A year ago today, I graduated from Ohio Christian University. Diploma in hand and nerve insight, the next few months that followed, would become some of the most challenging times in my life.
What began as a small stomach ache, quickly transformed into a cluster of ER, Dr., and specialist visits. Finally, getting diagnosed six months later, I remember crying on the bathroom floor in pain. I still agonize over the girl I see in the mirror, which is now a hollow shell of the bright spirit she used to be. I gruesomely experience the never-ending gnawing of multiple said diagnoses that have shattered my identity.
Physically, spiritually, mentally, socially, emotionally, and relationally, it is a troubling sea within our hearts when Satan tries to tell us that our struggles define us. When the clenched ridden teeth of lies whisper to us that those medical conditions are who we are and all we’ll ever become.
But today, I want to encourage you with some wise words a dear mentor said to me: You are not a diagnosis, nor are you your condition. You are not your struggles. You are worth so much more than all the prescriptions that have been prescribed to you.
David tells us in Psalm 61:2, “from the end of the earth I call to you when my heart is faint.
Lead me to the rock that is higher than I,” (Psalm 61:2, ESV). Even when you don’t feel like speaking, allow your suffering to lead you to the rock, which is far above and beyond any prognosis you could ever develop.
You are not your diagnosis, but you are a child of the King who calls you to higher places than you could ever get to on your own. This suffering is not meant to define but refine you, because you have a story to tell. You have a name. You have a purpose. And though pain has a voice, it doesn’t get the final say.
“Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance,and endurance produces character, and character produces hope,” (Romans 5:3-4, ESV).
Growing up, I didn’t have the best relationship with my Dad. Though we used to be close, the brokenness of our family genetics in combination with his crippling and unexpected illnesses caused a sudden rift.
The times once spent together in joy, quickly became a snarky remark of exchanges in which both parties were guilty. Our days of running through Walmart, filling up the cart with items we didn’t need, outgrew their childish adventure. The stability in trusting him fell apart like sand crumbling from my fingertips.
After unsuccessful surgeries, my father began to deteriorate. And to this day, he is not the Dad who raised me. Our relationship is still fragmented. It still hurts me to think about what happened to him, to us. But sometimes, I think we approach God that way.
We think about the times we felt close. The moments where our cloud nine couldn’t feel high enough. The hours we soaked in His presence. The missions we served for His glory. The songs we sang in His praise. The hearts we loved with His love.
Yet, then, someone or something steals our joy, and we are unable to see the good. We think about how far we are from God. We wonder what happened to that cloud nine. The hours we wished we’d soaked in His presence rather than our anxious state of urgency. The missions we should’ve served on when He called. The songs we sang as empty phrases with nothing left to give. The hearts we could’ve loved if we’d been brave enough to endure their cost.
Perhaps today you feel the closest you have to our Father, and that is great! Keep seeking Him. But maybe right now, you feel like your connection is weak, your signal is fading. The relationship you once have is severed. James 4:8 in the ESV reminds us that even in our distance, “Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you” (James 4:8, ESV). No one has ever cared for you like Jesus, dear friend, and no one ever will. But when you draw near to Him, He is sure to restore that link.
I was 14 the first time I looked in the mirror and wished I didn’t have to grow up. With glistening eyes and a tear-stained face, I vowed that I had control over my life and would do anything I could to prevent it. What started as a simple thought, however, then dictated my life for 7 years.
The things I thought I had control over, quickly became those which I needed to release authority. Because in a mere few years, I no longer recognized the girl who was “scared to grow up,” yet wished she’d lived in the presence of being a kid. A girl who wished she’d had fun as a teen instead of allowing intrusive thoughts and behaviors fill her Spirit. For if there is one thing I regret most, it is the power I allowed my mind to have when, in reality, Christ has it.
In my heart, I thought nothing was wrong. I felt in control, and when I felt in control, I was happy. Until my mom moved a pillow, or I couldn’t work out, or I didn’t eat enough. I didn’t realize that even when I possessed control, I still lacked the majority of it.
Proverbs 16:9 remarks, “The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps” (Proverbs 16:9, ESV) and what a true statement.
As I grew, I was inevitable to the fact that I would mature, and time would quickly pass. I did not understand the repercussions of my actions until their life-long consequences surrounded me. It was not until I broke my foot at 21 and attended a camp at 22, that God set me free, and removed my “powerful” thinking (because we all know I was “powerless”).
In 1 John 3:20, John reminds us that even if our hearts condemn us, “God is greater than our heart(s), and He knows everything” (1 John 3:20, ESV).
At 14, I vowedI had control, but at 21, Ireleased it to the one who had control all along. I do not know what you’re grasping for today, but if it is anything other than Jesus, it will always leave you feeling less fulfilled than when you first came for a cool drink of its deceptive appearance.
Staring at my reflection in the mirror with tears streaming down my face, never in my life did I think I would come to this place: “You need to leave this Church,” my heart resounded from the Spirit within. “I am calling you to bigger and better things,” His voice comforted me. So tooth and nail, as months turned into the first of this year, I faithfully decided that a change had to be made.
Growing up in a Methodist Church since before I was born, that was all I ever knew. Reciting “Our Father,” after communion, singing the same hymns, leading the Praise Team with the same worship disks as when I joined the team at twelve-years-old, something unsettling began to rattle. I got tired of the repetition, and of my inability to worship aesthetically. And though no Church is perfect, and I’ll never say anything wrong about my old Church, I just knew it was no longer for me.
In college, I helped lead at my University’s Church after I was done at my traditional Church. Finishing one service and driving thirty minutes to the next, I was exhausted after a year and a half of this endeavor. At one point, I was involved with three Churches, now including my boyfriend’s. Yet, although I had plenty on my spiritual resume, I had little spiritual nourishment in my heart. And despite the longings I desired to pour, and pour, and pour into others, it was only a matter of time before my cup would grow empty without allowing anyone else to fill me back up.
In January 2020, I reached my breaking point. And as 100% led by the Spirit, I switched to my new Church full-time, leaving the others behind. Within one week of being there, I was asked to participate in the Worship Team, help with youth events, was led to a mentor, and invested in spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and relationally like never before. Now into April, I can proudly declare that I am so much happier where God has guided me, and the exponential amount of spiritual growth that is resounding, warms my heart week after week. Never in my life did I think I would be attending a Church of God (no, I’m not Pentecostal), but when the atmosphere of the room is changed because of the positivity and fire for God, that is an environment I want to be a part.
Though I have 20/20 hindsight now, I realize that many of you may be dealing with a similar situation. That aching in your soul, prompting you to reach beyond your horizons and make a change because you were made for more has a voice, and His name is the Holy Spirit. Thus, here are five foolproof ways to leave the Church and do so well. Not everyone is called to make this change, but when you are, it is crucial to do so with the love, grace, and purpose of Christ.
1) Talk to a spiritual mentor, Pastor, or friend.
Before I made the decision to switch, I wanted someone to validate the reasons I was feeling about changing. So, I had my boyfriend visit my Church, talked with trusted men and women of Christ that I admire, and of course, prayed to God a lot. Never wanting to be a “Church-Hopper,” it’s always a good idea to reaffirm the reasons behind your final decision.
2) Understand that no Church will be perfect.
Before you switch to a new Church, you need to understand that no Church will be your Match Made in Heaven. Every Church has some drama, things that need improvement, or scenarios that will bother you. However, what helped, was making a list of the differences between the Churches and what each had to offer. Ultimately, this solidified my decision to switch. When the benefits of the new highly outweighed the benefits of the old, I knew it was time to take a stand. Making a pro and con list can help you to organize your thoughts and come to a firm conclusion based on factual evidence.
3) Make sure your heart is in the right place.
When I first felt the prompting to leave my old Church, I prayed for confirmation from the Lord. I wanted to make sure that this wasn’t an “Amber leading decision,” but a “Holy Spirit and Lord leading decision.” Thus, I recommend wrestling with these thoughts to examine your heart and motives.
I continually prayed, “Create a clean heart within me” (Psalm 51, ESV) and asked God to reveal to my heart the “why” behind this longing. Once I gained this clarity, I made a simple list to evaluate the reasons. For me, these were clear cut measurable goals.
First, I needed to be in an environment where my spiritual growth was not only challenged through the messages and preaching but that I was surrounded by a group of people more my age whom I could form relational bonds. Second, I needed to be in the presence of those that expressed their love for God charismatically. Third, I longed to develop more spiritually through knowledge and more profound study, and pour into work in a Church that exemplifies aesthetic qualities. And fourth, I wanted to make sure I aligned with their core values (Theology). After talking with the Pastor, researching their beliefs, and seeing that I agreed with the core ideas, I felt better about coming to a resolution.
Again, though no Church is perfect, and I don’t believe one will find a flaw-free Church or one that they agree 100% with everything on, I was hopeful in my experience with the new realm. My new Church is very accepting and open to changes as our world continues to need adaption, yet they remain faithful to the founding Word of God each of our lives are built upon—something of which I deeply admire.
4) Accept that things might be weird, but they will pass
Of all the challenges making a decision includes, awkwardness is something I am still not a fan of. Telling your family that you are leaving your home Church is difficult. Some will be accepting and loving; others will be hurtful and lash out. However, remember to stay calm and know that this too shall pass. If you’re making a change to serve the Lord better, He will always reward those who are faithful (1 Samuel 26:23, ESV).
5) Choose to leave well
The week I left my old Church, I felt unsettled. I wanted to give a reason for my leaving, but I didn’t want to sever relationships in the process. Because office hours for the Church were unavailable, I chose to write my Pastor, the Praise Team, and family members a farewell letter of explanation. In this letter, I pointed out the good, but I also wanted to give clear reasons for why I was choosing to move onward. Having a spiritual mentor and friend read over the letter helped me to clarify vague spots and edit it for professionalism. Although I would recommend hand-delivering a message like this, sending by mail is the next best personal option.
A few weeks went by as I settled into my new surroundings. I questioned if I made the right choice, and often felt awkward trying to explain myself. However, God was faithful in this transition. Not only did my old Pastor reach out to me with kindness and acceptance, but he read my letter to the Church and said nothing but good things about my decision. Similarly, my new Pastor welcomed me to the entire Church, met with me one-on-one, and began to pour into me more than any other person I’ve ever known. I am supported by this Church in fundraising for a mission trip and writing conference (both of which are almost entirely funding from the generous support and giving of this new family), and they have given me ample opportunities to use God-given gifts to further His Kingdom.
Leaving a Church can be terrifying, uncomfortable, and cumbersome. But, if it is from the Lord, it will always be rewarded in the labor and fruits of His love.
When I was ten, my family owned a vast grotesque pontoon boat. In all its lacking splendor, a journey on this ride was always entertaining. At a whopping 35mph, you could be the star of any lake! But sarcasm aside, the adventures taken are ones I’ll forever treasure. One summer afternoon in particular, however, this vessel took me on quite the expedition.
Snacks, towel, raft, and best friend in hand, the radiant sun beamed over the glimmering waves. With every crash that rose and fell, my beating heart grew more excited. Yet, in a few hours, the once beautiful scene before my eyes became a tsunami waiting to happen.
Stranded in the middle of Deer Creek State Park with nothing but a dead motor and an oar, we all began to panic. With a brewing storm above our heads and anxious minds racing in our souls, a recipe for the storm was setting.
In Matthew 14:22-33, Peter and the Disciples are in a similar predicament. Casting their sails after following His Will, they are disturbed when storms come to their little boat; why this difficulty was consuming them when they were doing what Jesus had asked them a few mere hours prior to obey.
But that’s the thing with storms; they don’t ask to appear, they just happen. Yet, at that moment, we have a choice: To walk on water and dance on the waves or sink in the storm and mourn in our suffering.
Peter told Jesus, “If it’s you, tell me to come to you on the water,” and Jesus said, “Come” (Matthew 14:28-29, ESV).
I imagine Peter losing his footing as he begins to sink and doubt that God will rescue him. “Why did you doubt?” I hear Jesus whisper, choosing to deliver him amid his uncertainty anyways (Matthew 14:31, ESV).
What if today we chose to dance and walk on water with Jesus because we trusted His deliverance in the middle of the storm rather than lacking the confidence of His promises? It’s not an easy promise, but it’s a storm I’m willing to weather.
In a disturbing yet ironic way, this past week has been one of the most challenging and heartbreaking times. Crying on the floor, pouring out my heart through pen and paper while worshipping the Father, and agonizing painful circumstances, it came to my attention that this week was a difficult one for everyone.
For some odd reason, every person I talked to was losing hope. Their fear of the COVID-19 pandemic was rising. Anxiety and depression were uncontrollable—friendships and relationships broken beyond repair. Jealousy, anger, bitter words, pride, selfishness, and anguish filled the view of conversations we had wished were left unsaid. Unplanned situations of overwhelming distress filled the air. Rain was in the forecast nightly as if it were mocking our sorrowed estates.
But you know what? Even amid these struggles, peace, joy, love, and overwhelming joy were still possible because someone else had the most excruciating and desolating week ever to be known to humanity.
Over 2000 years ago, Jesus Christ started His last week on Earth with a humble, yet triumphant entry into the streets of Jerusalem. Shouting, “Hosanna and Glory to God in the Highest,” I envision the crowds. I see their excitement to serve a new King and shudder knowing that in the fall of the night, they would shout “Crucify the King of the Jews” with lanterns and pitchforks raised in tyranny (Matthew 21:1, Mark 11:1, Luke 19:29, John 12:12).
Early the next day, I hear the Pharisees ridicule, mock, and question Jesus as He drives out those buying and selling in His holy Temple. “Who does this man think He is?” the crowds begin to inquire, quickly forgetting He was the man they once laid their robes down for Him to walk on. Weeping over Jerusalem’s fallen state, I foresee the crowds laughing at His humbleness to care for someone other than Himself (Matthew 21:12, Mark 11:22, Luke 19:45).
By the third day, I cannot imagine Jesus’ heart, knowing that His Disciples, family, friends, and these crowds would abandon Him. My mind is unable to fathom the betrayal and internal anguish as the entire world, including His own Father, would choose to turn His face on Him. My body shakes in agony at the thought that the pain I feel and have felt on this Earth (both physically and mentally/emotionally), is nothing compared to the immense tragedy inflicted upon my King (Matthew 21:20, Mark 11:20, Luke 20:36, John 12:20).
In omniscient excellence, my heart aches as I see Jesus praying in silence and preparing for the last meal He would share with His followers. My mind searches to understand how someone could break bread and pour wine, knowing it was symbolic of what would soon happen, and still eat in joy with those who belonged to Him. Through pangs of misery and torture that I cannot illustrate, my stomach lurches at the sight of Judas trading in Jesus for a few silver coins. My body begins to vibrate like a panic attack; for behold, Jesus is extending a piece of bread dipped in wine to the one responsible for His very arrest and crucifixion. A sacred and consecrated representation of Him choosing to be broken and wounded for our benefit (Matthew 26:1, Mark 14:1, Luke 22:1).
Asking His Father to, “Take away the cup of wrath, but above all, His will be done,” I am in disbelief of His courageous humility. I look over the teardrops of blood fallen on the ground where He once prayed and asked us to stay awake in prayer, for, “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”
I feel the ground shake as the most powerful man in the world refuses to speak blasphemy against those who are accusing Him of the very act. My heart winces as the people trade Him in for Barabbas, and Peter’s mocking voice declares, “I never knew Him.” The sinfulness that I know I possess reaches for anything to cling to so that I don’t feel like the perpetrator yelling, “Crucify Him,” though I know deep down that I too am one of those who chose to nail Him to the cross.
I do not comprehend the words He declares from the cross; “Father forgive them, for they know not what they are doing.” I cannot see His mouth move when He yells, “It is finished,” for the sight is too gruesome to endure for any longer. My mind begins to race as a soldier pierces His side, and the largest crack of lightning thunders the sky as the veil of the Temple is torn into two pieces. I want to help as Joseph of Arimathea buries His body in the tomb, but I am fearful of what will become of me if I do (Matthew 26:1, Mark 14:53, Luke 22:54, John 18:13).
Sealing the tomb for extra protection, I see Pilate bow to the Jewish leaders just one more time. Now in their fear that maybe this was Jesus Christ, the Son of God, I catch a glimpse of their eyes from the bushes (Matthew 27:66). In my disbelief, I almost fall off the path when I see what looks like Jesus appear to Mary Magdalene, some other women, two Disciples on the way to Emmaus, Simon Peter, and a crowd of additional Disciples not included in the original two. Dumbfounded in regret, my mind blacks out at the minute second I see Him, for He is already gone (Matthew 28:1, Mark 16:1, Luke 24:1, John 20:1).
Jesus Christ, the Son of the Living God, had the worst week in His entire life this week, but unlike us, He responded in gentleness, humility, humbleness, grace, forgiveness, mercy, and love. I find it no coincidence, however, that like this unnamed character, we too may have had a terrible week, but it was nothing in comparison to the tragedy Jesus suffered. We lament at the words said, and tones accusingly used, mourning over the little Christ we should’ve represented to the world but didn’t.
We are all Judas’ kiss, Peter’s denial, and the Disciples’ fear. Some of us are Mary’s tears, the women’s cries, or the criminal hanging on the cross with Jesus asking for Him to “remember me in paradise”. Yet others are the soldiers whipping Him, the officials denying Him, the crowds turning our backs on Him, the other offenders mocking Him from their crucifixions.
Because for some odd reason, when Jesus faced His most difficult hour, He didn’t lose hope but possessed and became it. He didn’t run away from the future predestined for Him, He ran towards it with open arms. Hanging from the cross with arms stretched wide, He didn’t cry for His pain, but for the sinfulness of ours.
This Easter put yourself in Jesus’ path. Imagine walking down the road that He did. Although you, too, may have had a bad day, week, month, or year, remember that even in His most miserable state, God still acted in profound modesty that He wishes for each of us to have. We know the end of the story. We don’t have to live in regret that’s too late to seek, find, and follow Him.
Isaiah 55:6 remarks, “Seek the Lord while he may be found; call upon him while he is near;” (Isaiah 55:6, ESV).
On the night He’d be betrayed, Jesus sat around the dinner table with His twelve Disciples. Peering into their eyes as He gave each a small portion of bread, we can faintly see their hearts beating behind broadening, yet fearful chests. With the flick of a wrist, each had received a portion allotted to them. A piece that would soon remind them of their broken bodies poured out as an offering to this world after Jesus was mocked, crucified, and buried.
If you think about the breaking of your own body and blood for someone, the scene becomes quite horrific. It suddenly raises questions of humanity in how such a bloodbath could bring about holiness, sanctification, and a sense of brokenness made whole. What about a perfectly sinless man hanging on a cross shouts joy, beauty, and redemption? Everything.
Prior to His crucifixion, Jesus chose to sit and eat with His Disciples because He wanted to demonstrate an unwavering love for them. A love firmly displayed through His body made broken so that we could be made whole.
Today, we often see a lot of stories out there about how to live the best Christian life, improve relationships, or try new fads, diets, and exercise routines that guarantee a more satisfying and fulfilling existence. But rarely do we see pieces of these writers’ hearts strewn throughout their tips and tricks. Miniscule are the amount of raw, vulnerable, and authentic fragments of their lives shared for the sake of mending your raggedness.
When Jesus broke His body and shed His blood for us both figuratively with food and literally with His everything, He did so with the hopes that we too might learn to break, give, and share ourselves with others. Jesus didn’t die on the cross so you could live the perfect life. He died on the cross in a state of fragmentation so that when you later experienced your own splintering piercings, you’d have the fearlessness to say, “let me be broken too.”
It was a typical Tuesday evening after work. Rushing through the buzz of my day and anticipating a nightly run, I was eager to hear my feet pounding the treadmill like the rain outside my window. Twenty minutes in, however, I was parched with a thirst so deep, my bones began to cry out. Slowly recovering from the monthly allergies and a lovely sore throat, I made my way off the treadmill and sprinted to my glorious water bottle. Guzzling down the entire 24 liters, I was shocked to find that not only was my thirst more prominent, but the dryness in my throat still lingered.
David, a man after God’s own heart, could easily relate to this situation. In 2 Samuel 23, David reflects some of his last words and most distinguished supporting warriors throughout his humble entry as a king, to his sinful downfall and restoration. Though his compelling story takes us from a small boy with three stones and a sling to a vicious ruler, eager to kill a man who’s wife he slept with, David knew what it was like to hunger and thirst. To desire and crave for something he thought would satisfy, but only left him dry and bare instead.
“And David said longingly, “Oh, that someone would give me water to drink from the well of Bethlehem that is by the gate!” Then the three mighty men broke through the camp of the Philistines and drew water out of the well of Bethlehem that was by the gate and carried and brought it to David. But he would not drink of it. He poured it out to the Lord” (2 Samuel 23:15-16, ESV).
After confessing his sins and being rescued from a famine (2 Samuel 21), David is delivered by no other than the Almighty God (2 Samuel 22). Accordingly, here in chapter 23, David humbles himself before the Lord, thanking Him for the help of his warriors and victories. Striking his hand upon the Philistines now eager for battle, David begins to feel very much like how I felt on the treadmill. He grows weary and longs for a drink from the well of Bethlehem, searching for anything to quench that desire.
Thinking back to his childhood, I can see David running to this well time and time again. I envision him seeking it out to get water for his sheep and then cupping some in his hands to satisfy the pinings after his battle with Goliath. His shaking and exhausted frame now pleas for a drink from this well, but not for the reason you might think.
Racing to his side, I perceive David’s three greatest warriors are ushering him to drink of this well-water he longed for, and they risked their lives to get.
“King David, we got you the water,” they exclaim. “Just like when you were a child,” they smile sheepishly.
“I’m not going to drink it,” his bitter words break their glowing hearts. “It belongs as an offering to the true King of this victory,” their questioning hearts finally understand.
And perhaps, we too, in our physical thirst, can learn a lesson from David in his quest for spiritual fulfillment. That, although, yes, we may desire a drink to satisfy our sore throats, and a cold bottle of water after a run tastes like the best thing in the world. However, that isn’t what will eternally fill our appetite.
For when it all comes to an end, what are you thirsting and searching to find?
“Find me in the River
Find me on my knees
I’ve walked against the water
Now I’m waiting if you please
We’ve longed to see the roses
But never felt the thorns
And bought our pretty crowns
But never paid the price
Find me in the River
Find me there
Find me on my knees with my soul laid bare
Even though you’re gone
And I’m cracked and dry
Find me in the River
I’m waiting here” (Find Me In The River, Delirious).
Maybe our thirst is only extinguished when we wait in the very place we wish to be fulfilled.
Find me in the River Lord, even when I’m cracked and dry. Let me be like David, pouring out all I am (sins included) as I wait for you here.
With a worldwide pandemic quickly racing the nation, anxiety, stress, depression, sickness, and chaos are at an all-time high. Since the 2019 release of an initial coronavirus outbreak, a threat in China has now exploded globally, including the United States.
A simple trip to your local grocery store, however, will tell you that we as a society are not handling this well. Like a zombie apocalypse just waiting to happen, humanity is fighting over toilet paper, while treating others as if they were the infectious virus themselves. But is this truly what God calls us Christians to do in such a troubling time? Of course not!
Though these unprecedented times are upon us, and they are foreign, treating those around us with humility should not be a matter of question. Instead, we should rest in the art of losing control and letting go.
It is evident, theoretically speaking, that losing control is something we all have or will someday face. Especially during these crises, many are seeing the havoc of “control” ripped from their fingertips. Left without work, teaching from home, or learning to adapt to cooking because all the restaurants are closing, this social isolation is quickly becoming modern normalcy, even if we’d rather wish it wasn’t.
But you know what the beauty is of losing control, learning to let it go as you leave it in the Father’s hands.
When we lose control, we get scared. We think, “If I don’t figure out this uncertainty, how can I move forward?”. We become paralyzed and fixed in our thinking that, “We have to figure this out right here, right now.” as if we were the ones controlling the events around us. Our minds race in anticipation as anxiety rises and confidence plummets, for “I have control issues” has never resounded louder.
But my friend, today, I want you to know that there is freedom in losing control and letting go. There is a victory in allowing He who formed and crafted you with a specific plan and purpose to finish it out to completion, even when the enemy tries to thwart your plans. A bright hope and beautiful future are still in the Creator’s plans for you because He withholds no good thing from us and is faithful until the end.
I know that right now, your world is turned upside down.
Many of you are spending too much time listening to the mass hysteria consuming your thoughts than Jesus and His Word (myself included).
Even more of you are distraught at the thought you’ll never get to see your friends again at school or college, or walk across that stage to receive the diploma you worked so hard for (and I am so sorry).
Fewer of you are freaking out that you will get sick and die of this virus.
Not enough of us are staying level-headed and trusting God to figure this whole mess out.
In Romans 8:28, Scripture confidently reminds us that the God who created us knew what we would go through even before our first step on this Earth. Yet, in recognizing these plans, He promised to fulfill the good work in our lives. “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28, ESV).
And though often overquoted, Jeremiah 29:11 reaffirms this promise: “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope” (Jeremiah 29:11, ESV).
Amid these stormy seas, troubling winds, and universal madness, rest in the promises and sovereignty of losing control and letting go. For at the core of losing control is realizing how little power you have over your life, but how the majestic splendor of God is orchestrating every single event with our best interests in mind. And in that losing control, we’re able to letgo, knowing that all He ever called us to be was still before Him as He settled the waves (Psalm 46:10, ESV).
Friend, I know that what is happening right now is terrifying.
I, too, have lost countless hours of sleep freaking out and grasping for control that was never mine to have in the first place. But if anyone can bring beauty out of this raging storm, I know it is my God.
Do not let your heart be troubled. Trust the one who asks you to lose control of thinking you have it all figured out and lets it go directly into the palm of His hands, holding yours.
The joy the Lord can be your strength today (Nehemiah 8:10) as you cast your cares on Him (Psalm 55:22) and believe that He holds eternal control.
Here on Earth? He holds control.
Up in Heaven? He holds control.
Within our hearts? He asks us to release, submit, surrender, and let it gobecause He holds control.
Even with the T.V. Screens blaring,
Even with radio reminding us to wash our hands,
Even with social media discouraging us that hope will never come, God is still in control.
He’s still in the business of taking this nation back.
He’s still in the industry of fighting for us.
He’s still in the pursual of loving His people until the end of our days.
Even greater than the voices that haunt us.
Even higher than the fear that paralyzes us.
Even more than the control urges us to grasp with flailing limbs like we have the power.
Two weeks ago, I started seeing a counselor, and to say I felt embarrassed, would be an understatement. Sitting on my heels and rocking back and forth between a rock and a hard place (AKA my bathroom floor and the closed door behind me), I burst into tears, letting the floodgates erupt like a shattering dam.
Suffocating my tears into the shower, I stumbled into a daze of heightened anxiety, overwhelming depression, and paralyzing fear.
“If I’m such a good Christian,” my heart remarked, “Why can’t I fix myself?” the lies of my mind choked at me. “You need to pray more, increase your time in Scripture, and trust God without doubt,” their hypocritical words ripped at my already crumbling mentality. “You already do that,” my Mom gently spoke. “I know,” I sulked, “I just don’t know what else to do.”
And so, with every day came a new sermon, article, or advice from a friend of what I should do; of the thoughts that clouded my vision as to if it was a sin or not, or how I should just “stop worrying,” because it was that easy. But what these words and directions from others didn’t tell me, yet should have was that when you have GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder) from a genetically inherited predisposition, you can’t merely “stop worrying.” It isn’t because you’re not a strong enough Christian, or praying and seeking His face enough. It is the result of your fallen humanity that makes you lean into the Father even more.
It is okay to need clinical help. Admitting that you need support is the first step to healing, and I believe God gave us tools like counseling not to say we don’t trust Him, but to humble ourselves into knowing we cannot fight these battles alone.
Taking a deep breath, I released control and felt led to Psalm 94:19: “When the cares of my heart are many, your consolations cheer my soul.”
Yes, I still struggle with anxiety, but even amid our concerns, rather that be depression, addictions, or troubling seas, know that you can experience joy.
Words Can Shatter Silence 