Living in faith is an uphill battle. It’s never really easy and neither is sharing how God is working in our lives, but faith and faithfulness mean more than you know to more than you know. I’ve seen how sin can have a ripple effect. More importantly, I’ve seen obedience and kindness and forgiveness and selflessness do just the same–it’s slow and sometimes we might not see it as much as we see the shortcomings, but it’s there. And that’s refreshing and that’s encouraging. So chin up, hold tight, and keep the faith. You never know to whom it will mean something.
Every Sunday I wake up at 5:30 am and make the long drive in the dark to my job across town. This particular Sunday came on the heels of a week when everything seemed to be crumbling at the workplace, which is also my church home. The entire week I could barely cry about the situation. My coworkers were handling the situation wonderfully…the way I was feeling was a result of my own process of walking through it with the Lord. Reality felt surreal and there were too many emotions of hurt, betrayal, and fear to make sense of anything true. Many hours were spent in prayer, being with friends when words were not enough, sitting in the awkward silence that comes along with doing life with others truly and deeply. Loving when hurting. I was ashamed of how scared I was leading in to Sunday, where all God’s people would be looking to our staff…to me, a 20-something living in a 3rd floor walk-up, for answers, for hope. In the moments of rough clarity in that week, the only way I was able to explain how I felt to those around me was that I was standing alone in front of a huge, thick wall of smoke and fog. I felt like God was calling me to walk through it and had a better vantage point, but to me it looked like my weakness, my sin, my out of control. I felt like a scared little girl. On my drive to work the day I took this picture, I laughed because everything was covered in fog. It was eery and dark outside…ironically reminiscent of my heart and my sight. Then I got to the lake. Once I crossed onto the bridge, I could see the sun just barely rising over the calm, still water. Everything was quiet. I put my hazards on because that’s what you do when you are in awe of God and pulled over. Cars flew past me but all I could do was reach as far as I could reach out in to the cold December air. My hands were shaking maybe from the cold but probably from what an iPhone can never capture. He was telling me he was still here, he had been there, and I had never actually be alone in front of that wall. I put the car back in drive and crossed over the edge of the bridge back into the fog covered road that would lead me to my church home. It seemed a lot less scary knowing God is the creator of all light and truth.