That thing that we dreamed of for ourselves, the things we
hoped for that never materialized, the life envisioned for ourselves that we
were robbed of, these are the things I am talking about. The pain and suffering
of watching them pass from our reach is so personal, so private that to speak
of them with the chance that the hearer would mock, scoff or make light of them
keeps them locked away from the sight of any other human.
Some of us, no all of us remain chained to these
disappointments far longer than we should. A “self” we had hoped, planned and
sacrificed for has died. This cycle repeats itself over and over in my life. It
happened again this week. This morning while lamenting my case into my coffee,
a very soft and sweet thought rose out of the cloudy gloom like someone
whispered it to me. “Take up your cross and follow me.” Ever have that happen?
A thought clear, bright and laden with hope emerge from the mess with such
clarity that it captures your attention with its novelty and excellence.
“So what does that mean in this situation,” I wondered. The
answer came as softly and sweetly as the statement. Take all the things that
have “died” and the means by which they were killed and follow Him and in the
doing of this, His purposes will supernaturally begin to materialize. Could
accepting the losses as part of His plan for me and following Him while bearing
them be the way to the exceptional life He planned for me? What wonders will
unfold in obeying this command?
I’m no Bible scholar but I’ll tell you what my hope is: that
the pain and disappointment that we find so personal and intimate is not just
known by Him but understood by Him. I have reason to believe He understands not
just the value of that which was lost but why
it was important to me. Pain is the
canvas on which the strokes of courage and cowardice work themselves out in the
light. He sees the beauty and the blemishes. Nothing is too graphic for Him to
handle. His story is on the canvas too. We can take comfort in common
experience, and TRUST Him.
Those persons and events that force their way into our lives
and do violence to what we consider personally valuable, delicate, fragile,
priceless… don’t relent despite our cries. The inevitability is at times
breathtaking. They force open the door through which we enter into the
fellowship of His suffering. Philippians
3:8-10 really comes to life in this light.
Php 3:8-10 Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the
surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered
the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain
Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes
from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness
from God that depends on faith-- that I
may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings,
becoming like him in his death,
The valuable things that die don’t have to be an anchor to
an abandoned, defeated life of disappointment. Christianity offers an amazing
alternative to this. Instead of a life tethered to failure and disappointment
requiring greater amounts of synthetic pain relief, Christ says, "…If anyone would come after me, let him
deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.” (Luke 9:23) Take up my
cross? The things that cause those important, personal parts of me to die, I’m
supposed to take them up and follow Him? Is it ok to think that our lives are
sometimes crucified in small or large pieces of intimate personal matters,
killed by circumstances beyond our control but certainly not His? Those events
come and kill a part of what we held dear and leave us swooning with how beyond
stopping they were. Sometimes the force of an event extends itself over years
or decades and finally we realize this isn’t going to be what I had dreamed it
would. It is a hope drawing its last breaths. Then it dies. What about these
piecemeal crucifixions? Little parts of us that die. Do we need to include them
on the cross of self denial? I think if we want to be free of the regret of
their loss, yes. In the acceptance of the death and the cause for it, as a
matter of trusting Jesus for the decision to allow it, we swing free of the
restraints of grief, sorrow and loss to look expectantly toward His silhouette
against a whited-out future following Him.
The phrase “take up” in Jesus’ command are a sailor’s terms
for weighing anchor. What else would
you weigh anchor for other than to prepare for a voyage. What grander voyage
can there be than navigating eternity by the celestial references of the Maker
of the Universe? “Trust Him?” you ask. After the damaging event that has
changed the course of my life? Yes. This is definitely a big decision. Who will
be the guide of my life, me or Christ? In my hands, my life will be held back
by regrets and sorrows. Taking them up and following Him makes my life bigger
than those regrets and sorrows. They are only mementos of a long and meaningful
journey, a journey I still don’t know the whole significance of. Without Him
they are a destination, a place I
really don’t care to stay. I’m going to do everything in my power to weigh
anchor.
I am often struck by the command in 1 Thes. 5:16 to “rejoice
always”. Even while something important in my life is dying? It does say always. Another verse I have trouble
reconciling with this one and my life is two verses past in verse 18. “give
thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for
you.” It really is a choice. Will the disappointments (as well as the triumphs)
be a destination or a simply a port of call on a much bigger, more significant
journey. These two verses make much more
sense when you put with them Romans 8:28 “And we know that for those who love
God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to
his purpose. “ If I really believe that then I really can rejoice always and in
everything give thanks. Take a deep breath of freedom. Trust His judgment. Keep
your eye on His form ahead of you. Are you sick to death of grieving the loss?
Weigh anchor mate. Let the voyage resume. This port is not the final
destination.
I can weigh anchor and as the winds of the sea stir the
sails and fall on my face I can rejoice,
always looking forward to the next
leg of the journey. I can give thanks in
all things knowing my final destination is not in the port of Regret, Loss
or Disappointment. There are adventures I have yet to experience on this
journey.
