At night I dream
of the world that was,
Only to wake in the morning
to remember:
The world that once was
is gone.
But still I hope
in the surety of Jesus,
His completed saving work
on the cross,
His Spirit’s ongoing presence
with us.
I cling to his promise
that, someday,
He will make all things right,
and new:
Better than any
dream.
Category: Faith
Progression of Palms: Sunday, Friday, Sunday
Sunday, palms waving:
Hosanna! Hooray!
Exalted, long-awaited King.
Friday, palms pierced:
Death. Despair.
Upside-down Kingdom.
Sunday, pierced palms alive:
Resurrection hope!
Someday all will be made new.
Gratitude and Grief, Uncertainty and Certainty
It still feels surreal, 15 days into our state’s Shelter-in-Place order, to say that we are living in a pandemic. To be honest, I often find myself feeling overwhelmed by both gratitude and grief in this time of painfully great uncertainty.
I am overwhelmed with gratitude and love for my dear husband and precious little boys, for my extended family, for my friends. I am deeply grateful for the true and certain hope we have in Jesus no matter our earthly circumstance. I am thankful for our church and the fact that we are still able to meet virtually. I am grateful we still have a home and food on the table. I’m thankful we have technology to still connect with loved ones even from afar. I’m grateful that God’s mercies are new each morning. I’m thankful for the courageous men and women who are risking their lives during this time to help others, ranging from medical professionals, to grocery store workers, to people who deliver food and supplies and mail, to people who clean, to emergency responders, to every other person whose job means they are currently unable to stay home. My list of things to be grateful for is long, and I have been trying to note big and little things I am thankful for each day (and have been finding the gratitude app Presently helpful towards this end).
But I also feel overwhelmed with grief and fear. I of course most fear the loss of those I love. And I am deeply saddened by loss of life and livelihood that are already occurring in the lives of people I know as well as on a global scale. I mourn for the heartache our world is experiencing, and for the emotional and relational and spiritual and physical strain of this experience that impacts and will continue to impact each of us in different ways. And I am grieving the smaller losses of everyday life as we know it even as we are only just beginning lockdown and physical distancing—even little things like not being able to visit family and friends, or not being able to take the boys to the park or go on a family outing, or not being able to go to church in person. I feel dizzy even trying to categorize these countless layers of loss and uncertainty. I know that this earthly future has always been uncertain, but suddenly the fragile and fleeting beauty of everyday life seems glaringly evident.
What will this earthly future hold? I truly don’t know. And that is scary to say, especially as a momma to such young children. I’ve been finding it hard to focus on in-depth study of the Bible or on lengthy prayers, as my fear and shock often leave me feeling scattered and somewhat disoriented. But I have been trying to pray even small prayers throughout the day, to read even a few verses, to talk and pray with my husband, to listen to the daily messages our pastor has been putting out, to listen to and sing worship songs, and to trust the Holy Spirit to intercede when I feel so weak. I’ve been thankful that as believers—my husband and I, our church community, our friends and family—we have had the opportunity to continue to preach the gospel to one another and to ourselves throughout these days, even if we do so imperfectly. And I know we will continue to need to do so through calls and video meetings and emails and texts through the many uncertain days ahead.
Amidst all this uncertainty I have been trying to hold fast to two certain verses that provide hope for both the present and the future:
“When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.” – Psalm 56:3
“So that by two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us. We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever after the order of Melchizedek.” – Hebrews 6:18-20
May we gratefully trust in and hold fast to Jesus, our only certain anchor during the deep sadness and uncertainty of this new age of the COVID19 pandemic.
A Question of Identity
I am now a stay-at-home mom. After much deliberation, my husband and I decided to have me resign from my work as a marriage and family therapist to stay home full-time with my own family. This is a bittersweet step for me. I feel so joyful thinking of what I am moving toward: getting to devote myself fully to being home as a wife and a momma for this season. But I feel genuine loss and sadness over giving up—at least for the time being—work that I find to be deeply meaningful at a practice I genuinely like.
Now I find myself wrestling with the question “Who am I?” in a way that I didn’t when I first became a mom—and I’m rather jarred by the many identity-related questions that I have been feeling seemingly suddenly and simultaneously:
What if I lose sight of who I am, and who others are?
What if I become boring to my husband and don’t have anything to talk to him about apart from our kids?
What if I make my kids into my whole life?
What if I lose my spark and passion now that I am staying at home, and simply become tired?
What if my world becomes small and I lose sight of all perspective?
What if I become lonely?
What if I become consumed by worry?
What if I never even get to talk to any other adults without being interrupted by little ones?
What if I don’t have any complex or intelligent or even coherent thoughts anymore?
What if I rarely have car-rides by myself to listen to podcasts, or consume any noteworthy news, or learn any new skills, or even just to do anything interesting or thought-provoking?
What I begin to measure my worth by how “successful” I am in accomplishing tasks at home and in caring for my boys, and become even more task-oriented, controlling, and perfectionist than ever?
My list of questions big and small could go on and on.
Yet I suppose as I reflect upon these and other questions of identity I realize there is danger in defining my entire being as any one particular part of myself or actions. I have always been prone to pursuing meaning through fulfilling my roles, keeping busy, and striving after accomplishment. Even my career had the danger of being an idol and wasn’t truly a solid way for me to define myself, although I did find it deeply honoring and meaningful to get to walk with others on their respective journeys as part of my work as a therapist. But then again, I also find it deeply honoring and meaningful to be a wife, and a mother, and a daughter, and a sister, and a friend.
These roles—along with many other roles, characteristics, and passions—are a part of who I am, but none should ultimately define me. If my primary identity was in being a therapist—rather than having this be just a part, albeit significant, of who I am—then I have a problem, just like I have a problem if I hinge my whole sense of self and meaning on being a mom, or being a wife, or being orderly or “right”, and so on. Ultimately, I need to find my identity most deeply in Jesus and my relationship with him. These other facets of who I am and what I do and what I care about are significant, but while they make beautiful outgrowths they are a poor foundation upon which to build my life.
Ultimately, only Jesus is a truly sure foundation.
I believe this to be true. Yet I also know that I need time to process my many questions and feelings, and to both grieve and celebrate this transition. So I will choose to trust in Jesus while leaning into the vulnerability and messiness of opening my heart to having so many feelings and questions about this change. I will try to cry when I am sad over my loss while also noticing and rejoicing in the sweet moments I am gaining with those I love. I will be thankful for the time I got to work as a therapist, and I will also be thankful for the time I now have to be with my family. I will try to take time to talk about and reflect upon and feel my experiences.
I hope I can slowly learn anew who I am in Jesus and what it looks like in this new season of my life to have him truly be the foundation upon which I build my identity and from which I draw strength to love and live faithfully—including in, but not limited to, my role as a momma to my precious little boys.
So Long, Speedy: How Our Snail Reminded Us of Our Need for the Gospel
Our toddler recently got a pet water snail that he named “Speedy”. He loved to peek at Speedy and say hello as we walked by his tank, and would bring him up in conversations randomly throughout the day. And then last week we noticed Speedy had fallen and was upside down on the floor of his tank. We used a straw to conduct a rescue mission in which we flipped Speedy back to his rightful shell-up position, and to our delight and relief Speedy quickly – for a snail! – resumed his adventures around his tank. But then just a couple of days later, our toddler exclaimed “Oh no! Speedy needs help!” – once again, Speedy was lying upside down on the bottom of his tank. We again undertook a rescue mission, turning Speedy right-side up, and assumed all would be well. However, as we continued to check in on Speedy, he remained stationary, and it became increasingly clear that Speedy was not going to move from that place again.
My toddler kept asking about Speedy, and eventually I sadly told him that in spite of our best efforts to take care of our little pet, Speedy had died. My toddler quickly said we could help him, or give him medicine, or take him to the vet, or pray for him, and suggested various people we could consult for help. He was so earnest and sincere in both his desire to help Speedy and his belief that we could make everything right again – just like how Doc, in his favorite show “Doc McStuffins”, is always able to save every toy that comes to her in need of help.
How I wished in that moment that I had it in my power to make Speedy well again, to give our little story a happy ending for my toddler. How I wished we lived in a world where every sickness and injury could be cured, where death does not exist, where we could always save and protect those we love. How I wished I could shelter my toddler from the heartbreaking reality of the fallen world in which we live. And yet I tried to trust that even these hard moments of loss can point to our need for Jesus and the hope we have in the gospel.
So instead of saying that Speedy would feel better soon, I explained to my dear little toddler that Speedy had died, and that sadly we all face death someday because we live in a fallen world. I reminded him we could be so thankful for the time we had with Speedy, and that he was a great little pet snail, but that we needed to say goodbye. I told him that having to say goodbye to Speedy could remind us of how much we need Jesus. I reminded him Christmas is a wonderful time in which we celebrate the birth of Jesus, who came to rescue us from our sin and sadness and to show us how much God loves us – just like we have been talking about all throughout this Advent season. I told him that Jesus already saved us from our sins when he came to earth that first Christmas, if we choose to trust in him and his work on the cross. And I told him that we continue to wait for the even better day when Jesus will return again and make all things right – a wonderful day when there will be no more sadness or death, even for tiny pet snails.
“Then, one day, God’s Son came to live in this world as a person. He was called Jesus.
Jesus always did what God said.
Jesus never sinned.
….
Jesus knew that things were sometimes bad and sometimes sad.Jesus said that God had sent him to open the way back to God’s wonderful place, where there would be nothing bad and no one sad!
….
[Jesus] tells us, God says it is wonderful to live with him. Because of your sin, you can’t come in. BUT I died on the cross to take your sin…So all my friends CAN now come in!We can live with God forever! There will be nothing bad, and no one sad.
We will see God and speak to God and just enjoy being with God – just as he planned.
It will be wonderful to live with him. And it’s all because of JESUS.”
-Excerpts from “The Garden, the Curtain, and the Cross: The True Story of Why Jesus Died and Rose Again“, by Carl Laferton
Help From Our Faithful Father
My days at home are filled with requests for me to meet the near-constant needs of my little ones—physical needs, emotional needs, relational needs: “Mommy, I hungry!”; “Mama, I pooped!”; “I need help, Mommy!”; “I want (fill in the blank)!”; “Mama, I sad! I cwying!”; “Wook at dis!”; “Mommy, pway with me!”; “(Crying)”. My children so naturally turn to me whenever they feel a need, and look to me to be able to help them. Because I love them, I try my best to meet their needs when they call, and respond to them again and again: wiping tearful cheeks as well as poopy bottoms, feeding and nursing, playing and reading, teaching and talking, snuggling and listening, and on and on. Each of these seemingly ordinary earthly experiences can point me to the gospel, reminding me both of the hope we have in God the Father’s faithful love for his children, and of my own neediness as his own child.
My role as a mother, loving my own boys, gives me a tiny glimpse of how God, as our heavenly Father, faithfully loves me along with all his other children. It amazes me that God loves us (1 Jn. 3:1), is always faithful (1 Cor. 1:9), sees and hears us (Gen. 16:11, 13), answers us when we call (Matt. 7:7-11; Ps. 91:15), comforts us (2 Cor. 1:4), knows our needs and cares for us (Matt. 6:8, 25-34). He delights in us bringing our needs honestly before him in prayer (Prov. 15:8; Matt. 6:5-14), disciplines us out of love (Heb. 12:3-11), and gives us what is for his glory and our good (Rom. 8:28). Our Father is “compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love” (Ps. 103:8), and nothing can separate us from the love he bestows upon us in Jesus (Rom. 8:38-39). Given how fiercely even I, in all my imperfections, love my boys, it is astounding to think of how much more our perfect heavenly Father loves me and all of his children.
Witnessing and responding to the constant neediness of my boys also reminds me of my own experience as God’s child. Just as my little ones are often so helpless to help themselves, and even literally cannot survive without my care, I cannot save myself or even sustain myself apart from God’s care. His common grace, shown throughout all creation even as he holds all things together in Jesus (Col. 1:15-20), sustains my physical life and breath (Job 12:10); his special salvific grace expressed in Jesus and given in an ongoing manner through the Holy Spirit sustains my spiritual life (Jn. 10:10; Gal. 5:25). Never has my own need for God’s love and strength been as evident to me as now in this season of early motherhood, when I daily feel my own weakness and neediness as I come again and again to the end of my own physical and emotional and spiritual strength, wondering how on earth I can possible respond to one more cry for help, change one more diaper, wipe one more tear, wake up one more time in the dark hours of the night to nurse, give myself to one more moment of intentional presence with my boys. And yet my children’s neediness and how they cry out to me for help, paired with my own neediness when consistently faced with my own inability, provide repeated opportunities for me to cry to my own heavenly Father for help and strength.
How thankful I am that we have a faithful heavenly Father, whose strength never fails, whose “power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9), and who “has given us everything we need for life and godliness” (2 Peter 1:3). I hope and pray that remembering how much I am loved and filled by God in Jesus through the ongoing work of the Holy Spirit will encourage me to love my own children from a place of fullness—a fullness that does not originate from me or my own abilities or efforts. I also pray that the Holy Spirit will be growing me in the habit of using the seemingly infinite number of the small daily moments of neediness in motherhood as prompts for humility, reminders to vulnerably confess and pray to my Father for help, and opportunities to worship God and trust in him and his sustaining grace. We can trust that God the Father’s faithfulness toward us gives us “strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow” (as celebrated in the hymn “Great is Thy Faithfulness”), equipping us to faithfully love our own children and those around us with the love that he first showed us (1 Jn. 4:11).
May remembering God the Father’s faithfulness move us to worship, even as we look to him for help:
“Great is Thy Faithfulness”
“Great is Thy faithfulness,” O God my Father,
There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not
As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.
“Great is Thy faithfulness!” “Great is Thy faithfulness!”
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided—
“Great is Thy faithfulness,” Lord, unto me!
Summer and winter, and springtime and harvest,
Sun, moon and stars in their courses above,
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.
Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth,
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!
-“Great is Thy Faithfulness”
Laboring, Together
Last month, my husband and I welcomed our second precious little baby boy into the world! And while this experience is impossible to fully capture in words, something I can say is that it has led me to marvel once again at the beauty and power of relationship, and of being present in relationship—with others, as well as ultimately with God. It also has led me to rejoice anew in the hope of the Gospel.
I had a grueling and somewhat traumatizing first labor, although thankfully both my first baby as well as I ended up being okay in the end. Yet after this experience, “horrifying” was the main word that came to mind, unbidden, whenever I thought of labor. And even though I dearly wanted to have another baby, as soon as I discovered I was pregnant for the second time, I began having nightmares about having to give birth. During my first labor, my experience of intense pain led me to panic, struggle for control, fight against the pain, and turn inward—which left me feeling alone and overwhelmed even though my husband, my doula, and my nurses were all in the room to support me. Although I was present physically, emotionally I was completely alone and checked out. As I learned from processing with my husband and doula later on, they said they too felt I was unreachable, and that they felt helpless to help me in my pain as I was turned so far inward in spite of them wanting to be with me.
As my husband and I, along with our doula, processed our first birth experience and looked toward our second, we thought a lot about what we appreciated about our first experience as well as what we hoped would be different the second time around. And the main two words we came to were “present” and “trusting”. We hoped and prayed that we could have an experience in which we were more present with one another and in our experience—rather than fearful—and more trusting of one another, our support team, in the process itself, and ultimately the LORD.
Practically, there were certain exercises I practiced to help me work through some of the trauma and reactivity I felt regarding labor, including praying, talking with my husband and trusted friends to process various aspects of my experience, using the Gentle Birth program to practice mindfulness and breathing exercises and some hypnotherapy exercises, and journaling. But mostly preparing for a labor where I and my husband hoped we could be more present looked like me, as well as him, trying to be more intentional in our everyday lives in being vulnerable, present, and trusting in our relationships and our ensuing emotions. We tried to be intentional in these ways our relationships with each other, with family and friends, in our relationship with God, even in our relationship with ourselves. And as we prepared and invited more people into our experience, while we were still afraid at times, we also found that we were slowly but surely moving towards feeling more connected and hopeful—more present and trusting.
And when the long-anticipated day of labor finally came, my husband and I felt the LORD’s presence with us in such a special way even as we were present with one another, our doula, and the support staff at the hospital. While of course there were many moments of pain and difficulty, the pain and the difficulty felt “okay” instead of “horrifying” because I did not feel alone. When the pain came, instead of turning inward, I tried to invite others into my experience as well as to respond to their offers of reaching to me, helping me, and sitting with me in that space. My husband stayed with me, offering his steady and encouraging and comforting presence through the highs and lows, and we felt all the more connected in our love for one another for going through this special experience together. My doula stayed with me, offering her reassuring, comforting, and competent presence as she helped me continue on even when it felt so hard. The nurses and doctors stayed with me, offering encouragement and well as the ability to practically care for the well-being of me and my baby.
Staying present with my husband and with the rest of my support team, as well as staying present in my own emotional experience, felt incredibly vulnerable—it is hard to imagine a more physically and emotionally messy and vulnerable time of life than labor. I was tempted many times to slip back into my typical response of trying to take control and turn inward, and even moved toward this space at times. But I am so grateful my husband and support team stayed with me, beckoning me back even in these hard moments, and that overall by God’s grace I was able to respond to their invitations to presence. And the connection that came out of being present and trusting was so beautiful and richly rewarding, and made the experience of labor and delivery all the more profound and joyful. As my husband and doula and support team sat with me in my distress and proved able to hold my experience, they also rejoiced with me when the long-awaited moment of baby’s entry into the world came. What a sweet moment birth finally was, a moment that was all the sweeter for being shared amidst all of us that were in the room!
I am convinced that as is the case with so much of earthly life, my experience of relationship in labor is a small reflection of many aspects of the Gospel. During labor, my husband and my doula offered me unconditional love and presence, as well as the ability and willingness to hold my emotions and experience. Even when—in both an emotional as well as a literal physical sense—I was weak, and needy, and messy, and completely vulnerable, they never failed to stay with me. Instead of leaving me alone, or telling me to clean up or get it together, or to rely on my own strength, they entered into my experience and sat with me until labor was complete, I delivered my dear baby, and gradually I began to recover. I am unspeakably grateful, humbled, and filled with love as I think of the grace, love, and help my husband and doula extended to me even in this most tender of moments.
The power of relationship that I experience in labor provides me with a beautiful, tangible glimpse of the unconditional love and grace that God extends to us in Jesus by the power of his Holy Spirit: He invites us into relationship with him, through the cleansing work of Jesus on the cross and by the ongoing presence of the Holy Spirit. Though we were spiritually entangled and dirtied in our sin, helpless to save ourselves apart from him—as messy and as unloveable and needy as we could possibly be—he entered into relationship with us, cleansed us, welcomed us into new life, adopted us as his very sons and daughters (e.g., Eph. 1-2). And he continues to offer his presence to us in the person of the Holy Spirit (e.g., Jn. 14:16-17, 26-27); he is a God who is near (e.g., Phil. 4:5), who comforts us (e.g., 2 Cor. 1:3-4), who saves us (e.g., Jn. 3:16-17). Because he is with us, we can remain true and faithful until he returns (e.g., 1 Cor. 1:4, 7-9). And someday, once Jesus does return and make all things right, we will be perfectly in relationship with him, all sorrow will have passed, and we will rejoice with Jesus and with one another (e.g., Rev. 21:5, 22:1-5). We are not alone, and never will be. If, as I experienced in labor, relationship with fellow humans is so powerful and life-changing, even to the point of making the seemingly unbearable bearable, how much more profound is relationship with the one true God?
How thankful I am for presence and trust in relationships—relationship with loved ones, and ultimately relationship with the LORD.
*My husband and I are infinitely grateful for our doula, whose presence with us in labor made all the difference in the world!
My Idol of “Rightness”
As a One on the Enneagram, I find myself constantly striving for “rightness”—in myself, in those around me, in my relationships, in my mothering, in the world. While this constant drive for improvement can leave me looking somewhat okay on the outside, recently I feel the Holy Spirit has been convicting me that my pursuit of rightness, when not redeemed, is really just an idol I’m running toward instead of truly loving Jesus and others. Pursuing rightness apart from Jesus leaves my hidden heart just as sinful as ever in spite of how I might outwardly look, in a state similar to the Pharisees whom Jesus called out for appearing righteous in spite of their inward hypocrisy and wickedness (Matt. 23:28).
In my heart, I can easily become proud, foolishly believing that I know the right or best way to be or to think, and my striving for perfection is closely linked to my propensity for doing and my tendency towards trying to control not only myself but also those around me and my environment. However, as I live in a fallen world, am myself sinful, and am also surrounded by other sinful people, I obviously constantly find myself and others falling dismally short in various areas of life. When I or others inevitably fall short of the “right” or “fair” or “perfect thing”, I often find myself inwardly struggling with feeling angry and anxious, and becoming judgmental and critical. Clearly I am not loving Jesus or others well in my heart if these are my inward responses.
My initial inclination, upon recognizing this sin in my heart, is to want to just try to do better—yet ultimately this is just another way of me trying to move more towards rightness by my own strength, and of running towards what is “right” instead of running toward Jesus. Loving Jesus and running after him will help me to continue to want to live rightly, but my heart in doing so will be different. Rather than becoming caught up in my own strivings for rightness, I want and need the Holy Spirit to continue to help me see and know and understand and experience the glory of who Jesus is, and the grace and life that he has lavished so freely upon me and all believers.
2:1 And you were dead in the trespasses and sins…4 But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, 5 even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved— 6 and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, 7 so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. 8 For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, 9 not a result of works, so that no one may boast. 10 For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.
Ephesians 2:1, 4-10 (ESV)
It was far from right or fair that Jesus died me—for I could never do enough right to earn this sacrifice. Yet he chose to sacrifice himself for me, and poured grace and love upon me even though I was far from deserving. And if the Holy Spirit continues to grow my understanding the extent of his love and grace, how can my heart help but respond by being deeply humbled, unspeakably grateful, and filled with the worship and praise of Jesus? And how can my heart and my ensuing actions not be motivated increasingly by loving Jesus in response to his love, and then loving others as an overflow?
Even as I grow in resting in the grace received in Jesus, I imagine I will always care about what is right, and I hope that this passion, when redeemed, will even contribute to me faithfully accomplishing the “good works” that God has prepared for me to do. But I think I will begin to care about rightness in a different sort of way that is filled with more love and grace in my response to others rather than being motivated by a heart solely fixated on rightness itself. I pray that the Holy Spirit may continue to grow me in resting in the grace I have received from Jesus, and that from this place I may then grow in loving Jesus, my family, and others with a genuinely gracious and loving heart.
Letting Go
I have been experiencing situations in life recently – including navigating my husband’s work transitions, progressing through pregnancy, contemplating impending labor, mourning the illness of an extended family member, journeying in my ongoing role of mothering – that continue to remind me that I have such a hard time letting go, especially letting go of control. It is so hard for me to let go of my emotions, to let go of my plans or efforts to bring about a certain outcome, to let go of people I love.
I think that my difficulty with letting go is closely linked to fear; if I am being honest with myself, I am afraid: Afraid of letting myself be vulnerable in truly feeling the depth of my emotions in all their messiness (and letting others see me feeling these emotions), afraid of acknowledging (and feeling the reality of) the heartache of not being able to ensure the earthly wellbeing of all those I love, afraid of things falling apart if I don’t actively hold them together, afraid of the choices loved ones will make if I don’t micromanage them, afraid of the unknown, afraid that I won’t be able to bear what I feel or experience if I let go. I am afraid of acknowledging my desperate fragility, my weakness, the uncertainty of this early life, and my utter inability to actually hold all things together. I’m afraid to be alone in what I feel and fear, and yet I also am afraid to let others into this experience.
There is a part of me that wants to always be in control, and yet deep down I realize that control is only an illusion – only God is truly in control. And while I know ultimately it is far better that he is in control, I feel so vulnerable when faced with the prospect of letting go. And my fear makes me want to cling all the more tightly to this illusion of control, even though doing so can often be isolating, exhausting, painful, soul-crushing, and ultimately futile.
I wonder if the only way to truly practice letting go of control is to trust – to practice trusting Jesus, loved ones, and even myself. Trusting feels so vulnerable and hard, and yet when those in whom I place my trust prove to indeed be trustworthy, I know it also can be so profoundly connecting, revitalizing, healing, life-giving, and hope-inducing.
I feel I need to daily be reminded of the gospel, including that ultimately the most trustworthy Someone in whom I can place my trust is Jesus. Jesus is perfectly faithful and trustworthy, and not only this – he actually is the source of all life and continues to hold all things together! Who better to trust in and simultaneously practice letting go with – or rather, handing over to – than Jesus? He actually can hold all things together, and will even someday make all things right, even if life includes experiences of pain. Surely it is far better that he is in control than I. And I hope that continually practicing placing my trust in Jesus will give me courage to continue to also practice trusting other loved ones instead of holding so tightly to my own individual experiences – which I suppose is a small testimony to Jesus’ supremacy and of the reconciliation and closeness of relationship that is made possible through him.
115 The Son is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. 16 For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him. 17 He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. 18 And he is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning and the firstborn from among the dead, so that in everything he might have the supremacy. 19 For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, 20 and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross.
Colossians 1:15-20 (NIV)
Anger
Lately I have been thinking a bit about anger and its relationship to fear and control. My toddler now clearly feels and expresses a whole range of emotions, and does so in such a visible and visceral manner. This is beautiful and refreshing in its own way, and leads to many sweet moments of such tangible joy and laughter and wonder. And yet, as a little person, he of course also feels emotions such as sadness and anger. I notice that his anger, often times expressed through hitting or throwing, can at times feel like a crisis to me. This can seem like a crisis not because Bubsy experiences anger (which is a healthy part of being human), but because it elicits in me a sense of fear and need to control.
A wise person in my life said something to the effect that many difficulties in parenting arise when we parent out of fear of the future rather than in response to the current situation. I certainly see this being true for me, as while Bubsy’s hitting makes me sad and sometimes even physically hurts me or others a little bit, the true difficulty for me is that I can slip into a place of fearing for his future – What if he gets labelled as “bad” or a “bully” by others because of how he sometimes hits, and this prevents him from making friends? What if his hitting gets worse and worse as he gets bigger? What if my husband and I are “bad” parents because we don’t respond in the “right” way? What even is the “right” way to respond? What if everything spirals out of control and we fail Bubsy?
I tend to be one who internalizes what I am feeling and who initially wants to push down negative emotions, which means that often much of what I feel manifests as anxiety. Growing up I certainly had a hard time experiencing anger; I had difficulty even acknowledging that I felt anger let alone knowing what to do with it. And this is still a struggle today, although I have been working on it, along with the help of numerous wise people speaking into my life and challenging me and modeling healthy expressions of anger. Which means when my toddler so clearly feels and expresses anger, there is a part of me that is glad that he can express it and that wants to support him in learning to express it well, but there is also a part of me that really does not know how to respond and wants to just control his anger or force it to go away.
Another wise person in my life recently listened to my concerns about my toddler’s anger and affirmed that it is actually great that Bubsy is expressing himself. He encouraged me to think of this as an opportunity for me and my husband to help Bubsy learn to experience anger without resorting to either extreme of “freaking out” or “shutting down” – and in doing so, to practice this for ourselves as adults as well. This ground is rich with the possibility of learning to do something new, to break generational patterns pertaining to the experience of and expression of anger – and in doing so to catch small glimpses of the Kingdom now as by God’s grace relationship with Jesus makes it possible to change even longstanding patterns.
I used to think that all anger is “bad”, but today my understanding is beginning to go something like this: Anger is a sign that something is wrong, but that something can be nuanced and identifying it often takes some reflection. What is wrong may fall in the category of: (1) I am doing something wrong (e.g., I am being sinful in an interaction and am hurting someone else; perhaps I am being selfish or judgmental or entitled or controlling, etc.); (2) someone else is doing something hurtful (e.g., their own sin is coming in to play and they have done something to hurt me); (3) something is wrong in the world (as the world is impacted by the Fall, there are countless painful things that now happen even though they were not originally meant to); or (4) any combination of the above.
If this is truly the case, then acknowledging anger provides opportunities for responding in adaptive and even helpful ways – for adults, this might mean having loving yet honest conversations with those involved pertaining to issues contributing to anger and seeking resolution (which can actually strengthen relationships!), praying and repenting when needed, making changes in situations contributing to anger, acknowledging the reality of sin and brokenness and bringing this to Jesus, learning to make space for emotions without having to act directly out of them, and so on. For a toddler, this might mean finding words to express what is wrong, asking for help in identifying the problem and offering responses, learning to use coping skills, beginning to practice skills pertaining to sharing and being flexible, and more. Anger does not need to be a “scary” or “dangerous”, and even can be a helpful indicator that change is needed or that we need to practice relating to others or the world in new ways.
And this is a much more hopeful and much less fear-based response to anger. Instead of needing to control my toddler’s anger, I can lean into it and view it as an opportunity for growth and change and trusting in Jesus – both for Bubsy as well as for me and my husband. Even though this growth is hard, I am thankful for this opportunity to experience something new, and am hopeful that by God’s grace he can use even this to make me and those I love more like Jesus.