The God of Seasons

If you have spoken Christian-ese for any amount of time, you have heard other Christians, or maybe yourself, talk about "spiritual seasons." 

This verbiage is so well known that it shows up in countless Christian songs. A few of my favorites songs that talk about this specifically are Seasons by Tracy Nitschke, Let the Ground Rest by Chris Renzema, and Not in a Hurry by Will Reagan, United Pursuit.

But for as much in my Christian life that I have heard about, learned about, and talked about spiritual seasons, I think my understanding was base at best. 

You see, before, I thought spiritual seasons were just sort of random. Kind of like the weather in Indiana in April--sometimes it snows, sometimes it rains, sometimes it's 70 degrees and you get a sunburn. I didn't see much of a rhyme or reason as to why certain seasons were times full of gut-wrenching pain and others overflowing with blessings, why certain seasons were full of tremendous spiritual growth, and why others were dry and lifeless. 

I knew God had a purpose behind the season I was in. I believed he ordained it, was in control of it and it was ultimately for the good of my sanctification and for his glory. Yes, yes, I believed all of that. I don't say random to mean pointless or trivial but simply that the order is not important.  

But what I failed to notice before, and what I am finally starting to notice now, is the deliberate and logical way seasons come and go. There is a rhyme and reason why the season you are in now came after the one you were in before, and the season you are in right now is preparing you for the season you will soon be in. 

Maybe this seems obvious. Maybe I am just a little dense, but this realization was pretty profound for me. 

The season I was in before the one I am in now was one the most incredible seasons, specifically because of the community I had during that time. The season before that one was completely empty of community. Now I find myself, not totally in want of community, but with far less community than I had last season. 

A few days ago I asked my mom to pray for deeper friendships and a stronger sense of community here. I also shared with her how the girl I felt like I was finally creating a real friendship with might be moving away in the next year. 

She expressed her discouragement for me and how she didn't understand why after such a difficult season in college trying to find a Christian community, and then finally getting it when I moved back home, I had to reenter a season of struggling to find community. 

It wasn't until that moment that the pieces clicked. I responded to my mom that maybe the reason I had that community that I did was so that I would be filled up enough to endure this season without as much community. 

And the more I thought about that, the more little things I began to realize. I realized that during my time living in Crawfordsville I had much more free time. I was able to spend hours studying the Bible, I read a bajillion books (a lot of them were Christian books, challenging books, and books about ministry and missions), I had access to tons of mentors, spiritual leaders, and resources. 

It could be easy for me to look back on that season of my life and think had I not had it so good during that time, the season I am in now would be easier somehow because I wouldn't know any different. If I had just gone from little to no community in college to trying to build community here, it might be easier because it's what I had always known. 

But God specifically wanted me to experience that type of community, that type of growth, that type of being poured into before coming here where building relationships would be set to a snail's pace trying to learn a new language and new culture and find my place in a new city, a new church and a new environment so different than the one I was used to. 

And I truly do believe that the Lord was filling up my cup, brimming and overflowing, to give me everything I would need for this new season of my life. 

Now, I don't want to give a false impression of my life right now. I am not suffering by any stretch of the imagination. I have a very good life here. I have a wonderful guy I get to date. I have familiar faces in Bible study and English classes that are beginning to feel like friends. I have a puppy that gives me a lot of joy despite causing me to lose my patience 47 times a day. I am beginning to cultivate stronger relationships with the women in small groups and within the church. 

I also want to say I know it won't always be this way. I know with more time, more fluency, and more intentionality, I will begin to have the community and deep relationships I so crave. 

And even though I know all of this logically, I still feel lonely. I still feel like I am not really connecting. I still feel like I am on the outside looking in. I still feel like friendships that go past the surface level are just out of reach. 

And I think it's beautiful that I have a God who knows that I shouldn't feel this way, but knows that I do anyway and knew that I would before ever coming here. He knew that making deep connections here would prove more difficult than I was used to and so he made sure to fill up my cup before I left. 

He knew I would be busy here, that I would feel overwhelmed at times, that I would often feel there weren't enough hours in that day, and that simple and quick tasks would become difficult and time-consuming. He knew I wouldn't be able to spend two hours every day reading my Bible and journaling out my prayers and finishing a new book every month, so he allowed the last season I was in to be full of that. 

And how cool that my seasons in college taught me to be content when it's just me and God. 

The words of Philippians 4:11-13 come to mind: "Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me." 

And so I know how to live with and without. I know how to drain my bank account every semester for college and I know how to live comfortably without worrying about paying bills. I know how to have joy and purpose single and I am starting to learn how to have joy dating. 

And maybe that's one of the lesser realized purposes of seasons. Because when we are able to walk through the best and the worst seasons we realize that through the strength and spirit of God, we can learn to be content no matter what the season. 

And the ugly flip-side of that coin is that we can learn to be discontent no matter what the season too. 

And so, as corny or cliché as it probably sounds, we get to choose contentment in this season. Because like all seasons, it's only here for a time. I know soon I will find myself in a new season and it might be harder than the season I am in now, or maybe easier, who knows. 

But you know what I do know? That the seasons of my life that I have been the most overcome with thankfulness and gratitude and joy have not been the ones that have been the most comfortable, the easiest or the ones that looked the best on the outside--they have been the ones that I looked only to God to give me satisfaction, peace, joy, and contentment. 

I also have a somewhat unorthodox opinion that going through unimaginable pain makes the rest of the trials of life that come your way much easier simply because nothing can compare to that. 

I have walked through deep griefs and sorrows and I am still here. I came out on the other side of that season. And not to say I have already gone through the worst seasons of my life (no matter what I say when I am feeling melodramatic and moody) but I have already walked through the hardest seasons I have ever known in my 24 years. 

And if I can learn to be content in those seasons, I can definitely be content now. 

I am thankful for this season. I will be thankful when it ends. I am thankful for what I am learning now. I will be thankful for what this will prepare me for in the next season. 

You are loved and you are not alone, 

S

How Ministry Can Tempt Us Into Perfectionism

 

I've never really considered myself as someone tempted by perfectionism. 

The best example I can give of this is the fact that I didn't graduate college with a 4.0. I loved school and learning and I would have loved to have graduated with a 4.0, but I didn't need a 4.0. I didn't feel like an utter failure unworthy of love without a 4.0. 

In my mind, the baseline criteria for being a perfectionist was graduating with a 4.0. 

But later I realized that the ruler I used to determine this was completely focused on what I could outwardly measure, and I completely failed to see that perfectionism is measured by the attitude of my heart and not how organized I am, how high my grades are, or how well I exercise discipline over my body. 

I recently started reading a book titled: "Pleasing People: How Not to be an Approval Junkie" by Lou Priolo. 

This blog could very well have been titled: "How Ministry Can Tempt Us Into People-Pleasing" because people-pleasing and perfectionism have a sister bond--a bond that runs its root into the deep soil of pride. 

Again, being a people-pleaser was not something I felt I struggled with. I knew how to say no, and how to be honest about what I thought and felt. I knew how to approach hard conversations and speak painful truths in love. I didn't feel like I was a slave to the approval of other people.  

But just like perfectionism, people-pleasing can be subtle, sneaky, and blinding. 

And what can begin as subtle, sneaky, and blinding can quickly become overt in the context of ministry because ministry is one of the few unique occupations where achieving a standard of perfection or pleasing those around you can sometimes feel like the unspoken expectation.  

While I have never worried about pleasing everyone around me at all times regardless of the emotional or mental or spiritual cost to me (a common people-pleaser stereotype), I have always cared about meeting or exceeding the expectations of those in my authority. Normally, in a 9-5 work situation, that person is reduced down to one or two people. But in ministry, and strictly speaking from my personal experience as a missionary, that person winds up being a lot of different people. 

I have the other missionaries on my field who have authority over me and seniority in all things missions-related. Meeting their expectations and creating a good working environment is something I care very much about doing. I don't want them to regret inviting me to join them on the field.  

Then I have those higher up in ABWE that I report to on a semi-regular basis about my ministry, my progress with language learning, and my life here in Brazil. As their employee and newly appointed missionary in Brazil, making sure I meet their expectations is important for me to be able to continue doing what I am doing.   

Then there is my sending church Rock Point that stuck their neck out for me by telling ABWE: "Yes! We think this girl should be a missionary! We vouch for her and put our name on her!" And so showing Rock point that their act of faith on my part was not in vain is important to me. 

And then, because of the uniqueness of being a missionary supported through the willful donations of supporters, there is a fear that if supporters are not pleased with my work, my attitude, or any other number of things about me or what I am doing here that they will stop supporting me. 

Now, there is an element of all this that is good, normal, and even recommended. If I was not being held accountable to my organization, my bosses, my coworkers, and my supporters, I would be given free rein and it would be difficult to give others confidence in my faithfulness, as it would require them to just take my word for it. Little accountability with a lot of freedom is just a recipe to fall into sin. 

If I didn't care about pleasing my coworkers, my bosses or those supporting me at all, that would be another issue altogether. 

And so, I am not at all saying it shouldn't be this way. I am not saying that those in ministry should not try to please those to whom they are accountable. 

But life in ministry can sometimes feel like living under a microscope, like every aspect of your public and private life should be made available for speculation and public commentary. It can sometimes feel like you are not allowed to have bad days, dry spiritual seasons, or doubts. It can sometimes feel like you are being held on an impossible pedestal and it's only a matter of time until you disappoint the ones who put you there. 

In the past, I often would hear my pastor remind our congregation not to put him on a pedestal because he would only disappoint us if we did that. He challenged us to remember that God is the only one we can put on a pedestal like that. He told us that people will fail us every time: pastors will fail, missionaries will fail, the people we think of as superhero Christians will fail, and our faith might take a serious blow if the person we placed on that pedestal fails or walks away from the faith. 

And I can only imagine as the figure of authority and knowledge standing up and preaching every Sunday, pastors experience this kind of pressure for perfection and people-pleasing even stronger than I do. And so, I recognize this issue isn't one I experience in a vacuum. This is a widespread issue for Christians everywhere and especially those in roles of ministry and authority. 

And because this issue is so widesrpead, there are three camps I feel like we can fall into when we feel this pressure: 

The first is buckling under the pressure and becoming a slave to man rather than a slave to God. In this camp, the desire for a congregations' or supporter's or ministry organization's approval becomes so important that the person is willing to disobey or sin against God in order to stay in the good graces of people. The praise of people is an intoxicating idol that they are willing to do anything to continue receiving. 

"The inordinate fear of rejection also puts people-pleasers in bondage to man by so paralyzing them that they are diverted from fulfilling certain biblical responsibilities....several pastors I know believe what the Bible says about disciplining church members who continue in sin. Yet because of the fear of offending, some in the church or, worse, for fear of losing their jobs, they make dismal excuses for not confronting those in the congregation who need to be rescued and restored. Thus, like the rulers in the twelfth chapter of John who would not confess him for fear of being put out of the synagogue because 'they loved the approval of men rather than the approval of God' (John 12:43), these pastors have been brought into bondage because of their fear" (Pleasing People: How Not to be an Approval Junkie, Lou Priolo, 55). 

The second camp is completely rejecting the pressure and making no effort to please. This results in an aggressive and combative attitude that is willing to pick fights over insignificant matters and is uncaring and harsh in how they deal with people suffering or in sin or in need of spiritual support. It results in an attitude of pride that says their only job is to please God, forgetting that part of pleasing God is loving others well and, at times, showing more love and grace than we feel like they deserve. 

"Whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God. Give no offense either to Jews or Greeks or to the church of God; just as I also please all men in all things, not seeking my own profit but the profit of many, so that they may be saved. Be imitators of me, just as I also am of Christ" (1 Corinthians 10:27-11:1). 

The third camp is the healthiest but the hardest one to reach. This camp pleases people for the sake of showing love but knows that there will be times when they cannot please everyone or meet everyone's expectations and in those moments all the validation we need comes from God. This attitude knows that perfection isn't something they can reach and actively reminds people of that. It doesn't make an idol of the praise of people and isn't devastated when that praise stops coming. 

"Being a people-pleaser is like having a handle on your back that others can grab hold of and push you and pull you in all directions. Ironically, most of the time, they are unaware that they have such control over you. That's because it is you yourself who gives them this power. By God's grace, you can break off that handle and set yourself free from the control of others. Oh, to be sure, God wants you to serve others. But such God-pleasing service is to be done out of a love for your neighbor (a love that gives to his real needs), not out of a self-love that can't see his real needs because it is too concerned about its own wants" (Priolo 53)

And while I would have said that there were times before coming onto the mission field that I fell into the first camp, I would have said that most of the time I lived in the third camp. However, since coming onto the field, it feels like what used to be making occasional visits to the first camp has become an all out living arrangement. 

I have spent days crying and anxious because I feel like I am not the expectations for my Portuguese learning. I have moments of doubt and worry if I am doing enough in ministry, scared my coworkers secretly wish I pulled more weight. I have times of fear wondering if my supports think my life as a missionary looks like what they think it's supposed to. 

It feels like the bar is raised so high that it's only a matter of time until everyone is disappointed in me. And what has been a painful process to walk through is realizing this fear is really a manifestation of pride. My thoughts are wholly focused on making sure everyone continues to think well of me. My energy is focused on whether my name remains well spoken of. 

Does it matter to me more knowing I am living the lot God has set out for me? Does it matter that I know am trying to balance time in ministry, time in Portuguese learning, time in English teaching, and time for myself in a healthy way? Does it matter that even if I lose the good opinion of some people that my identity is still rooted and grounded in Christ and I don't need to go chasing after their approval and win it back?

I remember after a particularity hard conversation with someone whose opinion I highly valued. Because I valued their opinion so highly, I was overly sensitive to their facial expressions, tone and I read between the lines. That's on me. But I walked away from the conversation feeling like they didn't really think much of my judgment, which meant they didn't think much of me, which meant I had done something wrong that changed their opinion of me, which meant I needed to better explain myself so they could know their new perspective was wrong. 

In reality, all of this was only going on in my head. The other person, I realized later, probably didn't think any of those things. But a situation presented itself that threatened to jeopardize my pride and I went into survival mode. 

Later that night I read Mark chapter 3:

"Jesus entered a house, and the crowd gathered again so that they were not even able to eat. When his family heard this, they set out to restrain him, because they said, 'He's out of his mind.' The scribes who had come down from Jerusalem said, 'He is possessed by Beelzebul,' and 'He drives out demons by the ruler of the demons'" (Mark 3:21-22). 

The verses struck me in a way than they had never done in the past. Jesus' attitude struck me in a completely new way. The people saying these horrible things about Jesus were his family! The people who had grown up with him, seen him live sinless and perfect his whole life, they knew his perfect character better and more intimately than anyone and they still accused him of being out of his mind. 

Yet, Jesus didn't become heartbroken over this. He didn't stop what he was doing and become obsessed with proving to his family or the religious leaders that he was really in his right mind or try to earn their respect. He didn't become discouraged by their doubts in his character and lose heart in his ministry. He simply kept going because his validation came from doing the Father's will, and not from the high opinion of his family or the religious leaders. 

I realized my mental and emotional focus on meeting expectations had more to do with me than it did on really wanting to make sure I was doing a good job. Doing a good job begins and ends with knowing you are doing what you should. Pride focuses on making sure people think you are doing a good job whether you are or not. 

And so, I confess there are times when I struggle to know even my own motivation. It's so easy to deceive even ourselves and forfeit our servanthood to God to a lesser servanthood to man. 

But I am also here to say that there is hope in Christ who can release you from such a bondage and even if you find yourself in a position of ministry I want to encourage you that you, maybe even more so than others, need to be wholly and fully a servant only of Christ. 

Pride is a sneaky disease that will quickly kill even the best intentions, ministries and churches. 

And what is the remedy of pride? Self-forgetfulness. Humility. A heart so fixated on Christ and others that you are not so worried about your own name. 

Easier said than done right? But I am right there with you. And the Holy Spirit, if we ask, can show us our true hearts and motivations and can give us the strength to start to change. No, it won't happen quickly or comfortably, but it will happen. And Christ will be there with Grace every step of the way. 

You are loved and you are not alone, 

S  

Sarah and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Habit of Running

 

 

Running is stupid. 

It's stupid that I would put my body through an hour of pain and physical stress for 15 minutes of euphoria. 

Statistically, I am a complete idiot for agreeing to this wildly unfair bargain day after day. 

Here's the thing about running: there is not one person I have met who consistently runs who doesn't also hate it just a teeny tiny bit. We are all perfectly aware we're playing the fool, and we are all totally okay with it. 

Here's generally how my runs go: I lace up my shoes, grab my headphones, start my playlist full of the head-banging, alternative music I used to listen to in high school that still makes me feel like I can conquer the world (Welcome to the Black Parade by My Chemical Romance) and start what will the next five or six miles full of promise and energy. 

It doesn't take long for things to start becoming uncomfortable. I notice a cramp in my left calf, my right earbud is not quite as tight as the other one, my stomach is starting to tighten up and I feel the remains of my lunch bouncing up and down, and my breathing is still sporadic and shallow as I'm trying to find a rhythm and ignore all the persistent whiny cries of my body.   

My mind begins documenting the grievances: 

"Are you sure you drank enough water today? Better stop and try again later because you might die from dehydration if you continue." 

"Hello? Are you listening to me? There is a CRAMP in your SIDE. I don't think it's ever, ever going to go away. I think you need to stop running RIGHT NOW and probably look on WebMD for whatever VERY SERIOUS medical problem this is." 

"Nope, nope, nope, this is the wrong song. I can't run to this song. We need to turn around right now and try again tomorrow because the whole vibe is totally off now. How could you pick this song to begin our run?!"

And if I allow myself to start to think about the next five, six, or heaven forbid, seven miles, I panic. How could I possibly endure seven miles of all this annoying pain? 

But then, I will myself to take deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth, I relax my shoulders and my muscles and decide to only think about the very next step. Can I make another step? Of course I can. Then one step becomes two which becomes five and ten, until next thing I know, I am no longer thinking about steps, but simply enjoying the wind on my face, finally having found my rhythm. 

Life in ministry isn't far off from this. 

Ministry starts out with a lot of idealism: 

"I'm going to change the world!" 

"Every day is going to be perfect because we're all Christians and why on Earth would we struggle with sin?" 

"God is going to bless me every step of the way because I am walking in obedience to his will!" 

"I am going to go full steam all the time and never feel tired because what is more energizing than a life of serving Christ?"

But then things settle, life becomes uncomfortable, we notice the small annoyances, and we begin to panic about SPENDING THE REST OF MY LIFE STUCK HERE!? 

Of course, I have never, ever, not even once, thought something even remotely close to that. No, that would be silly. I really adore the speed bumps in the middle of the road that aren't painted so you can't see them at all and almost obliterate your car every time you go to the grocery store. I think it's really cute how in the summer you have a full-time job simply devoted to sweating profusely. I love playing this fun little game with motorcyclists called "Whoops, I almost killed you there" because they don't obey traffic laws and drive at neck-breaking speeds.  

Jokes aside, the adjustment period can be really hard. The novelty wears off and things start to chafe. 

Many days I find that I am just plain tired. I'm tired of having to use my brain on overdrive every day to do simple tasks. I'm tired of learning Portuguese. I'm tired of being away from my family and friends. And because I'm tired, the little things are starting to raise their annoying pipsqueak voices over the silliest things. How can you possibly raise the price of coconut oil 40 Reais from one week to the next? Are you out of your mind??! (And yes, this really did happen). 

I just want to run back to familiarity. I just want to run back to comfort. I want my dad to pour me a hot cup of coffee in one of our GIANT AMERICAN MUGS, I want my feet to touch a surface that isn't sterile tile (wood, carpet, please, anything but tile), I want to drive down smooth paved roads and not hit a single speed bump, I want to sit in a group of people and listen to them talk without straining every muscle in my brain trying to decipher their conversation, I want to go to the grocery store and know that all the same food that was there last week will be there this week, and most of all, I want to eat something other than rice and beans for lunch. 

But what happens when we decide to live our lives in comfort and familiarity? We never lace up our shoes, we never start running, and we never realize that this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad habit of running is actually the thing we love. 

I'm not the only one who thinks running and ministry parallel one another. The Bible is full of imagery of runners being compared to Christians. 

1 Corinthians 9:24 says: "Do you not know that in a race all the runners run but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. So, I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air. But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified."

Here, Paul is specifically talking about the race set before those in ministry, even more specifically pastors. He is emphasizing the importance of pastors running the Christian life well, to discipline themselves against sin and temptation that would make them hypocrites before their congregation, and ultimately disqualify them from being a pastor. 

But this can also be applied to those in non-pastoral ministry positions and even Christians in general. 

To be an athlete takes sacrifice. It means giving up time with your family and friends. It means having stricter guidelines and rules than the other people around you. It means that there are those you are competing against that are praying for your failure and actively putting obstacles in your way to keep you distracted and prevent you from finishing the race. 

How accurately that describes this Christian life. How accurately that describes my life as a missionary. 

You and I and every other Christian have an enemy that is doing everything he can to prevent us from finishing the race, to get us to decide it's too hard or too painful or the distractions sound a whole lot more enjoyable than running. He wants us to get entangled in sin. He wants us to become lazy. He wants us to decide that we aren't strong enough and God isn't big enough to help us finish.  

And sometimes he wins. I've watched so many people I know and love walk away from the faith in pursuit of sin. They decide holiness is too hard. They decide God really isn't good and his way is really just restraining and evil. I've seen pastors leave churches and denounce the faith. I've watched those I care about become so lazy that they just sit down on the road and completely stop running. They say they're just catching their breath, that they'll start running in just a few minutes, and then they never do. They never start running again because the ease of sitting is much more alluring than the discipline of running. 

2 Timothy 4:3-4 warns us of this: "For a time will come when people will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear. They will turn their ears away from truth and turn aside to myths."

So, we should not be surprised when this happens. When those who claimed to be Christians are revealed for what they have always been. When people walk away and give into to their desires, selfishness and sin. We should take this as a warning that we are not above being tempted and falling away in the same way.

Verse 5 continues on saying: "But you, keep your head in all situations, endure hardship, do the work of an evangelist, discharge all the duties of your ministry."

So how do we keep from giving up, falling away, and being disqualified from the race? Keeping our mind saturated in truth so it does not become confused by half-truths and deceiving lies from the world and the enemy, endure the hardship that comes from ministry and life in general by crying out to God when our flesh is weak and we don't have the physical strength to keep running, and continue doing the work--don't sit down, don't make a pit stop on your run to Denny's for pancakes and shakes--keep running, keep serving, keep being faithful. 

So, even though I find myself tired, annoyed and longing for the comforts of familiarity, I will keep running this race because the minor pains now aren't even worth comparing to that feeling of euphoria when I reach home again.

And this time it won't be euphoria that lasts 15 minutes, but euphoria that will last forever.  

"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day--and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing" (2 Timothy 4:7-8).

You are loved and you are not alone, 

S

Four-Legged Lessons in Love

 

Napping with Milo--his favorite place to sleep was on my chest or on top of any other piece of clothing that smelled like me. 

I've never been much of an "animal person." 

I know, lock me up, I'm the heartless lunatic that never gushed over someone else's puppy or cat or whatever small creature they had with them (babies included). 

From a very young age, I was babysitting other people's children and watching other people's animals, and here's what I learned: animals and children consume your life. 

What I tried to explain away as just my personality not being compatible with high energy animals or fears of not being a good enough parent, really just boiled down to selfishness. And I am an incredibly selfish person.   

I covet my alone time, my space, and I viciously defend the corners of my life nobody can see or touch or know anything about. I love quiet and peace and feeling no obligation to talk to anyone. 

My ideal weekend is backpacking in the woods completely alone, surrounded by birds and occasional deer who couldn't care less what I am doing. 

And so, you can imagine my surprise when, without thinking, I scoop up a 2-month-old puppy wandering in front of my apartment one dark Saturday night. 

My colleague stood beside me, eyeing me and the dirt-coated ball of fur in my arms. "Are you going to keep that?" they asked. 

I looked down at the shaking configuration of skin and bones, pushing its nose in the crook of my arm. "What else am I supposed to do with it?" I asked. Picking up the puppy may have been impulsive, but putting the puppy back in the street where he was surely going to die would be deliberate and cruel.

So, I did what anyone else would have done--I kept him. After my colleague wished me good luck with a chuckle and a shake of their head, I brought the puppy inside and gave it a bath. 

It was clear from the lack of fur, sores, and scabies that this puppy had probably been born on the streets and abandoned as the runt of the litter. I had no idea how to "own a dog" much less fix a very sick one. 

The night I brought Milo home. He fell asleep quickly after I gave him a bath. 

I called my sister and brother-in-law and surprised them with my latest impulsive decision. I played it off as nothing big, told them I wasn't even sure I would keep him, and said maybe I would find someone else who wanted him because, after all, I am not an animal person anyway. 

But that night, as the puppy cried and whimpered all night, I found my heart growing soft. And as much as I tried to play off getting attached, I spent hours looking up the perfect dog name until I finally settled on Milo which means peaceful or merciful. 

The next day I took Milo to the vet and was told that in addition to having scabies and worms, he also had anemia. I was given medicine and sent home. 

The days that followed are kind of a blur. I spent very little time sleeping and much time holding Milo who loved the smell of my clothes and only wanted to be sleeping if he was on me or on a piece of my clothing that I had worn recently. 

I began imagining what Milo would be like when he got better, stronger, healthier. I imagined him going on runs with me, cuddling with me while I read, and simply being a companion. 

But there were moments of frustration, of tears. I remember calling a friend and just crying on FaceTime while I held Milo wrapped in a towel because every time I walked away from Milo he would cry, but I was so scared of getting scabies that I didn't want to hold him for long periods of time. 

There were moments when I was going to the vet every single day for a week, thinking that this isn't what I thought this would be like, wishing I had never picked him up in the first place. 

I remember when Milo began vomiting every time he ate and then eventually refused to eat anything at all. 

I remember laying on my kitchen floor while he laid on my favorite tye dye shirt, begging him to eat so he could get better, wondering why I cared so much about a dog that just the other day I had fantasized about putting back in the streets. 

And then Milo died, and I cried real tears because I learned the love that little puppy that I never wanted in the first place. 

And as I packed up the collar and leash that Milo hardly got to use, donated the bag of food Milo never ate, and threw away the cardboard box he used for a bed, I realized that this is the kind of love that we are called to exhibit as Christians and the same kind of love that goes against the very grain of our nature. 

The kind of love that keeps giving when we get nothing in return. Love that chooses to give when we might get hurt. 

I knew there was a possibility Milo wouldn't make it. I knew there was a possibility he would never get better. I knew that choosing to get attached to him came with a very real possibility of heartbreak. 

Ephesians 2:2-3 says: "And you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience--among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind." 

To love God, a spouse, an animal or a child is not natural for us. Our nature is selfishness, indifference to the needs of others, and the quintessential romantic comedy character--terrified of commitment, caring about someone until the point it doesn't benefit them anymore, and allowing their selfishness to justify being unfaithful. 

It's embarrassing to admit, but I used to think that those who decided to get married or have kids were somehow taking an easier route than choosing to be single, which was only me trying to make myself feel better about being single by putting others down (sin is really ugly, isn't it?).

But I now realize that it's actually much easier to be single and allow your selfishness to remain unchecked. You don't realize how deep your self-centeredness runs until you are asked to put yourself aside for a spouse or a child. I now realize how much of a sacrifice of self it requires to vow your life to another, to surrender your body to the needs of a child, and give up every sacred moment of space, time, and silence.   

So, where's the hope when all of us are just selfish little goblins screaming about "my precious" anytime anyone tried to pull our coveted alone time from our clutched fists? 

Ephesians 2 continues on and says: "But God being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ--by grace you have been saved--and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Jesus Christ. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast" (vs. 4-8). 

Our only hope to love how Christ calls us to love is through Christ; through his example of such selfless acts of love toward us on the day he was hung on the tree for our sins, and every single day since. 

It's through being so astounded that he chooses to love us and even shower us with blessings when we haven't taken the time to pray or spend a single minute with him in months. 

It's through his life-transforming power that gives us a new heart--removes our heart of stone that refuses to love, refuses to trust, refuses to let anyone inside, and gives us a tender heart of flesh that chooses to love even when it doesn't give any rewards back and feels like it requires more of us than we have to give. 

And so for the seven days that God allowed me to know Milo, he taught me some lessons in love that will last much longer. 

You are loved and you are not alone, 

S

Come Again?

Six months ago, as I trudged knee-deep through the apocalyptic, pretentious, preachy, and rarely encouraging content on Twitter, I stumbled across a quote that a poet I follow posted: 

"Loneliness is the inability to speak with another in one's private language" (Yiyun Li). 

At the time, living in the heart of the Midwest, my understanding of the quote was about being able to talk to people who speak the same language as you in a figurative sense--people who are on the same wavelength as you, people you don't always seem to have to explain yourself to, justify yourself to, or qualify yourself to--people who just "get" you. 

Since stuffing everything I own into suitcases and resurrecting my life 5,000 miles away from my sleepy Midwest town, that quote has taken on a new shape. There is loneliness in not being able to speak your heart language with another, yes. But there is loneliness in not being able to speak your native language with another, and that is a loneliness I had never known until now. 

Sure, I have been to other countries before. I've stood on the red earth of Zambia while words in Tonga pierced through the summer heat. I've been in the streets of Germany while words rushed past my ears as meaningless as the babbling of the ocean. But those trips had always been short, and there had always been an end date when I knew I would be returning to the land of my native tongue. 

But this is different. 

I live in an apartment that I pay rent for every month. I drive to the grocery store every week. I go to church with the same people, and listen to a sermon in Portuguese every Sunday. This isn't a trip I am taking for a couple weeks, this is my life. 

I want to make a small side note before I continue: there have been people I have been able to talk to. I have David and Sarah and their daughters, Evelyn and Anna Clair. Being able to have them, and honestly just hear English being spoken from their lips, has been a lifeboat in times when I felt like I was drowning in the intelligible. 

There are a handful of Brazilians here who speak English that I have been able to communicate with, share my heart with, and connect with. I have also been able to start to communicate in Portuguese in slow careful sentences and this has made me feel like I can connect better with the people here as well. 

I also have been able to talk to friends and family back home. Being able to see their faces and hear their familiar voice and accents has helped fill me up on days I feel empty. 

In spite of this, there are days I can still feel loneliness creeping in. 

It comes tapping on my window when I am trying to communicate a word in English that doesn't exist in Portuguese, and I am left offering a cheap imitation of an idea I was trying to express, leaving me feeling like I didn't really say what I wanted to.  

It barges into my apartment uninvited when the conversations my Portuguese allows me to engage in never scratch past the surface and I am left feeling like I am not truly communicating with anyone, like I am not saying anything that matters, and like I am not truly knowing or being known by anyone. 

I have been learning Portuguese with two separate teachers--one for grammar and one for conversation--for about three or four weeks since I have been here. 

I have learned enough to have conversations with people that I imagine are the equivalent of a 15-year-old boy learning to drive his dad's rusty green stick-shift truck in a muddy cornfield. 

Here is the most important thing I have learned so far: language is so much more than words. 

Language is shared experiences, trends, culture, and slang that have grown and changed and evolved over decades. You can't know all of those things simply by learning how to say, "good morning."

Although, it certainly is a good place to start. 

Here's the second most important thing I have learned so far: I don't know how I would learn another language if the Gospel wasn't present in my life and in the lives of those who have received me here.  

To learn a language requires so much patience and grace. So. Much. Patience. And. Grace. There have been days I feel my chest tightening in frustration because I have tried four or five times to say something and I am still not able to communicate with the person I am talking to. Those are days I want to scream at them, at myself, at the world.

The simple fact of the Gospel is that we can extend much grace because we know much grace has been extended to us. 

And so when a phrase as simple as "what do you mean?" ends in a blank stare, attempts to find another phrase that communicates the same thing, and an eventual "Never mind" I can have grace (and more patience than I currently possess). 

When my speaking sounds like the sloppy sentences of a child just learning how to talk, I am thankful for the other believers who have had grace with me.  

Finally, here's the third (or maybe this should be first, and this list should be flipped, oops) most important thing I have learned so far: I can think of few other showcases of the unity we find in Christ than when believers from different languages, different cultures, different experiences, and different worldviews can sit at a dining room table and study the Word of God together and connect with each other and be brothers and sisters in Christ because of the blood sacrifice of Jesus Christ that made us all ONE. 

A bible study that has started meeting in my apartment on
Friday nights. We had our first study in Hebrews this week. 

Psalm 67 says: "May God be gracious to us and bless us and make his face shine on us--so that your ways may be known on Earth, your salvation among all nations. May the peoples praise you, God; may all the peoples praise you. May the nations be glad and sing for joy, for you rule the peoples with equality and guide the nations of the Earth. May the peoples praise you, God; may all the peoples praise you. The land yields its harvest; God, our God, blesses us. May God bless us still, so that all the ends of the Earth will fear him." 

In this verse there is no distinction of ethnicity, language, gender or class. We have been separated and divided because of sin, but this isn't the way we were created to live. We were created to live as one people, all worshipping together.  

"After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, 'Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the lamb!'" (Revelation 7:9-10). 

This is the long game. This is the end-all-be-all goal of everything missionaries, and evangelists everywhere do every day; that they will one day stand with believers from every corner of this curved planet--that all believers will one day sing God's praises in perfect harmony.

And so when language, cultural and geographical barriers begin to get broken down on this side of Heaven, in the midst of a sin infested land riddled with impatience, biases and stereotypes, I am convinced we get to see a little glimpse of what that final day will be like when there is nothing that separates one believer from the next. 

And so, yes, right now it can feel lonely, but I have a funny feeling that once I get through this season of language learning and assimilation to the culture here, my idea of what it means to be known and seen and understood will have a firmer identity in the Gospel and look a little bit more like what Christ intended. 

You are loved and you are not alone, 

S 

A Breath of Fresh Air

I sit writing this entry from a place that, at times, felt impossible for me to end up. I sit writing this entry under the bright, late afternoon summer sunshine of Arcoverde, Pernambuco Brazil. 

Being here has felt like a breath of fresh air. 

I know it's only been a short time. I know, eventually, all the glitter will settle and I will be left with life "per usual." I know negative emotions will come, challenges will begin to surface, uncomfortable growth will happen, and there may even be tremendous suffering ahead of me. But for now, right in this very moment, right during these first couple of weeks of stretching my legs in the unfamiliar, life has been pretty, well, wonderful. 

It's a weird wonderful. An unfamiliar wonderful. 

I remember during my first couple of days here, it felt like I was living a dream. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, to receive an email telling me that there was a problem with my visa and that I needed to go back to the United States, to realize I wasn't given the right legal papers, or to find out that I would have to be deported for an indefinite amount of time due to the virus. 

It was almost like I couldn't accept the wonderful thing God was giving me to enjoy because it seemed too good to be true. It was almost like I had grown so accustomed to life being hard, to life being a conscious, everyday effort to keep working, keep trying, keep holding on, that I didn't know how to react when life became easy. 

It was in the midst of reflecting on this when I realized the extent to which I experienced spiritual warfare leading up to me getting here. 

Ephesians 6:12 says: "For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places."

Spiritual warfare and the powers of the enemy are alive and real. I don't think we talk about it very much because we don't want to risk sounding kooky. Honestly, I really didn't even think about it much until I started to experience it for myself (if that isn't that a song as old as time). 

My thoughts of Satan were pretty much equivalent to my fears about possibly spontaneously combusting someday. Sure it's possible, but it doesn't have much impact on my daily life. I knew Satan existed, but he was a faraway threat that probably wouldn't amount to much. 

Then things started piling up, all at once. 

First, I watched those I love walkthrough unimaginable grief, I lost my grandfather, I watched multiple people I love, dive deep into entangling sin, totally unaware of the destruction they were hurdling toward. I soaked up the pain around me like a sponge. I felt a deep sense of guilt. How could I leave my family and everyone I loved so dearly when so much hurting was going on? How could I be so selfish? 

Second, I knew that this path the Lord had called me to meant singleness of mind and heart. I had become aware that, at least for now, I needed to leave my old life behind and leave no strings attached. But Satan knew of my deep longing for companionship--to be loved, to be understood, to be walked alongside with someone of similar mind and heart. And over and over that desire was poked and prodded and over and over again the Lord kept telling me no. Telling me not yet. Telling me that I needed to go do this alone. 

And by the end, I was exhausted. It's exhausting to want so badly to be loved but to know that you are supposed to be single at this time. It's exhausting and frustrating to actively choose singleness when you don't really want it.  

Third, I began having night terrors. I began waking myself up in the middle of dreams yelling because I was watching myself and hundreds of women get brutally murdered, night after night. I would dread going to sleep because I wasn't sure what form of sadistic murder would await me in my dreams. I am not someone who watches scary movies and I don't read scary books, these images were not anything I had ever read or watched before. 

Fourth, complications and fears about my visa caused a great deal of stress and worry. I had no idea when or if it would arrive, whether my documents would be safe traveling through mail or whether I would have to cancel my flight if it came late. I considered canceling my flight multiple times. I began making a life Plan B if Brazil didn't work out at all. 

Fifth, in the midst of all of this, I was deeply sad. I was so heartbroken to leave my family and friends. I cried at my sister's baby gender reveal because I realized I would miss the first two years, maybe more, of my nephew's life. I cried while babysitting my nieces and nephews knowing I wouldn't be around to experience so much with them. It broke my heart to miss so many moments, memories and friendships while I was away. It was almost enough to keep me from leaving. 

Ephesians 6:13-18 then goes on to say: "Therefore, take up the whole armor of God that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm. Stand, therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and, as shoes for your feet, having put on the readiness given by the gospel of peace. In all circumstances, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming darts of the evil one; and take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the spirit, which is the word of God, praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication. To that end, keep alert with all perseverance, making supplication for all the saints."  

Spiritual warfare is a tactic of the enemy to distract us, break us down, and try to make us believe lies rather than truth. It's a concentrated effort from the enemy to keep us from doing something that he doesn't want us to. 

Now, I want to give a quick caveat that there is a difference between spiritual warfare and the consequences of our own sin. Sometimes life is hard because we are reaping what we ourselves have sown. Sometimes the road is difficult because God is trying to show us that this isn't the path we are supposed to take. Only you and God can search your heart and know where that lands. 

Honestly, I wrestled a lot with whether the Lord might be telling me this wasn't the path I should be taking. I wrestled with whether the road was hard because God was trying to tell me to turn another way. I prayed so much about that, and time and time again He gave me confirmations and encouragements to remind me, yes, this was the path He would have me take.  

But when you have prayed and discerned spiritual warfare is what is happening, it is important to remember that you must fight, hard. The lies thrown at you will seem logical and real. The distractions will seem good and fulfilling. The tactics to take you off the path the Lord is leading you down will be hard to ignore.  

Let's revisit my earlier list and read them through the lens of what untruth lies at the root. 

First: I watched those I love walkthrough unimaginable grief, I lost my grandfather, I watched multiple family members dive deep into entangling sin, totally unaware of the destruction they were hurdling toward. I soaked up the pain around me like a sponge. I felt a deep sense of guilt. How could I leave my family and everyone I loved so dearly when so much hurting was going on? How could I be so selfish? (The root lie here is that I am responsible for fixing the people around me because I cannot entrust them to God. The truth is that God, much better than me, is the healer of all wounds, the binder of all hurts, the mender of all things broken.)

Second: I knew that this path the Lord had called me to meant singleness of mind and heart. I had become aware that, at least for now, I needed to leave my old life behind and leave no strings attached. But Satan knew of my deep longing for companionship--to be loved, to be understood, to be walked alongside with someone of similar mind and heart. And over and over that desire was poked and prodded and over and over again the Lord kept telling me no. Telling me not yet. Telling me that I needed to go do this alone. 

And by the end, I was exhausted. It's exhausting to want so badly to be loved but to know that you are supposed to be single at this time. It's exhausting and frustrating to actively choose singleness when you don't really want it.  (The root lie here is that if I left for the mission field without having someone committed to me, I would never find someone. I would be forever single on the mission field without any companionship. Even deeper than that, is the lie that God doesn't know best or care about my happiness. The truth is that if He asks me to leave the country single, it is because He knows what is best for me and what will bring me the most joy and Him the most glory. I can trust that.)

Third: I began having night terrors. I began waking myself up in the middle of dreams yelling because I was watching myself and hundreds of women get brutally murdered, night after night. I would dread going to sleep because I wasn't sure what form of sadistic murder would await me in my dreams. I am not someone who watches scary movies and I don't read scary books, these images were not anything I had ever read or watched before. (The root lie here is that only danger and terror awaited me on the mission field. I needed to be fearful and scared at all times because foreign countries are dangerous and I am just one wrong move from being murdered. The truth is that God gives us discretion, awareness, and safety. It doesn't mean I won't ever be in danger of being killed, but it means that the Lord will never leave or forsake me and if it is my time to go home to Him, I will. If it isn't, God will protect me from danger.)

Fourth: complications and fears about my visa caused a great deal of stress and worry. I had no idea when or if it would arrive, whether my documents would be safe traveling through mail or whether I would have to cancel my flight if it came late. I considered canceling my flight multiple times. I began making a life Plan B if Brazil didn't work out at all. (The root lie here is that God didn't have the legal aspects of Brazil under control, that the Visa and the Brazilian Consulate were out of His reach of influence. It was a lie grounded in the idea that God couldn't really make everything happen smoothly. The truth is that God is sovereign over everything, and He will ordain and work through all things as He sees fit. He hears our prayers and has the power to work things out (which He did!!!)). 

Fifth: in the midst of all of this, I was deeply sad. I was so heartbroken to leave my family and friends. I cried at my sister's baby gender reveal because I realized I would miss the first two years, maybe more, of my nephew's life. I cried while babysitting my nieces and nephews knowing I wouldn't be around to experience so much with them. It broke my heart to miss so many moments, memories and friendships while I was away. It was almost enough to keep me from leaving. (The root lie here is that if I left, I would lose my family and friends; I would be forgotten. The truth is that we are never without family. Even if we leave our Earthly family in another country and are far away from birthdays, births, and monument moments, we are given a family of believers in Christ.)  

And had I not put on the full armor of God, had I not fought against the lies of the enemy with truth, I wouldn't be in Brazil right now. I wouldn't be learning Portuguese, I wouldn't be building relationships with people here, I wouldn't be experiencing the blessing of obedience, and I wouldn't be getting color on my pasty white skin. 

I would be back home cowering away from the calling the Lord placed on my heart out of fear, out of distrust, out of buying into the lies of the enemy. 

It's almost like coming here the Lord is patting me on the head and telling me to sit down and rest and prepare for my next battle. Almost like He is saying "Good job, you fought well. But get ready, there is still more to come." 

And that is our reality as Christians. We will keep fighting this battle for the rest of our days until we stand before our Creator and He says, "well done good and faithful servant" (Matthew 25:21). 

You are loved and you are not alone, 

S

P.S. Here is a worship song in Portuguese...listen and see if you recognize the tune =)

Acredito (We Believe)- Leonardo Gonçalves

Take Only What You Need

 I can't be the only kid who tried to run away from home. 

You know the drill: I'd flip open my cheap plastic, glittery, star-speckled suitcase and fill it with four framed photos, a stuffed bear that had definitely seen better days, maybe one piece of clothing, too many toys, and a jar of peanut butter (hold the bread). 

Then, making sure I did enough huffing and puffing and slamming around so my entire family knew my intentions, I'd make my way down the driveway, sniffling to myself the whole time about how unloved I was, how misunderstood, how mistreated. 

I'd usually make it to the end of the driveway before chickening out, camping out under a tree for a while eating my peanut butter until I sheepishly re-entered the house. 

Recently I went backpacking in Montana. 

Surprisingly enough, my packing abilities have improved since my flourishes of childhood drama. You'll be impressed that I didn't pack a single framed photo. I will admit, however, that peanut butter was still on the packing list. Nobody ever outgrows peanut butter. 

What you pack, and especially what you don't pack, is essential for backpacking. Everything you need has to be carried, one way or another, so not having any extra weight is key for the best backpacking experience. To pack things you won't end up using is a waste of space and senseless pain on your back. 

Five-year-old Sarah thought framed photos and some crayon-covered toys were essential for life on the road. 23-year-old Sarah realized that a lighter, wool socks and a water bottle were much higher on the list of necessities. 

While I have made improvements in my sense of priorities and knowing what is essential versus what isn't, I have to confess I still have a long way to go. 

I'm kind of a sentimental sap. I keep letters from those I love, little notes of encouragement my friends jotted down on sticky notes that helped me through a hard day, ticket stubs that remind me of a wonderful day or an exciting trip, and little nick-nacks that I find weird, interesting or eccentric. 

If my ability to take only what I needed on the journey of life was a metaphorical backpack, I would have filled it up long ago with sentimental and most-loved items, leaving no room for the tools and necessary items that would help me actually, you know, survive.

I think we all have a hard time letting go of what we think we need. 

Think: a particular job that is comfortable and fulfilling, a certain geographical location we have come to know and love as home, a specific friendship or relationship that we don't think we could live without. How do we respond when we're asked to set those things down to make room for something else? Do we respond with anger? Indignation? Bitterness? 

Does it make us question God's goodness? Does it make us wonder if He actually knows best? I mean, does He really understand what it's like to shoulder your backpack? Sure, maybe He knows best with others, but with you? You're not so sure. 

I'm not so sure. 

It's scary to admit that sometimes I don't feel like God is good. It's embarrassing to admit that sometimes I don't feel like He actually cares if I'm happy or not. Sometimes I question whether He even hears my fervent prayers. 

I'm currently 85% funded to begin the journey I started a year ago. The inevitable departure date for Brazil looms closer and closer. 

The Lord has been helping me pack, of course. At first, I was more than willing to take His suggestions at what to pack and what to keep out. I'd never done anything like this so who was I to argue?

I was okay when He asked me to pull a few cherished items from the bottom of my pack. It hurt, but it was okay. It was only a few items, after all. But He's continued to help me prepare, which has meant more items in my pack need to be rearranged, squished, pulled out, and left behind. 

Each time gets harder and harder, and each item that gets pried from my pack leaves me sadder, more disappointed, and makes me question God a little more. 

It's not easy to admit these things, I hope you know. I wish I could say that the complete abandon of all that I love comes easily, naturally, and with unbridled joy. But, honestly, I wish it didn't have to be this way. I wish following God didn't require me to give anything up. I wish it didn't require disappointment, rejection, or a broken heart. I wish it didn't mean loneliness and questioning and doubts and anger and prayers lifted up with only silence to return. 

But I think it's important to voice what I think many Christians experience, but allow shame to keep them quiet. There is no shame in struggling when life is hard and feels heavy. There is no shame in crying out to God when your pain feels pointless and the sacrifice you're being required to make feels unnecessary. 

I spent a considerable amount of time in counseling. I memorized a lot of scripture during that time, one of which was Psalm 84:11 which says:

"For the Lord is a sun and shield; the Lord bestows favor and honor; no good thing does he withhold from those whose walk is blameless."

It's a spiritual discipline to believe that God is good. It's a discipline to believe that He doesn't withhold good things from us. And it's a discipline to believe that if things we desire, believing they are good, are not given to us or are taken away, it is not because the Lord is withholding something from us, but that His perception is better than ours. 

It's believing that He desires our joy and doesn't simply seek to make us miserable creatures constantly trudging through self-denial and suffering. 

So then how does that cause us to respond differently when we know God is good and doesn't withhold good things from us intellectually, but emotionally it doesn't seem that way? 

First, allow yourself to come to terms with how you are feeling. Talk to God honestly about your pain, your disappointments, your anger, and your confusion. I think as Christians we often try to find meaning in our pain before we have even dealt with our pain. Don't try to spiritualize what you are going through too quickly. Allow yourself to mourn. To weep. 

Second, journal how you feel next to what you know to be true. This is something I learned how to do in counseling and it has helped me tremendously. I would journal things like: "It feels like nothing I want ever works out" or "It seems like so much pain all the time" or "It seems like God is ignoring my prayers." Then I would journal things I know to be true about God, such as "God is only good" and "God doesn't withhold any good thing" and "God's thoughts are higher than my thoughts" and "He hears my prayers and mourns with me when I mourn" 

Even then, you won't feel like the truths you have written are true. They might not feel true the first time, the second time, or even the third time. But the point is combating untruths with the truth. The point is fighting the doubts with the confidence found in scripture. 

If we allow ourselves to simmer in the untruths our mind conjures up to destroy us, we will completely lose sight of what is true and real. 

We will allow ourselves to become bitter toward the idea of God we create in our heads of an emotionally detached God carelessly zapping people for amusement. That isn't who God is. 

Earlier this summer I read "Gentle and Lowly: The Heart of Christ for Sinners and Sufferers" by Dane C. Ortlund.  

Ortlund writes: "The burden of Hebrews 4:15, and of Thomas Goodwin's book on it, is the heart of Christ. Yes, verse 16 speaks of 'the throne of grace.' But verse 15 is opening up to us the heart of grace. Not only can he alone pull us out of the hole of sin; he alone desires to climb in and bear our burdens. Jesus is able to sympathize. He 'co-suffers' with us. As Goodwin's contemporary John Owen put it, Christ 'is inclined from his own heart and affections to give...us help and relief...and he is inwardly moved during our sufferings and trials with a sense and fellow-feeling of them.' If you are in Christ, you have a friend who, in your sorrow, will never lob down a pep talk from heaven. He cannot bear to hold himself at a distance. Nothing can hold him back. His heart is too bound up with yours" (49-50). 

Ortlund shows and proves that God's heart breaks when we are in pain and when we suffer and when we mourn. If our pain causes Him pain, why would He inflict senseless pain without a purpose? Why would He cause us to suffer unless He was doing something good through it? 

This is the hope I cling to on nights when all I can do is cry and call out to God that I don't understand why it has to be so hard all the time. 

I won't pretend to understand the reason why God has asked me to leave certain things behind. I won't pretend to know what the Lord is trying to teach me or show me yet. 

But that's okay. It's okay because I trust the character of God. And I trust that His love for me is greater than I could ever imagine. His love for you is greater than you could ever imagine. 

You are loved and you are not alone.

Love, 

S