When faith fails to fix

Maybe it’s my age, or maybe it’s my sanctification, or maybe it’s the end of the freaking world (here’s hoping), but whatever the case: suffering is in the water.

And all around me I hear confusion. Confusion about the marriage of tears and faith.  Confusion about the intersection of pain and trust.  Confusion about the gray area between grief and the Gospel.

Most of my generation cannot cope with the discomfort of ‘negative’ emotions.  We’ve been bubble wrapped from unpleasant feelings and as a result, we have no tolerance for them.  We fix them any way we know how.

When faith complains

Spent some time with a wrestler this morning.

(Calm down, crazies. I did not hang out with Triple H.  Probably lots of you don’t know who that is. I’m not sure my target demographic on this blog are RAW fans. But you all should be. You should be.)

I spent some quality time with Habakkuk.

Habakkuk was a guy who woke up to a world that baffled him.  When he looked around, it didn’t seem like God was being who He said He was.  The people of God were tearing themselves apart with sin and disregard for His Word.  The enemy appears to be ruling and winning the day.  Habakkuk is calling out to God but nothing seems to be happening.  He hears the promises of God – to persevere His people – but everything he sees seems to be contradicting them.

You’re not my real mom.

I have a friend who is working through the incredibly glorious and painful process of caring for a newly adopted daughter.

On the good days, she would tell you about the unspeakable joy that comes when the barriers of blood and DNA dissolve in the baptism of true family that comes through love.  On the hard days, she has to endure the incredibly violating pain of watching this little human look at her and reject her love as insufficient because of that DNA.  The oceans this mom has crossed, the scars she bears that declare her love and evidence her intention – all are dismissed as inadequate.

Ask nicely

“Want loud!  Want Jesus Better loud!” – That’s how my favorite 3-year-old asks me to turn up the volume to his favorite song in the car.

“Ask nicely, buddy!” – That’s what I tell him.

“Please-may-I-have-Jesus-Better-loud -please.” – That’s his response.

The cuteness doesn’t really translate when you read that because you can’t hear the ridiculousness of his voice, but trust – it’s totes adorbs.  And no one in their right mind would say no.

Waiting

He’s good at waiting.

He’s been doing it since before the foundation of the world when He dreamed this whole thing up.

Waiting for the fullness of time.  Waiting for the moment of redemption in a billion different stories.  He’s waiting now.

He’s waiting for me to turn back from the pigpen, waiting for my shadowy figure to appear on the horizon, waiting to fling up His robes and run toward me.  He’s waiting for me to turn off the TV and open the letter He left me to tell me to assure me that I’m not alone no matter what it looks like.