image by Philippe Toupet from Unsplash It's been a long silence, I know. But I'm alive and well! and ready to start writing again (perhaps not as regularly still, but at least enough to start the ball rolling again.) I've tried to maintain this blog regularly on a weekly basis since I first started it, taking it as a challenge to help myself grow, spiritually as well as in discipline for writing. However, as I've grown and struggled, I've realized that sometimes, in certain seasons of life the specific way to grow that I determined for myself may not always be the one I need right now. The desire and goal remains the same, to grow; but, I'm realizing, perhaps not always in the way I had envisioned or planned for myself. This is something I've been forced to see, not just in this particular area of my life, but in almost everything else. By God's providence, these 2 pandemic years have been significant and full of challenges for me. I think these 2 years have changed me in many ways, humbling ones for sure, ones which actually leave me feeling less strong, less confident, less sure of myself--yet, if they ultimately make me more Christ-like, can only be for the better. Uncertainty. Self-doubt. Fear of the future, of what it will bring, and of future regret/guilt over decisions I make now. Realizing how much I lack wisdom and how much I need guidance, even though I thought I already knew that. I remember being so depressed last year when the pandemic first hit and I was struggling with fears about my work, future, relationships (or the lack thereof,) and establishing/proving myself in my writing; issues of identity, achievement, and fulfilment. Times like those are when we need to journal our thoughts and emotions, try to process and understand ourselves; and I did a lot of that, but it also sucked a lot of my energy and confidence to write for this platform. Acknowledging and dealing with my own messiness and confusion was as much as I could handle. However, the pressure of feeling like I had a backlog of self-imposed writing assignments only added to the crisis of internalized definitions of success/benchmarks of achievement that I was wrestling with. I realized that if I was to deal with this at all, and learn to stop seeking my fulfilment/identity in meeting all these standards, as God was showing me with increasing clarity and urgency, I would have to change my mindset on this as well. So I took a purposeful break from blogging and firmly told myself that page views, or the satisfying posting "streak" I had maintained so doggedly and determinedly, should not be something I cling to in order to pat myself on the back. I would take a break and come back when I was ready. It hasn't been a fun experience, to say the least, but it has also been one of thanksgiving, and for that I am grateful and soberly amazed. That, even when I'm still very much bogged down in this phase, I can still honestly say that. I wouldn't have expected that of myself. I have learnt a lot about myself (mostly bad things) and God (all good things.) At the very least, I can acknowledge the goodness of that. My church Bible study program has gone on to the Minor Prophets, and we're currently on Habakkuk. Minor Prophets are tough. I used to wince at the depressing, dark visions of judgment, lamentation, and destruction. What a painful and heavy message to bear. Habakkuk especially--the prophet himself is torn, pleading with God, dismayed by the visions of war and judgment. There seems nothing to be thankful for, and everything to mourn for. In the early chapters, there is much to learn about the historical context, of sin and idolatry and judgment and God's mercy as well as God's holiness and justice. But the ending of Habakkuk was a beautiful note of transcendent hope amidst the chaos and darkness of the previous chapters. 16 I heard and my heart pounded, my lips quivered at the sound; decay crept into my bones, and my legs trembled. Yet I will wait patiently for the day of calamity to come on the nation invading us. 17 Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, 18 yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior. 19 The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to tread on the heights. My heart echoed these verses almost painfully. A world stricken with disease, fear, conflict, suffering, and war. We see that today, everyday, in the news from different countries, in the headlines reporting suspicion, hate, and disunity, in the death tolls and the accounts of desperate needs, physical and financial and spiritual. I see that in my own life, when I'm tempted to fear the future and wonder what is going to become of me, what opportunities or hope there is for me, how I might be ruining my life and setting myself up for future regret. It seems so impossible once you consider how little you can control or know--how can one look forward to happiness and fulfilment? (yes, I probably have some anxiety issues.) Habakkuk's joy was in a Person, not a situation. Therefore, it was constant and resilient, because God is unchanging. Like Habakkuk, I hope to cultivate this kind of attitude of humble faith and peace. Regardless of my situation--which I can't control--I have joy and strength, not in myself or others, but in Who He is, and what He has done for me/how He stands in relation to me, as my Saviour. (v 18) Verse 19 especially seemed so unreal--could I somehow have this strength, this sureness and confidence of a deer scaling dizzyingly high mountain tracks, to navigate my own murky and confusing path right now? I feel much more like a stranded hiker with a fear of heights, clinging desperately onto the scrubby bushes by the narrow track, and feeling like any one false step would plunge me irrevocably down. And, this surreal joy and strength that Habakkuk describes isn't some flimsy, blind emotional high. It is a conscious choice that he makes even when fully acknowledging the bleakness of the circumstances and his own fears (v 16)--even in the midst of what sounds to me like a panic attack (pounding heart! quivering lips! trembling legs and weakened bones!) as he waits--"patiently"!!-- for the coming judgment. Wow. For the rest of 2021, and whatever unknown lies ahead--may we cling to this hope, and find the joy and strength we need.
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image by Toa Heftiba from Unsplash A while back, I started an e-devotional series taken from the writings of Oswald Chambers on trust. I was searching for guidance on how to grow in trust, in the midst of much uncertainty. I longed so much to have faith in God's will for me, but it just seemed too abstract. I wanted concrete comfort. Concrete guidance on what action to take. I wanted something I could cling to when I was overwhelmed by anxiety. There were two questions in the reflection section that stuck with me and gave me my first probing glimpse at what really was the problem--something we need to understand before we can try to resolve it. What worries and anxieties do I indulge in that reveal my lack of peace? What societies and systems do we build to minimize our need for peace with God? The meaning of "indulge"--a word we use most commonly today to talk about eating desserts, or lax parents. Basically, to knowingly choose something we know is not good for us. I had never thought of anxieties as something I "indulged" in as I always associated that word with pleasant things. But what it made me realize was that I had a choice. Upon close examination I realized that it was true--before I reached the final stage of feeling overwhelmed, there was that moment in the beginning where I actively chose to pursue this train of thought. Sometimes obsessively. Sometimes unnecessarily. And these choices formed a pattern. There was a repeated, regular pattern of anxiety in my life that reflected an underlying problem, greater than the isolated problems in themselves. A lack of peace, making me feel that a.) every problem was of huge consequence, and b.) it was up to me to resolve them, the situation was in my hands for better or for worse. This was the real problem, the root problem. Without acknowledging this, simply thinking that you can break the pattern by willpower, by forcing yourself "not to think", is a naive solution as most of us might already know. As result--that brings us to the second question. We resort to trying all sorts of things to fix ourselves, to restore that sense of equilibrium. We jump into action, because there's a kind of blind, stupid comfort in being able to DO something, to feel like you're actively solving your problem. We "build societies and systems." We seek communities to surround us with support and affirmation, so we won't feel so hurt when others reject or criticize us. We work to make ourselves feel important, needed, loved, in families or groups of friends. Sometimes in damaging and unhealthy ways. We try to create an identity for ourselves affirmed by others, that we can fall back on regardless of what happens to us. Or we try to make sure the problem doesn't happen again. We improve ourselves. We find ways to work better, faster, to be less forgetful, to be more efficient, to be more attractive, or more compelling. We convince ourselves, like consumers buying into the ads they see on TV, that if only we get the latest vacuum cleaner or a cutting-edge smart fridge, our homes will stay clean and well-run. All we need is a better system, better skills. We try harder. These things, promising a shadow of compensation, are what we throw ourselves into, desperately wanting them to work. Sometimes they work. Sometimes they don't. Sometimes they work the first time but don't the next. The key is that they're not the real answer. True freedom only comes with a broadening of perspective, understanding that a.) God's providence INCLUDES--in His mysterious will!--our problems; there are no accidents! and b.) we can turn to Him for guidance on what action to take, and trust that it will work out according to His plan, "for the good for His people." Learning to trust in God is impossible, as abstract fluff as it sounds, if we don't realize that trust in God first requires peace with God. Much of the times, we struggle to trust Him because we are not living in peace with Him. Whether this means that we need to repent and be saved as unbelievers, or whether this means we need to repent of our idols and lukewarmness/backsliding as Christians, peace with God means submitting our lives to Him. If we don't want to accept any other outcome than the one we want, if we refuse to believe that God is good, and continues to be good, even if He doesn't give us what we want--He "gives and takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord"--then we are still living in rebellion against Him. Maybe we've externally submitted our lives to Him. Call ourselves Christians. Go dutifully to church every Sunday and maybe even try to talk about the Gospel sometimes. But we shy away from accepting that the Bible calls us to make hard choices, and that God demands every area of our lives and hearts. Our lusts. Our free time. The times no one sees us, or we don't have to face any consequences. It's only now and then. Such a small thing, He won't mind. We cannot keep a little pet sin or two under the carpet while proclaiming that God is the ruler of our life. Or perhaps we're not at peace with Him because we're not willing to give Him control over everything--everything, but not our love life. Success. Career. Our heartbreak, or happiness. Our dreams (and this was the hardest one I'd been struggling with.) If we are guilty of one or both of these (as the case probably is) how can we truly trust? We are afraid that God will require what we don't want to let go of. We are fighting desperately for control. We are actually in rebellion, yet keeping it under wraps for now as we wait to see how it happens. We are already suspecting Him of not giving us what we want, already picturing Him as the Bad Guy, already unhappy to accept any other plan rather than our own. How could we trust? Trust comes naturally, sweetly, when we are at peace with God. When we are able to say earnestly that we love Him, and seek to love Him more than any other. When we can say humbly that we know His will is better than ours--no "maybes." |
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