When my mom died in 2023 (see blog post “Wildflowers in the Ashes”), it felt like a wildfire swept through my life. So much hurt. So much change. So much regret. But as the months went by, I began to see little green shoots of God’s healing and slowly the sharp pain faded into a dull ache.
Since then, there have been sudden lightning strikes that left blackened holes in the landscape just starting to grow wildflowers again. Supposedly lightning never strikes the same place twice, but in life, loss doesn’t work that way. Loss often happens unexpectedly, and with each strike of the normal aches and pains of life, my heart burst into flame again.
I try to do the right thing, seek peace, love God, love my neighbor, but the lightning strikes. I try to weep with those who weep, a normal part of church body life, but often I just want to run away. I wake up after another rough night full of night terrors and feel like the sunshine taunts me with the illusion of another day in paradise. I’m tired of the smell of ashes even as I can see the green grass growing where the wildfire burned. I get hit, then Jesus heals me. I get hit again, and Jesus never fails. But getting hit, hit, hit, and at some point, I feel like parts of me are being permanently blown away with the wind. Trust in Jesus. Another strike. Trust in Jesus. Another strike. Lord Jesus, will it ever end? I barely recognize myself anymore as the Potter molds and smashes the clay into something that He promises will be beautiful.
Feeling inadequate is the worst. My mind seems foggy most days and less foggy on others. It takes so much concentration to accomplish the most basic tasks like making meals, cleaning the bathroom, making the bed, getting dressed, feeding the cats, going for a walk, homeschooling my kids. These routines keep me afloat. It’s only when the “extras” hit that life seems to collapse around me like another fire.
Death has been unusually present over the past couple years, or maybe I’m just more sensitive to it now. Friends and family keep dying. Like ashes blowing into my face, I smell it coming even before I walk into the funeral because I’ve been here before.
Last year, I lost friends who are still alive today. With life, there’s hope, but it’s hard to hope when betrayal is the most painful strike of all. At least when someone dies, you know that you won’t see them in the grocery store anymore or feel the sting of slander or silence or both. Betrayal is when friends choose the other side when you thought that they were on your side. It’s when friends pretend like nothing’s wrong and go about their normal life as your life is destroyed. Betrayal is when you’re screaming for help, and they add fuel to the fire. Betrayal is the death of friendship.
Last year, I lost friends to old age and cancer. My Grandpa died. A deacon died. A church member died. Last month, I lost friends to suicide and cerebral palsy. Yesterday, I lost a friend to liver cancer.
The lightning strikes keep hitting me again and again. I feel cornered by life in a broken world and helpless when loved ones depart forever. I get angry at myself for soaking in sadness this way and not healing faster. I believe the truth that Jesus is the resurrection and the life, and all who believe in Him have hope for this life and the next. He’s changed my life and gives me purpose every day to follow Him despite the strikes. But why won’t my heart cooperate? Why does loss hit me differently than others who seem to be able to go to work or laugh as before?
I’m going through the motions just to get through the funerals, and I can’t cry because I know if I do, I’ll never stop. I care deeply about relationships because relationships aren’t easy for me, and when they’re gone or discarded or fade away, I feel myself fading too. Do I stop comforting my friends? Of course not! How can I leave them when I know how it feels to be betrayed? I don’t want more regret by ignoring their pain. I don’t want a hardened heart that puts myself first and Jesus second. I want to love, even when it hurts. And lately, it just hurts.
When I try to push through, it’s like being dragged across gravel. When I force myself to slow down, the flames climb my legs from the hot ground. I never knew there were so many kinds of pain until now. Pain of depression. Pain of being made new and whole in Christ. Pain of hiding sin. Pain of repentance. Pain of resisting God’s sovereignty. Pain of submitting to God’s sovereignty. Pain of loss. Pain of gain. Pain of anniversaries when someone is missing. Pain of forgetting anniversaries. Pain of people remembering. Pain of people forgetting. Pain of being excluded. Pain of being included. Pain of a wildfire. Pain of lightning strikes. Pain of wind blowing ashes away.
I’m so thankful that God’s word says it like it is. 2 Corinthians 4:16-18, “Therefore we do not lose heart, but though our outer man is decaying, yet our inner man is being renewed day by day. For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison, while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal.”
This is how it feels, like the slow decay of a zombie. Alive, yet dying. Yet thank God, my soul doesn’t feel that way. It’s being renewed day by day. Jesus is keeping me, and that’s encouraging.
Here’s another one. 2 Corinthians 5:4-5, “For indeed while we are in this tent, we groan, being burdened, because we do not want to be unclothed but to be clothed, so that what is mortal will be swallowed up by life. Now He who prepared us for this very purpose is God, who gave to us the Spirit as a pledge.”
The emotions of pain are described here as groaning and nakedness. The apostle Paul understood what shameful pain was like, yet he also reminds us that the Holy Spirit has not abandoned our “earthly tent.” God is not ashamed to associate with us.
And look at Romans 8:18, 22-23, “For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to be revealed to us…For we know that the whole creation groans and suffers the pains of childbirth together until now. And not only this, but also we ourselves having the first fruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our body.”
The suffering of this life is NOTHING compared to glory. Can you imagine this? The decaying, groaning, suffering, and pain of this life that makes it so hard to put one foot in front of the other is NOTHING compared to the glory of heaven that’s coming.
Sometimes I feel like Job where no matter what I do, it always produces pain or loss. Am I making the wrong decisions? Am I married to a man who is? Are we doing something wrong? Could we do things better? How will these trials affect my kids? Am I being responsible with the life that God has given me?
Then I remember the story of Joseph who experienced so much pain and loss, but it was for a greater purpose than he could ever imagine. Life hurts. Unanswered questions torment. Betrayal changes relationships forever. But what people meant for evil, God intended for good. I’ve journeyed through abuse, trauma, depression, and heartache, and those things still hit hard sometimes. I would never choose these on my own, but I’m thankful that God has never abandoned me in the flames.
Job wasn’t perfect and wrestled with God over many of the same questions we have in suffering. Joseph wasn’t perfect either and was tempted to use his power against his brothers through revenge. But Jesus was (and is!) perfect, and that’s where I set my hope. Hebrews 12:2-3, “Fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfector of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. For consider Him who has endured such hostility by sinners against Himself, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.”
Life is painful, but it’s even more painful because we see the world through redeemed eyes. We look at people as valuable image-bearers of God whose lives and deaths matter. We feel stuck in a broken world when we’d rather be with Jesus in heaven. We carry the death of Jesus as we move against the flow of the dying and try to be good stewards of a world full of thorns, thistles, and evil. We weep with those who weep when we’d rather party with those who party. We persevere in trials when we’d rather give up. We walk a narrow uphill path when the wider path is all downhill. This is the painful journey of following Jesus, but it’s temporary. We have the testimony of Jesus, the Man of Sorrows, who wrestled with the cost of following God yet the greater glory of bringing many sons and daughters to glory was worth it, even if the path led to the cross.
This post might be hard to read and not as smooth as some of my other posts. Lately I’ve been struggling to write because I feel like an amputee. People who go through suffering often write a lot about suffering, and it can be depressing after a while. I get that. I get tired of reading books and blog posts about brokenness and suffering, too. On the flipside, I need to write even if no one reads it because it brings me back to Jesus, which is exactly where I need to be.
If you’ve been avoiding the worship service at church because it’s too hard to be around people, I know how you feel. I also know that being at church is exactly what our souls need whether we’re having a great day or a bad one. And yesterday was a perfect example of this.
Yesterday morning, a friend died. I went to church with a heavy heart. I play the piano for our congregation and went through the motions of practicing the songs with our music leader. I felt emotionally exhausted by the time I sat down for prayer meeting.
The devotional before prayer time was chapter 4 of Keith & Kristyn Getty’s book, Sing! How Worship Transforms Your Life, Family, and Church, and this quote resonated with me: “Through the course of our lives, we may well know times when it’s easy to have a spring in our step as we stand to sing; but often we come to sing with heaviness of heart, where our singing chokes a little in our souls, if not in our throats. None of us comes with everything figured out. We need to have songs that recognize these realities without leaving us to despair of those realities, because they lead us to the Rock that is higher than us.” (p. 45). How did God know I needed to hear that? To remind me of Jesus and that I’m not alone.
Then the first song we sang in church was “Our Great God,” and the second verse went,
Lord, we are weak and frail
Helpless in the storm
Surround us with Your angels
Fold us in Your arms
Our cold and ruthless enemy
His pleasure is our harm
Rise up, oh Lord, and he will flee
Before our sovereign God
Hallelujah! Glory be to our great God
Hallelujah! Glory be to our great God
How did God know I needed to hear my entire church singing this? To remind me of fellow brothers and sisters who need Jesus and that I’m not alone.
Next came Psalm 52 which opened with, “Why do you boast in evil, O mighty man? The lovingkindness of God endures all day long.” How did God know I needed to hear David’s words? To remind me of others who looked to Jesus in the Bible and that I’m not alone.
Then came a sermon focused on Zechariah 10 with reassurance of God’s care for His people like, “I will whistle for them to gather them together, for I have redeemed them” (v. 8). How did God know that I needed to hear this? To remind me of fellow exiles and that I’m not alone.
The Lord’s Supper followed as a visible reminder of the grace and love of Jesus. Who am I? I am His! How did God know that I needed this? To remind me of blessed assurance and that I’m not alone.
The church sang three more songs:
O soul, are you weary and troubled? No light in the darkness you see?
There’s light for a look at the Savior, and life more abundant and free!
Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace.
When years of time shall pass away
and earthly thrones and kingdoms fall,
when men who here refuse to pray,
on rocks and hills and mountains call,
God’s love so pure shall still endure,
all measureless and strong;
redeeming grace to Adam's race—
the saints’ and angels’ song.
O love of God, how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure:
the saints’ and angels’ song!
He who rules the wind and waves, soon will come again
Oh take courage little heart, every storm will end
There’s a rock where I can go, keeps me safe and this I know
Deep within my troubled soul, Jesus calms the storm
How did God know that I needed to hear these before I left? To give hope for my week, that I’m not alone.
The service concluded with 2 Corinthians 13:14, “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with you all.” How did God know that I needed this? To remind me of union with God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit, that I’m not alone.
Later, we visited friends who were grieving. As we drove up their gravel road, the gloomy sky broke open with raindrops and a beautiful rainbow. I commented to my husband, “Isn’t it interesting that you can see the pinks and reds and purples and blues in a sunrise and sunset, but a rainbow also has green?” How did God know that I needed a rainbow on the way? To remind me to look up and see a reminder of His mercy.
A few hours later, we sat around the living room and sang some hymns. One of my daughters chose “Be Still, My Soul,” and I was struck by this phrase:
Be still, my soul! Your Jesus can repay
From His own fullness all He takes away.
I never plan to be emotionally dry. No one really does. But God always meets us through the means of grace and guides our hearts through His word, His people, circumstances, hymns, and a million other ways. We are not random people existing in a random world enduring random suffering. Yes, we are dust, but God is not. And through Jesus, we are united to the King of kings, and one day our “dust” will be remade into bodies that will never experience death or mourning or crying or pain again (Rev. 21:4).
Even when lightning strikes hurt, these strikes are held within the providence of God for our good. The Lord’s voice is in the thunder that follows. He gives the rainbow in the rain. We are not alone.
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