Since celebrating Easter, I've thought a lot about the truth that the same power that rose Jesus from the dead lives in me. That resurrection power lives in me. I can claim it and dwell on it and know it, but the truth is I don't always feel it.
Some days are hard. Some nights are dark. Pain abounds and loneliness sweeps in. The mundane quickly makes me lose sight of the holy. Toddler tantrums, migraines, potty training, dirty dishes, laundry, dreams not yet realized, prayers not yet answered, bills, budgets, low bank accounts, student loans, fears, anxieties, loss, exhaustion. The day's duties quickly pile up and the future's uncertainties quickly bring worry. But it is actually the mundane that is flooded with the holy. Because it is in the everyday routine that God's faithfulness shines through. The grace that saved us is the grace that sustains us. And that sustaining grace testifies to the resurrection power. Whatever greets me in the light of day and whatever comes through the darkness of night, I can face because of that truth. I surely can't do it on my own. I can't face the chaos and the tragedies and the hardships that come in this life in my own strength; I can't trudge through the mundane tasks of each day in my own strength.
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Last week left me physically and emotionally exhausted. Constantly on the go, saying goodbyes, and traveling made me want to just curl up in bed. But we wandered back into town Sunday afternoon. And after a few moments of unpacking at home, we gathered our tired and worn out selves and headed out the door to church.
I'll admit, part of me would have much rather stayed home and rested. Part of me wanted to just do some introverting in my own home and not have to talk to anyone. I was spent emotionally and drained physically. But we went. And sometimes you just go simply out of sheer obedience. "And Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last." (Mark 15:37)
That wasn't the ending the followers of Jesus had expected. Even after walking with Him, knowing the Scriptures, and hearing His teachings, they didn't expect this. This declaration of death. This despairing finality. This hopeless darkness. This God-man they had surrendered their lives to was horrendously mocked and brutally executed. This dear friend they had lived life with was no longer beside them. Dead. Buried. Just nights before they had feasted together. They experienced the intimacy of Jesus bending down to wash their feet, to serve them, to show them true love. And just days before that they watched Him triumphantly enter into the city with great praise from the people. But now He was in a tomb. The One who healed the sick now lied dead. The One who spoke about the Kingdom of God and forgave sins now was silent. The One who said He was the way, the truth, and the life now was covered in darkness. Silence. Darkness.
I didn't experience the tornado that ripped through Union University February 5th, 2008.
I transferred in that following fall semester and met plenty of people that were greatly affected by that storm. And as I heard stories, read the book God in the Whirlwind, watched the campus be reborn, and joined the Residence Life team, my life was forever impacted. Some of my best friends lived through that storm. And some of the most amazing testimonies of God's faithfulness and favor, grace and mercies came out of that storm. The promise that God brings renewal out of rubble is evidenced on that campus. But the threat of severe weather will always influence my emotions, my prayers, my actions. Severe weather easily stirs up anxiety and worry in me. It quickly brings specific people to mind to pray for. And it forces me to stay on top of the weather patterns and forecasts and be prepared. When storms approach, I am reminded of the great destruction they can cause. But, they also force me to cling to the great faithfulness of God they have displayed. I'm an introvert who doesn't like to cause any commotion or conflict. And so when something happened with a gift card transaction and being overcharged on my debit card for the remaining balance, my tensions were high as I dealt with going into the store and talking with associates and the manager, making numerous phone calls, and making several stops into the bank to sort it all out. It was a strange and confusing and little issue, but it was still something we didn't want to just overlook. Even though it was a minor thing, we still wanted to get the money back we were supposed to.
My introvertedness was already on high alert as I sat inside someone's office trying to talk through the situation and finalize the confusing claim. And then an elderly couple came in and started loudly discussing how no one was immediately helping them. I happened to be with the only person available at the time, and they decided to just stand by the office doorway and demand someone help them. Sometimes Spencer gets to joy of hearing me rant. When things happen in society or around the world or are blasted in the media, I have to process them somehow. And sometimes that means talking through it with Spencer. It normally takes place during long drives in the car and normally involves heavy stuff. He listens with his heart as I pour out my heart about all the things. Thoughts on modern day slavery, sex trafficking, same sex marriage, abortion, Planned Parenthood, the orphan crisis, depression, the government, southern culture, the Church in America, America, the refugee crisis, and so much more, spew out of me in incoherent sentences. He is such a gracious listener and supporter. He helps me process, and he teaches me so much.
I'm such a better communicator in writing. When I'm talking, I stutter and I stumble over my words. That is why I also process best through writing. Whether it is writing in a journal just for the Lord's eyes and mine, or writing on this space in a more public way, writing helps me process, helps me heal, helps me turn off my mind. When something happens that I need to process, my mind keeps spinning. Thoughts invade it and keep me up all night and take my focus during the day. But once I write them down, my mind is calmed. My heart races a little less and my mind is free to process other things and focus on the needs in front of me. The past few days have left me wide awake at all hours of the night. (That's partly due to battling a cold and a migraine that came out of nowhere and punched me in the head on Sunday, but it also involves all that is happening around the world right now.) I'm left heartbroken. I'm left in tears often. I'm now just left so confused. I grieved with Paris as I learned about the news of the attacks. Spencer loves that country and the people there dearly. I was so saddened by the terror they faced. But you aren't allowed to grieve on social media without someone pointing you to another tragedy around the world and passing you some shame for not mentioning every nation facing hardships or people that are hurting. I wept with the refugees who would face further hardships after the attacks. My heart has been so burdened by their plight and by the lack of care from so many in the West. But you aren't allowed to weep on social media without someone stereotyping a group of people and passing you some political rhetoric about what you're supposed to think. My confusion and my aching and my tears are about to be poured out here. So forgive me for any incoherence. Please forgive my long post. As I laid in bed yesterday with a migraine I found myself getting discouraged because I couldn't apply what I had learned from the weekend at the Tribe Conference. I couldn't take action after being so energized to do so. But as I continued in the migraine state of fighting pain but not being able to fall asleep, I reminded myself of why I write.
I don't want to be political. I'm really not trying to be. But my heart was saddened today. I know it often can be if one spends too much time invested in politics, but today my heart was saddened because of the Word of God being a spontaneous prop in a campaign.
A few months ago I read through Judges and was left with so many questions. Questions about God and Israel, the cultural context, and the events that took place flooded my mind after reading that book.
I know the God of the New Testament is the same as the God of the Old Testament, but reading through Judges left me confused. I knew if someone asked me questions about the book, I wouldn't have answers. Judges reveals a dark moment in Israel's history, a time when the people continuously did what was evil in the sight of the Lord. So what can this ancient text, filled with violence and evil, teach readers today about God? After several weeks of not exercising, yesterday I got back out there. The crazy heat, the craziness of life, the crazy long list of excuses piled up making days turn into weeks and even weeks turn into months. I didn't mean to go this long without physical activity; it just happened.
But that's what excuses do, isn't it? They say you can wait until tomorrow, but then they make those tomorrows add up. And the longer those tomorrows add up, the harder it is to jump back into whatever it is you wanted to do. But the beauty of going to bed is knowing when the sun rises, a new day rises too. With the rising sun a fresh start awaits. Each day gifts us with the chance to say yes to what we put off the day before. |
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Sarah ConnatserSarah loves Jesus and her family and is passionate about addressing the urgent spiritual and physical needs around the world. She is the wife of Spencer and mama of Katherine and Claire, and they live in Nashville, TN. She runs a photography business with her husband and writes in order to offer encouragement and invite others to choose grace, joy, and gratitude in the adventure and the mundane. She loves traveling and reading; she will choose unsweet tea over sweet and bootcut jeans over skinny; and she is all sorts of awkward with small talk but thrives with deep conversations. |