When life is seemingly blowing up around you...

As I wake up this morning and try to process the myriad of emotions swirling around me in my current life predicament (widowhood), I wonder if it’s humanly possible to put what’s inside me into words. I don’t think so.

And yes, the word predicament is the one that comes to mind—an unpleasant or confusing situation that is difficult to solve.

I think that’s why I haven’t created much content, shared much of my daily life, or written a whole lot this year. It just feels hard to represent my experience accurately. Every attempt to share it seems to fall short or fails to capture it fully.

So, out of fear of being misunderstood, I often say nothing. But then I worry that my experience, the lessons, and the reflections from the valley I’ve walked through might never reach anyone else—might never help anyone else.

It’s not that I have it “all together,” and it’s not that I have “nothing together.” It’s neither extreme. It’s just presently walking through life in a way I never wanted to: husbandless, my kids without a dad, yet trusting that God is working something together for our good.

I love how Elizabeth Elliot writes about bearing uncertainty (my least favourite activity that I am learning how to do)…

“Waiting on God requires the willingness to bear uncertainty, to carry within oneself the unanswered question, lifting the heart to God about it whenever it intrudes upon one’s thoughts.”

I’m actually starting to see that seasons of uncertainty are perhaps one of the greatest (yet often unwanted) gifts we could ever receive. It draws us closer to Christ, into further dependance on him. It brings us a greater awareness of our need of Him, and His perfect ability to be all we need.

In a world that wants my focus to continually rest on loss, I keep choosing to lift my heart to Jesus, to give my attention to His faithfulness, His purposes, and His plans for today and tomorrow.

Sometimes I wonder if people think that’s cold, or like I’m ignoring what happened.

But here’s the truth: I know what happened more than anyone. It happened, and nothing will change that. Death is terrible this side of eternity, but for the believer it’s perfection on the other side.

“For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” Philippians 1:21

This earthly experience is but a blink of an eye, but eternity with Jesus is forever—and we ought to get that deep down into our spirits to inform how we live and what gets our attention today.

I want to dwell on Jesus, not death.

Even today, when Josh would have turned 37 years old.

I feel pressure to post teary, sad, heavy content… to send balloons into the sky, to blow out candles for someone who isn’t here on earth. All beautiful things.

But for me, what sustains me through each day is turning my attention to Jesus, the hope we have in Him, what He is doing today, in and through me, and through His body of believers. What I find profound is being able to praise Him, even today, when the fabric of life seems to demand defeat. The real testimony is walking in and singing a song of victory despite painful circumstances.

To walk in victory requires acknowledging a battle. So don’t hear that life is all sunshine and rainbows. Not what I’m trying to convey. Victory requires acknowledging that our life experience includes pain and suffering, but through Christ we overcome.

And that’s where I too can give God all the glory. Because ultimately, I didn’t fight the battle or win the battle. It was fought for me, and the victory was gifted to me through Christ.

If you picture your life seemingly blowing up around you, and you’re sitting there, still, at peace, knowing that there’s a shield around you, that you’re unscathed because you’re in the shadow of His wing—that’s it. Knowing that, experiencing that, in what feels like a war zone of life’s circumstances… you realize it’s still all true. Jesus is who He says He is. His promise to be with you and to be all you need, no matter the circumstance… that all actually holds up.

The world might blow up around you. In fact, it’s almost guaranteed that it will in some way. When it does, cling to Christ. Keep your eyes on Him, not on the bombs around you. Let Him be your strength, your shield, and your song.

If I can leave you with something to borrow from my battlefield season of life, it’s this: Jesus holds true. I can attest to it, even through the worst things we can experience on this earth. Jesus is enough.

There is a song that’s been ringing in my spirit this past week—New Wine by Brooke Ligertwood—and here are a few of the lyrics that have been my song this week:

In the crushing
In the pressing
You are making
New wine
In the soil, I
Now surrender
You are breaking
New ground

So I yield to You and to Your careful hand
When I trust You I don't need to understand

Make me Your vessel
Make me an offering
Make me whatever You want me to be
I came here with nothing
But all You have given me
Jesus, bring new wine out of me