04222016 Abiding In Darkness
This has been a dark month and a half. Even after I wrote this piece, (The Darkness from 03/09/2016)
I continued to live in a strange land. A place where every corner seemed to show me how much of an alien I truly am, and how I do not fit. It seemed as though each time I felt comforted, something happened which made me soon feel out cast.
I am still here. Still in the darkness, abiding in the blinded space. Don’t worry. I’m not leaving, at least not in my plan. I surrender all to God, and I will submit to His plan, so I can’t promise, but in my plan {Plans-2 from 07/02/2008} (we all know how God loves to laugh at my plan, don’t we), I’m sticking it out; no matter how dark it is; and I’m starting to be okay with the uncomfortable feeling. So much so that I’m sharing how the uncomfortable has been growing me.
On Monday nights, a group of women has gathered to talk about One Thousand Gifts, and how we can see those gifts even in times of great grief, challenge, and struggles. It is encouraging to listen as some of the women share their stories of current issues and life struggles and how they see #eucharisteo in them, and it is imperative that I keep going back to hear that, so that I can see my own circumstances as worthy of eucharisteo. Imperative.
See Grace. Give Thanks. Feel Joy. Eucharisteo always precedes the miracle. My Chara (joy) is directly related to my eucharisteo (thanks); and Charis (grace) is in the middle of it all. But I’m not writing to advertise Ann Voskamp’s book. I’m writing because my struggle has been real. Has yours? If so, please find encouragement by knowing that you are not alone. WE are all struggling through some real stuff. Even if we pretend we aren’t.
In the dark, damp, solid space which sometimes becomes a moment in our lives, we need to have others share their experiences, so that we know we are not alone; so that we know that we can come through whatever it is, and even find growth, joy, grace, and thanksgiving in it.
About a week after I gave the eulogy at my friend’s funeral, I slipped into darkness. I didn’t even see it coming. I was on the proverbial mountain top, feeling certain of God’s purpose in my life. I had no doubt I was called to minister to others. I felt as if a new door was opening, and I was experiencing growth. In a breath, everything went dark. I wrote about it a bit but refused to talk about it. I kept all the things, all the questions, all the fears inside of myself because I was told that there should never be anything negative downline. I should not pass on all the negative things I was feeling to others, especially when others could waver in their own faith because of my situation. That may sound unfair, but it is wise. I have seen others judge people and get defensive for me because they love me. However, that doesn’t help the situation, it doesn’t help their faith or mine. The only problem with that was that I needed to expunge it. Since I refused to write, talk, or share my situation, I could not change it, deal with it, or escape the darkness. I prayed about it and sought counsel from the elders that God led me to speak with, and I was encouraged. Still, I remained in darkness.
I continued to pray, read Scripture, and seek God’s will. In the darkness. With no sight, no sound, no sense of anything except that darkness.
It envelopes everything. Sucks life from lungs. Spreads wounds wide. Darkness.
Fighting it seems senseless, however, my will won’t let me die here. I am not allowed to stay here, and I know it. Yet, I cannot see the way out.
I cry. Screaming silent inside myself. Tears flow out and down my cheeks, and my prayers go on.
When I have exhausted all the physical things I know to do, I decide to sit in the darkness. I will do what I know I can do.
Monday and Tuesday, all I could do was pick up rocks. I picked up rocks and took 30,000 steps. I moved, by hand and fingertip over ten wheelbarrows full of river stone in my yard. 30,000 prayers for myself and those who God brought into my mind – one at a time.
In the picking up of each rock, a name came, a thought of the person, their circumstance, things I might be wrong about, but felt led to pray about anyway. As I tossed the rocks up into the barrow, I tossed up the prayer to the throne of the God who created me. I felt nothing but the rocks and dirt and the sense of doing the best thing I could do.
Phone conversations through those two days fluxed from life to death, love, and forgiveness to work and insecurities. Problems of every sort came through words and thoughts and nothing I did would ever resolve them. Except prayer. I knew it. God was using even my paralysis in the darkness to accomplish His work. Prayer.
On Wednesday, I was required to attend a staff meeting, which was difficult; but still, I went. More planning and searching and resting and being still in the day gave way to another meeting in the evening, and throughout the business of ministry, the work of church work, I struggled to sense what God was asking of me. Stay or go?
In the past month and a half, God has been harder and harder to understand. So, I sit and wait. In darkness. I start to believe that the answer is – not here – and I become peaceful that at least I have a sense of what is happening.
A friend who loves me, a friend who is paying attention to the nudges sends a message. It is a message of steadfast love and hope. A message I desperately need and cling to. I call her. She talks until she arrives at my driveway. We talk for three hours more in the darkness. We cry, we laugh, we pour out truth and we talk about the overflowing, relentless love of Jesus. I learn that I am not the only one who pleads with God to make the waiting hurry up so I can check off my list the thing He wants me to learn. I learn that it is the waiting that He is using to teach me. I learn that even in the darkness when I have felt no stirring, He has been orchestrating this beautiful moment of ministry from her to me.
I lay down in a bed I have not visited in two weeks, the sheets, falling away from the mattress. I feel a warm, heavy arm around me. Comforting and strong.
When the alarm breaks the short nap I have fallen into, the busy work of getting my house ready for the day overtakes me; the mundane tasks feel real again. When my children are off to their school, I come and pack my bags. I’ll go again to the place where I learned to have relationship with women. The group that has grown from fellowship to discipleship. I must speak openly today, and I am talking to God about how to do that. He prepares me and I am peaceful as I admit that relationships and dynamics of the group have been a source of pain for me recently. I look across the table at faces of love and support. They too, have been feeling stress and struggling with relationships. We confess our inadequacy as humans. We plan for a better tomorrow. I learn (once again) that I am not alone. I learn that my confessions allow others to experience comfort in their confessions. I learn that we are all truly connected.
I have missed two calls while in Bible Study this morning, and I listen to the voicemail. An impromptu meeting. I take it and listen and share with another elder who has spent her life giving to the church. I hear her heart, one full of hope for a future of winning souls for Christ, building relationships one at a time. Her wisdom of and concern for others is inspiring. I note that one day, I hope to have a young minister in my home, supporting and encouraging them in this same way. To speak the truth in love, to encourage, to inspire, to prod on. I hope. I learned that God has called me, has used me, and is working through the simple obedience that I have offered Him. I learned that I must keep doing His thing. I need to do it regardless of how I feel about it. Regardless of what I want. Not my will, but HIS.
When I do what I know God is asking me to do, I free myself from the responsibility of making it all work in my own power. I can just do the “thing” and leave the “results” up to God. Do you ever think about how much effort you are exerting into a thing for the sole purpose of results?
The night ended early for me. I announced that they were all on their own, and I took a shower, sent an email, and went to sleep. In that same bed I had visited the night before. For the first time in over a month, I laid my head down on a pillow and allowed myself to drift off.
This morning, before starting my Scripture readings, I sent my daily check in texts. I prayed. A friend answered the text I had sent with part of her testimony. She shared some things with me that I hadn’t realized she had been sorting through. I was impressed by the amount of growth that has been happening in her relationship with Christ. I was also a bit envious of the pinpoint sharpness of which she understands her gifts, her limitations, and her boundaries. I always feel like I’m a big blob of mess with no direction. I guess that’s why I know without a doubt that when something happens through me it is only because of God. Because there’s no way I’m organized enough to really accomplish anything quality. She shared with me some of the things she sees, she followed a nudge and shared something with me. She told me of her perspective. She gave me wisdom without making it instruction. I listened and learned that ministry does not equal relationship. Sometimes, relationships come from ministry, but ministering to someone does not always guarantee that you are going to be well received. Sometimes, the ministry even means that you are going to be hated.
Yes, God’s will isn’t always that we are going to have a happy life. Sometimes, God’s will is going to lead us into a dark room, where we feel nothing, and when we do see glimpses of life outside, it is an indication that we are foreigners in our own towns; when we do nothing, the darkness lingers, and when the darkness lingers, our perceptions can be distorted. When we listen to the counsel of the wise, we can glean information. It is always right to obey God, even when we don’t know what the results will be.
We are not alone. Even when we are physically alone. Even when the dark room smothers us. Even when the deep soil buries us. Even when we cannot hear. Even when we do not sense God. He is creating something beautiful; He is working something out. He is active in His purpose even when we can only pick up rocks and pray. I was not alone. I am not alone.
You are not alone.
Momma Rich's 