A hard lesson

Have you ever had to learn a lesson the hard way?

Maybe, as a child, you couldn’t contain your fascination at the flames dancing atop the stove, that is, until you got burned. I bet those flames lost their appeal real fast.

At the start, the thing, whatever it is, doesn’t seem dangerous, maybe even manageable. But eventually, we learn that what we see could only be the tip of the iceberg, and it usually is. There’s often a whole mountain beneath the surface. Unfortunately, the experience that comes with this discovery usually involves some broken bones, aka consequences.

In my journey with Jesus, I have sensed a guiding force that kind of taps me on the shoulder when I get too near dangerous terrain. It often signals me to “wait” or directs me to change course. Sometimes, it’s a gut instinct, other times it’s a still small voice that I don’t really hear with my ears, but sense somewhere within me. For years, I didn’t pay attention to either.

I thought I was wise enough to thoroughly assess every situation and make my own decisions. Most of the time, I thought those nudges were my fears trying to keep me from living. Just as often, I discovered that I couldn’t have been more wrong.

By ignoring my gut and what I now recognize as the Holy Spirit’s leading, I was headed straight into a disaster, something that could ruin my life.


Case in point, the day of this car accident, I knew that I needed to stay home. I had felt the nudge to get more rest. I had worked until the wee hours of the morning. But I still felt pressure to make it in, albeit around mid-day. I was extremely tired, too tired to be driving, especially in snowy and icy conditions. But I did it anyway.

In the end, I totaled my car and got a concussion. Thankfully, I was the only person impacted, and my insurance covered everything. God absolutely took care of me. Medical bills were covered, rental car paid for and eventually, even got a new (to me) car paid for in (mostly) cash. I was struggling through some intense migraines but was told it was temporary. I had reason to hope. I was enduring the consequences of my own stupid actions while witnessing God’s faithfulness all at the same time.

Now, almost 5 years later, I’m still struggling with debilitating migraines, and some serious cognitive issues that I wasn’t even aware of until a few months ago, but now seem plain as day when I look back over the years. It’s been tough… I can’t lie. Some days, I feel like I’m drowning.

I have often blamed myself. I mean, it is entirely my fault. But blaming doesn’t fix it. I beat myself up, too, but that doesn’t help either. I hold all my questions and complaints from God until I collapse, unable to stand up under it all. I think, “Why would God want to hear any of that anyway?” Though, I’m sure God already knows.

I can’t begin to know why God allowed things to go this way. And I have no idea what I might gain by this prolonged suffering from a God that makes all things work together for my good. But I have noticed something worth mentioning.

He hasn’t left.

That guiding presence, the admonition to wait, that still small voice hasn’t evaporated from my days. It’s still leading – sometimes to bed early, away from overexertion, to time with him – in his Word, to the right doctors and specialists. I didn’t expect it, but I’m learning a hard lesson about God’s faithfulness. I’m learning that it’s constant, even in the face of my own failure.

Why I believe part 2

I’ll be the first to admit it…I struggle with relationships. The kind of relationship doesn’t really matter – family, friendships, romances and more continue to confound and challenge me on a regular basis. Relationships take work! You can’t be on autopilot and do relationships well. Instead, we have to be able to adapt to the needs of the day, person, and place because what was required yesterday might be different than what is required today.  Relationships have BIG demands, like presence, vulnerability, boundaries, compassion, self-control, and a certain level of inter-dependency. And that’s a tall order.

What I struggle with most in my closest relationships is that “certain level of inter-dependency.” We’re all imperfect. It’s something that we all learn through experience and, eventually, learn to live with.  But, because we’re all so imperfect, we’re constantly bumping up against one another, causing bruises and breaks that sometimes take a lifetime to heal. And what’s worse is that none of it happens in a vacuum. Life goes on and we get the hang of walking with a limp.

The sheer pain of my bruises and breaks had me believing that independence was safer. Self-reliance in everything was necessary, because the less I had to rely on someone else, the less opportunity they had to hurt me. I clung to that belief like my life depended upon it. But it’s not a perfect system.  The walls that I built came down to be dependable for others, but not much else. So, when I struggled, I did so alone and in silence. It’s only in retrospect that I realized that was a dangerous place to be, especially if you have depression.

What’s interesting to me about those nightly walks home is that despite declaring my independence in every other area of my life, when it came to this one thing, I readily relinquished it over and over again. At the time, that fact didn’t register at all. I had no idea that I was laying myself bare before God. In fact, if you would’ve asked me about it, I would’ve thought you were a little “touched in the head” or, at the very least, a little too hard core for my taste.  

But in those moments, I was saying much more than I realized. By simply saying, ‘God please protect me,’ I was admitting that I was afraid. I was admitting that I didn’t have enough power to protect myself.  I was saying ‘God, you’re bigger and badder than anyone out here, please keep me safe.’  I didn’t wait for evidence that I had been heard, I had to move forward.  So, my fragile hope in God’s willingness to help carried me home.

It would be years before I would learn that this dependency was crucial to faith, crucial especially to a relationship with God. Then though, it was just a small thing; one tiny area of life. But over time, it became a reason to believe that God saw me and was interested in what concerned me. It became what I could point to that would give me the courage to approach God again, and again, and again and have the assurance that I would be received. That small request opened the door to relationship.

What about you? Is there something you have brought or would bring to God, if you thought it would be received?

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