A Life Preserver Better Thrown

For Kelsey

If life is a story and faith is a journey, like I tell the students in my church, then there are moments of tragedy and speedbumps in the road that greatly affect our lives and our faith. Most of these times come without much, if any, warning. Others can be plainly seen crouching in wait on the far horizon, practically inevitable, either because of our progressing situations or simply our stubbornness against changing course. All these times can be our teachers. I believe they can lead us into a deeper understanding of who we are, at our core. They can shed more light on the face of our soul.

Right now, a beautiful song by the great poet, Rich Mullins, has begun to play on my iTunes. "Hold Me Jesus." In this song, which I have listened to at least a hundred times, the chorus whispers, "Hold me, Jesus, because I'm shaking like a leaf. You have been King of my glory - won't you be my Prince of peace?" And in a world where so many of us see and condemn this "my...my...my" cultural Christianity, I'm struck tonight by Mullins' aching request. Glory can seem an elusive thing, but all in all, I believe it's pretty easy to come by. But peace...

Peace is tougher.

My glory. My peace. There's no selfishness in this song. Only need. There's no rejection of God's sovereignty or worth. Only the recognition that, now, in this moment, in the midst of this time of pain, there is a desperate desire for my identity to be wrapped up in the One who bestows both glory and peace, strength and hope.

Perhaps one of the most overused little verses of Scripture is the twenty-eighth verse of Romans, chapter eight. "We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose." Most of the time this verse is butchered, not in misquoting, but in blind-to-the-situation spewing. It is normally handed out by a person who has not truly attempted to identify with another's pain, and is instead throwing this verse at it like a tiny life preserver into a churning sea. Whether or not they believe the truth in this verse, they really haven't stopped to consider the connection between the truth and the pain.

Growing up, when I experienced the breakup of a relationship, I heard this truth quoted plenty... and despite good intentions, I was extremely irritated by people who tried to comfort me by telling me that everyone goes through these kind of things. In other words, my pain is nothing unique, so... I shouldn't be so upset? I should stop moping around? I should get over it because it's embarrassing otherwise? I was never quite sure why anyone would try to make common my pain - how does that help? I suppose some were merely trying to identify with me, and to be sure, it can be quite difficult to bestow comfort if we feel we can't bridge the gap to someone's pain. However, making common that person's pain normally only comes across as insulting.

Whether or not my friends and family have experienced a similar, or the same, painful situation as the one I may currently be going through, that does not make common my pain. It does not detract from the anguish, it does not remove the sour discontent in my gut, and it does not dam the tears from spilling down my cheeks. While the painful situation may be a common one, my pain is unique. It is real. And it is all I can think of right now.

There's something to be said for distraction and reasoning. Job's friends had good intentions, that's for sure. But the saying rings with truth, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions." Sometimes, I think embracing the pain - wrestling with it and showering it with our tears - might be the better way to deal with our pain. For sure, 8:28 is no remedy nor is it advice on how to escape pain. It's simply a word of assurance. Good will come. "Hold on," God says, "because I'm here. I know you. I created all things, so I'm well-acquainted with human emotion and thoughts of regret and bitterness and confusion. Just hold on - good is coming."

And so, may you know peace, and may you experience it in fullness. May you know its calm, and may you find healing from the grace in which it wraps you up, and may you understand that though it will be long in coming, it will indeed arrive. Just hold on.