1:20). When my eyes are on answers waiting seems impossible, I stumble through life, and I lose my awe of God. But the moment I turn my gaze back to my Savior and His promises, the peace that passes understanding fills my heart and I’m enraptured by how deeply loved I truly am. In that moment I feel completely and utterly realigned and safe within His care. Author Paul Tripp sums it up so well:

“…waiting becomes a chronicle of ever-weakening faith because meditating on the circumstances will leave you in awe of the circumstances. They will appear to grow larger, you will feel smaller, and your vision of God will be clouded. But if you meditate on the Lord, you will be in greater awe of his presence, power, faithfulness and grace. The situation will seem smaller, and you will live with greater confidence even though nothing has changed. Have the circumstances captured your meditation? Are there ways in which you have grown weaker in faith? Or do the eyes of your heart focus on a God who is infinitely greater than anything you will ever face?”

Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.

Tripp, Paul David. Dangerous Calling: Confronting the Unique Challenges of Pastoral Ministry, Crossway, 2012.