This is the sort of week I dread. Old evils that come back
to haunt me and my family. It isn’t fair I keep screaming inside, but Satan
never is. He wants to burden us just when we feel life is heavy enough. I
really just want to shrink, pretend I don’t exist. I know it is no use hiding,
no use pretending the looming problems are not there. Yet I wish they weren’t
there. I don’t feel strong enough to do battle, nor do I want to. This is the
place we are allowed to go, because we have no other option but to lean on God
through the storm and come through the other side stronger and more resilient.
I know what the storms are like, and they always hurt, always bring pain, and
are often uncomfortable and inconvenient. Yet, maybe I can keep my eyes on the
eternal. The end has been foretold and in that I can rejoice. I know the war
will be won, and I am on the right side. Isn’t it more about trusting the God
knows what you are going through, and that He is actually bringing you through
it. He doesn’t look down on us in helplessness and watch what we go
through. He is there with us, guiding us, ministering to us, and always
interceding for us!
It seems easier to ignore a problem, maybe it will go away,
maybe something will change, and sometimes it does seem to go away for a time,
but it comes back to you and is glaring you in the face, demanding to be dealt
with. These evils I have been through before, the victory has been so small, so
seemingly insignificant that they seem just as large as ever, perhaps even
larger because of their history. Will I fail again in battle, will those doing
battle with me fail again. My experience says yes. I complain to God and ask,
Why? It shouldn’t be this way. Don’t you want something better for me? I don’t
want to admit that maybe He is perfectly content with the place I am in, and
even desires me to be there. He wants all of me, and all my sustenance to come
from Him, and all my needs to be met by Him. We want to protect ourselves to
survive, yet Christ demands we die, we lay down our lives. I cry inwardly. I
don’t want to die, dying isn’t pleasant, it isn’t lovely, it hurts. I know I
will be brought through the fire, it will refine me, but it will kill me. Am I
willing to die? That is the question in my mind today. I am prayerfully trying
to trust God, and that it will work to some end that is not in my mind, trusting
that He can transform clay pots to glorious treasure.
