Meeting God in a Dark Alley

“When you are weak, you are strong!” My eyes starting fuzzing out as Charity grabbed my hands and squeezed them. When you are weak, you are strong. The words reverberated in my head as I walked past the judges, smiling at the blurring shape of their faces in my eyes. What did it mean exactly? I was certainly weak. My legs felt bendy like licorice and I couldn’t remember what month it was, let alone formulate a winning impromptu speech. I should’ve worn my glasses, because I could barely see anything. How was it possible for me to be strong at the moment?

It doesn't take a legal adult to experience troubles. I'm seventeen, and I have seen just enough to understand that life isn't always berries and cream. Although the example of my impromptu round is admittedly insignificant compared to other struggles, its a small slice of the kind of obstacles that humble us every day and convince us of our own insufficiency.

I wonder, why does God sometimes lead us through moments where we feel overcome by weakness? As we watch other Christians skip blithely through fields of daisies, facing a life with little or no obstacles, we can feel that God has dumped us in a dark alley. As small as it seems compared to the troubles of others, why does He put me in an impromptu room with blurry vision? It feels so pointless.

Let The Real Sufferers Stand Up

My weakness is insignificant when considered alongside the problems others face. For instance, my friend Stephanie is directing a documentary on the life and ministry of Nick Vujicic. Born without limbs, Nick struggles to complete tasks most of us can finish in an instant. And guess what? His situation will not change in his lifetime. He can't look forward to one day finding a cure to his problems. On the surface, he has no reason for hope.

Elisabeth was also bombarded by weakness. Restrained from marrying the man she loved as he sought direction from God for over a year, she wondered at the indescribable ache in her heart. In her diary she copied down a prayer of Amy Carmichael's, struggling to find perseverance in her journey:

"'If I make much of anything appointed, magnify it secretly to myself or insidiously to others; if I let them think it 'hard,' if I look back longingly upon what used to be, and linger among the byways of memory, so that my power to help is weakened, then I know nothing of Calvary love.'" Then Elisabeth prayed herself, "Dear Lord, Thou alone knowest the inmost workings of my mind and heart. Keep the level of my love in Christ--never lower. Thou hast said, 'Neither are my ways your ways.' Help me to walk in Thine, Lord, in peace." (Elisabeth Elliot, Passion and Purity.)

Some say that because Christ carried our sorrows, we will have no more suffering on earth. Any pain we experience on earth is unexplainable in their theology. But what about Nick’s struggles? How can we ignore the cries of Elisabeth in her time of loneliness and waiting? How can we explain Paul’s vision problems and the unnamed ‘thorn in the side’ that he experienced throughout the course of his life? How can we say that Christ took our sufferings when these Christians have suffered so?

Christ’s death didn’t remove human weakness from the Christian life. Rather, God allows the weakness of His children to be revealed for a purpose. While my impromptu anxiety wasn’t real suffering, it was a wake up call to cry out to the Creator of the Universe for strength. It was a humbling revelation of inadequacy. It was a situation that pulled me from my high horse and caused me to fall on Christ for grace to get through.

And that's exactly the point. The situations when our inadequacy is exposed are meant to lead to further trust: “Therefore, those also who suffer according to the will of God shall entrust their souls to a faithful Creator in doing what is right.” (1 Peter 4:19)

He Is Our ________

Hope. Strength. Joy. Fill the above blank with any of these words and they’ll fit. God doesn't promise us perfect bliss on earth, but He does give us something better. In the face of struggles--whether it's believing God will help in weaving through a traffic jam or entrusting to Him delicate matters of the heart--rest can be found in His unfailing love.

King David said something funny in Psalm 63. After crying out that his life was like a “dry and weary land where there is no water,” he wrote that he'd continue praising God because “because Your lovingkindness is better than life." That's pretty unusual. While David didn't mince words describing his situation, he had found a higher source of joy than just his circumstances. Interestingly enough, the people I have met who are closest to God are the ones who have met Him in the dark alleys of life; because they learned that His lovingkindness, even in darkness, was better than living in daisy covered fields without His Presence.

And yet, those who travel through dark alleys aren't left there forever. Sufferers in the big and the small have a promise: "And the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will Himself restore you and make you strong..." (1 Peter 5:10) Will we ever be made strong? Will we be healed? Maybe not tomorrow or the next day, but one day, it's certain we will. And our Healer will be the God who does all things well.

The Dark, Scary, Spider-Infested Forest of Your Future

My little sister Audrey slipped her hand into mine. "Let's play the game!" she said. With a wide grin, she squeezed her eyes shut. "Lead me!" Hand in hand, we wove through the crowded mall—I with my eyes wide open, she relying on my direction. Then it happened. In spite of my expert leading (I can assure you that the fault was not mine), Audrey brushed a stranger. Instantly, her eyes flew open. "Lindsey!" she scolded, withdrawing her hand quickly. "You are not leading anymore."

As I thought back over Audrey's reaction, I realized that I play the game similarly. Except, I play with God.

With an excited, eager smile, I'll slip my hand into His, and cry "Lead me!" in childlike delight. For a while, all is well. But as soon as the terrain begins to alter, I crack open an eye to take a peek.

Oh boy. I wish I hadn't. One of the paths ahead is riddled with pot-holes and leads straight into the heart of a forest. Dark trees crowd all around, obscuring my view-- and it's infested with ugly little spiders, no doubt! Naturally, I start to protest. (Just in case.)

By the way... ah, if You're starting to get any ideas, when I said that I wanted You to lead me, I didn't mean that You could ever lead me there, Lord. Just thought you should know.

I've seen Him take other people down rough roads before. They learn contentment and joy in suffering. Which is great, of course... for them. Panicking, my instinctive reaction is to yank my hand away when I start thinking in "what-ifs".

Look here, Lord, I've got this incredible blue-print for my life-- see?-- and it involves serving You this way, this way, and this way. I've thought about it extensively, and these are very good, God-glorifying plans. Listen, You can still lead me, and that's just fine, but only if I'm the one giving directions here. I really, really don't get along that well with spiders.

We all know the feelings of uncertainty and fear that invade our hearts as we wonder about what the future will hold. Questions roll in like the black plague: Where will God take me? What does He want from my life? Will the Almighty snatch away my dreams of happiness, to glorify Himself and teach me contentment? Ah! Noo!

The health, wealth, and prosperity-centered gospel confidently asserts that God will lovingly grant us everything we desire, but we know that He doesn't. The lady in my church, awaiting her diagnosis for a medical condition, knows that He doesn't. The young girl in Cambodia, sold into slavery at five, knows that He doesn't. The single woman, longing for marriage and a family, knows that He doesn't. The dear lady I talked with yesterday, whose husband left her last month for another, knows that He doesn't. We Christians don't lead lives any more charmed than the rest of the world.

Our futures will hold elements that you and I wouldn't exactly volunteer for. We're going to have troubles, and we're going to have heartache. That is a guarantee. We live in a fallen world; how could it be otherwise? But there are two things that we must always remember when we're staring fearfully at our potential forests-- and when we're walking straight through them.

Sovereign Isn't Enough

First, it is insufficient to simply know that God is sovereign. His complete, perfect sovereignty is the most comforting truth in existence, but only when it is coupled with intimate knowledge of another facet of His character: His goodness.

Our God is not a cruel, unjust tyrant, manipulating circumstances in our lives to inflict us with torment and make us miserable. He is good. We don't deserve it and can't explain it, but He is. Though our circumstances will vacillate, His goodness will never alter.

"Which of you," Jesus asked, "If his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask Him!"

So when we ask for a nice, roasted fish, and it looks as if He's handed us a hissing, fanged viper-- He hasn't. What He gives us certainly won't always be what we desire; there are times when His will involves great pain. But in the end, we will never be rendered unable to whisper, "Thank you." Because He is good. Always.

The Beauty Contest: My plans vs. His plans

Second, we could never map out a more beautiful future for ourselves than His. I could spend years trying to concoct the most idyllic, detailed set of plans for a fairy-tale life, but they couldn't even begin to rival the magnificent story the Author has in mind. In fact, while I'm sure I'd be quite enamored with my castles in the sky, putting me in control of my life would undoubtedly result in a sorry mess. Who am I to deem myself wiser than my Maker?

"For your thoughts are not my thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the Lord. "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts." Isaiah 55:8-9

I cannot tell what the complete, finished portrait will look like yet. He does. He sees the trials I'll go through, and the pain. But He also sees everything that I, short-sighted creature that I am, struggle to grasp. Out of ashes, beauty. Every road I walk through, used as a brush-stroke to magnify His name a little more, and conform me more into His Son's own image. I don't need to see the picture unveiled to know that it will be absolutely perfect. He is the artist, after all.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord. "Plans to prosper you, and not to harm you. Plans to give you a hope and a future."

With the promise of Jeremiah 29:3 ringing in my ears, even spider-infested forests don't really sound quite that bad. The woman of Proverbs 31 "laughs at the days to come". I like that. Why should we tremble at the unknown, when the God we trust is so good?

I Dare Not Be Silent

She stood against the ice rink wall, her arms crossed, guarding against the cold. I followed her line of sight to a tiny, delicate girl gliding far too skillfully for her age.
"Is she yours?" I asked.
"Yes, she's five. I bring her here every day," she replied in an accented voice.

Thus our conversation began.

A refugee from the Vietnam war, she explained, "I am a Buddhist, but really I am lost." (I would agree, but it was amazing coming from her.) She continued, "I haven't gone to temple in years. I don't know what I believe."

At first taken aback, I felt my spirit prodded to ask more questions. God help me. I don't know what I'm doing, I prayed.

We talked on.

"Just comparing Buddhism with the Bible..." I attempted to segue to the truth. Finally, I mustered the courage to bring up the "s" word--sin. How can a man see his need for Christ unless he is first humbled by a glimpse of himself? After all, Christ did not come to save the self-righteous, but those who see the sickness in their souls.

And yet mentioning sin still manages to challenge me, as one of the most difficult words to get past my lips. A million questions whirl through the mind, "What will she think? Am I going to sound preachy? What if she gets angry?" I was downright scared.

Speaking of sin requires love. It takes the love of Christ to motivate forgiven sinners (who are still very fearful, weak creatures) to stick out their necks enough to say, "Friend, you're in sin and because I love you I want to warn you where it leads." Yet this love is so important that 1 John tells us we're not really in the faith if we do not have it:
"The one who says he is in the Light and yet hates his brother is in the darkness until now. The one who loves his brother abides in the Light and there is no cause for stumbling in him." (1 John 2:9-10)

After discussing sin, the eyes of the woman at the ice rink widened in amazement. "I have lived in the United States for many years and known many, many Christians and you seventeen year old girl the first to tell me about this!"

I felt sick, knowing I almost had not told her; but I know God must feel sicker, knowing full well the fearfulness in my heart, and the hearts of countless others who pursed their lips instead of speaking truth.

Our behavior is shameful. As soldiers of the Cross we deserve to be court marshaled. We're cowards, cooperating with the enemy by our refusal to fire even a word into the fray. Even Jeremiah, who never heard the name of Jesus Christ in his lifetime, knew enough of God that he was compelled to speak. He cried,

"For each time I speak, I cry aloud;
I proclaim violence and destruction,
Because for me the word of the LORD has resulted
In reproach and derision all day long.
But if I say, 'I will not remember Him
Or speak anymore in His name,'
Then in my heart it becomes like a burning fire Shut up in my bones;
And I am weary of holding it in,
And I cannot endure it."

(Jeremiah 20:8-9. Italics mine.)

Having seen God's love hang on a Cross, how can we be anything less than a Jeremiah? How do we dare keep silent? I'm ashamed of myself. It's my prayer that my tongue will be quicker and my heart more eager to vent the smoke of this fire in my bones. Hopefully next time, I'll be bold.

Until then, I'm praying for the woman at the ice rink.

Fear: Do or Die

"Imagine: Two people in a room, the first person, Bob, is bent on creating a famous quote. His friend, Frank, is trying to help.

Bob: “Ooh! What about this? You have nothing to fear, but fear itself.”

Frank: “But Bob! What about spiders? Because, you know, I really don’t like spiders, and I’m really afraid of them.”

Bob: “Alright. Then you have nothing to fear, but spiders…and fear itself.”

Frank: “But Bob! What about snakes? You know, there are some really poisonous snakes, and I really don’t like them, in fact, I’m downright scared of them.”

Bob: “Ok. Then you have nothing to fear but, spiders, snakes…and fear itself.”

*Five hours later*

Bob: “So what you’re telling me, is that there is nothing to fear but, spiders, snakes, the dark, clowns, hippopotamus’, peanut butter, books, string, trees, lighthouses, fish?…and fear itself!”

Frank: “But Bob! What about things like, rejection, failure, pain, disappointment?”

[HT to Adam Hardy for the intro idea. This was part of his Original Oratory for NCFCA competition this past year.]

Someone asked me recently, “What would you attempt to do if you did not fear failure?” I felt as though I had been hit over the head with a baseball bat. The question made me stop and think. Think hard. If I were to compile a list of every opportunity to expand my knowledge and experience, which I have rejected due to my fear of failure, the size of my list would rival Webster’s Dictionary. The times in which I have turned down the chance to offer an encouraging word to a hurting person– when I shirked from giving a gentle rebuke to a friend when one was needed, when I did not share the Gospel for fear of ridicule, or when I ignored the opportunity to serve because it would remove me from my comfort zone–are staggeringly abundant."

Read the rest of this co-post by Marshall Sherman and I, at Advancing His Kingdom.

Posted by Hannah