Learning Memo: February
This month moved by so quickly, and I can barely tell where all the time passed. I went from dancing all night at my friend’s December wedding in California, spending the New Year with Ms. Sanchez eating my favorite breakfast (French toast), and coming back to Lincoln to its frigid cold, but also to my sweet friends, whom I had missed while I was away. And just like that, school’s back in session and I’ve returned to my old habits of making lists every morning and checking them off. I’ve got myself a casserole dish and I’m looking forward to trying some new recipes (quiche maybe?). I’ve been reading so much Nadine Gordimer and every now and then, I’ll grab Alice Munro from my nightstand and read one story from her short story collection, as if treating myself to her words, savoring them. I’ve been learning too, and I want to reflect on something I’ve been thinking about lately and how I’m continually challenged as I grapple with God’s word and pursue an intimate walk with Him.
On Pain & Perseverance: I must begin with the simple and plain truth that I’m not the most persevering human out there. You spend an hour with me on any challenge and realize I’ve either mentally checked out or I’ve started to give quitting some serious thought. Discomfort, suffering, and anything to do with pain are certainly not the doors I desire to walk through. In fact, my wish would be to live so calculatedly that I never have to stumble or arrive at a place of despair or fear. And yet, James 1:2-4 points me to a completely different path: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.” If I’m being honest, my considerations are far from joyful in moments of difficulty. Sometimes my head’s buried in the deep waters that can I barely perceive anything other than the fact that I’m overwhelmed, likely suffocating and simply needing this trial to stop, to reach a dead end, to release its grip on me. I came across the Greek translation of the word ‘perseverance’ : hypomonēn. Hypo means “under,” and the verb meneo is “to abide” (Greg Harris, The Cup and the Glory). To abide under. To stay in and endure through the trial and let it run its course. That’s where I’m stopped fast in my tracks. I’m not one to stay. I’m the first to want to run or flee from any situation, so this is certainly a hard pill to swallow.
The question of why I don’t want to abide under any trial is nudging at me now and it is fairly predictable: I don’t want to suffer in it because there’s nothing pleasant about pain. It takes from us, it weakens us, it strips us bare, leaves us desperate and even wretched; it torments and causes all kinds of inward aches. And yet there’s hope in knowing that while I cannot run from this as long as I live in a fallen world, I can certainly be perfected and shaped in this. That in God’s love for me exists His will to make me more like Him, to renew and transform me as His image bearer. Coming to the understanding that I was not created for my own sake but for God’s great pleasure (Revelation 4:11), and, as C.S. Lewis writes, created that “God may love us, that we may become objects in which the divine love may rest "well pleased." The faith that pleases the Father is the same faith that abides under and is tested in all the trials of life. Yikes.
This is where I find myself falling short over and over again. I have no doubts about God’s love for me, about His redemption. I find so much joy and peace delighting in His words and clinging to His promises. My awe for Him and His infinite power continues to grow and I’m constantly marveled by what God reveals to me about Himself. And yet, all of that quickly crumbles when I find myself stuck, when I am overcome by the weight of anxiety, financial crisis, fears about the future, and everything I can't possibly control. I’ve lived like this for years–quick to doubt, to lead myself to sink further and further down in unbelief and despair. I have become so agreeable to every lie that evades me rather than taking captive of each malicious thought (2 Corinthians 10:5) and submitting it to God, bringing it under the scrutiny and light of God’s word. I don’t want to live this way, and God is certainly calling me deeper.
A deeper fellowship that doesn't have me walking away and turning my face from Him when things don’t go as I planned or hoped, a stronger faith that does not sway wherever the wind blows, a true knowledge of Him that profoundly changes how I live my life, what I give my thoughts to, where I find rest, how I surrender, how I wait, essentially how I live in the mundanities and the unexpected terrors of my day to day.
I’ve been slowly making my way through the book of Luke, and couldn't move past this verse in chapter 6: “But why do you call Me 'Lord, Lord,' and not do the things which I say?” And I knew instantly that’s me. I have no qualms about who my Father is, and yet, that knowledge ends there, bearing no fruit. And Luke continues, saying not only should we come to Him, but to also hear (or listen to) His word and–wait for it–do what it says. Put into practice. Walk it out. To train our faculties by the constant use of the faith muscle. To trust and obey God again and again and again. As John Piper puts it, to work out fully the practical, moral implications of the knowledge we have, to be patient in the routine of righteous living and not give it up.
I don’t have all the answers but these are a few things I’m mulling over, and hoping to bring to remembrance when I find myself in any kind of trial:
My heavenly father is good and wise, and perfect in all His ways. I can trust what He allows, what He withholds, His timing in all things, His gentle and knowing hand holding mine, guiding me.
The well of my incompleteness is deep (Oswald Chambers), and my desires are many, but my God is the living waters, with an eternal flow. My God is indeed sufficient for me. I will cling to Him, I will hide in Him. I will find rest and peace in Him. I will live in Him.
When I’m tempted to pray away all my afflictions, I can pray for faith to know and believe that God is with me, even now, in the valleys. I do not have to cross this bridge to meet Him on the other side, I do not have to quench this flame to feel that He is near. I only have to look to Him, yes, even in the pain, even in the moment of weakness. And there I will find my Good Shepherd and faithful friend walking with me, sustaining me, ever close to my breaking heart.
I can abide in this trial because God is in it with me. And yet I am not alone, because the Father is with me (John 16:32)
I will abide in this trial because it will produce perseverance, patience–tools that God employs to work in and slowly perfect me, making me more like Him.
Father,
It is not a walk of faith if I’m not walking with You. I need you every step of the way. I admit I cannot do this without You. Please give me the gift of faith to live a life that pleases You, for the strength to persevere when the trials come, and to keep my eyes on You in all seasons. Thank you that even in my pain, You are purposeful and present, working all things for my good. If you’re calling me to be patient, to abide under, then it must be good and I want Your good—no matter what it costs. May I have a reckless reliance on You all my days and may You be glorified in my life always. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Additional Resources:
The Doctrine of Perseverance: The Earnest Pursuit of Assurance (Desiring God)
We Don’t Like Pain (Jackie Hill Perry in conversation with Toni Collier, on Still Coloring Podcast)
The Problem of Pain, C.S. Lewis.
How does the “testing of your faith” produce perseverance (Got Questions)
