You’d call me a fool, surely, if I admitted to what I was dreaming of tonight - if I told you I was falling pray to believing the soap operas and chick flicks and fairy tail stories that claim we all, at some point, if we don’t give up and just believe, will reach the point in this life’s journey where suddenly, everything else becomes simply “happily ever after”. Where the troubles and heartaches and loneliness and evil step sisters suddenly vanish and we find ourselves married to a perfect paper-doll sort of people who fit us like a glove. Where a pixie dust kind of magic exists that makes the bad in this world shutter in fear and fall back trembling into the deep, and where good always prevails. And while I have moments and epiphanies where I find myself lost in this fairy-tale dream, longing for my happily ever after to come true, I more often than not come back to reality and realize the lie I’ve been dreaming.
Life never will hit a point of perfection. We never can reach heaven on this side of eternity. Usually, rather than find remorse and woe over the fact that real life, that my life, is not like the movies and story books, I actually find myself rejoicing over what a blessing this nitty gritty messy life can be. I’m thankful that life is not full of perfect expectations and constant bird song and rainbows that lead the way. Because when I look back over my past 19 years of struggle and triumph and heartache and joy, I find that the beauty of it all comes from both the good and the bad mixed together - the light and the dark, the despair and the overwhelming hope, the bitter and the sweet. The conflicts have made relationships stronger, the sorrow has made joy deeper, and the loneliness has made God’s presence more tangible and apparent. Looking back, I always thank Yahweh for the hardship because he used them to shape me and grow me and make me into someone I’d rather be than the person I see in my past.
Life never will hit a point of perfection. We never can reach heaven on this side of eternity. Usually, rather than find remorse and woe over the fact that real life, that my life, is not like the movies and story books, I actually find myself rejoicing over what a blessing this nitty gritty messy life can be. I’m thankful that life is not full of perfect expectations and constant bird song and rainbows that lead the way. Because when I look back over my past 19 years of struggle and triumph and heartache and joy, I find that the beauty of it all comes from both the good and the bad mixed together - the light and the dark, the despair and the overwhelming hope, the bitter and the sweet. The conflicts have made relationships stronger, the sorrow has made joy deeper, and the loneliness has made God’s presence more tangible and apparent. Looking back, I always thank Yahweh for the hardship because he used them to shape me and grow me and make me into someone I’d rather be than the person I see in my past.
But tonight I cannot find that comfort. Because tonight I find myself in the middle of the fire - the molding and melding and bending process. I find myself weighed down and overwhelmed and tied up in the midst of this experience I wish I could run away from. I wish I could run away from myself. Tonight I curse the present and fear the future - fear that this is the future and that I’m not changing or growing into something more beautiful like I have in the past, but that rather I am being crushed and broken beyond repair by the pain I am undergoing.
I fear God has forgotten me. It seems possible, seeing as I’ve forgotten Him countless times over the past months. Oh forgetful me. In fact, it’s as though I’ve forgotten myself as well and all that I can be with Christ in me, like a tree forgets it has the capacity to bear fruit during the harsh winter months when all it feels is the bending of its boughs under the heavy snow and wind. Life is an endless winter these days. And sometimes, I’ll admit, I feel all hope for me is truly lost, buried forever beneath the snow.
I fear God has forgotten me. It seems possible, seeing as I’ve forgotten Him countless times over the past months. Oh forgetful me. In fact, it’s as though I’ve forgotten myself as well and all that I can be with Christ in me, like a tree forgets it has the capacity to bear fruit during the harsh winter months when all it feels is the bending of its boughs under the heavy snow and wind. Life is an endless winter these days. And sometimes, I’ll admit, I feel all hope for me is truly lost, buried forever beneath the snow.
But as I contemplate these things I look at my calendar hanging in my wardrobe closet, and I am reminded that with each turning page the seasons change. The winter never lasts longer than the Lord allots it to. The summer sun never burns so long that days don’t start getting shorter and colder. Seasons are not a permanent thing, and I think, by God’s grace, people are the same way. We’re not definite. We’re not fixed. We’re not steady or definable within all the lines. We’re a process and we’re fleeting like the dandelion dust. But right now that sounds like such a beautiful blessing - to be unfixed and changeable, to be impermanent, to be guarantee that life won’t always be this way - that I don’t have to always be this way.
So if you’re discouraged and run down and stuck in a rut, remember that nothing lasts forever. Remember how the flower fades and the leaves blow away and the snow melts. Remember how the sun’s course grows shorter and longer and the rain never pours all that long at all. Remember that the clouds keep moving and the forecast is different every day. Remember that today’s weather is not how it will always be. Remember that the seasons change with time, and so do we.
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