Friday, April 15, 2016

Wonders in Darkness

It's no secret that this world of ours is a broken place. That our lives, while beautiful in all of their intricacies, are full of pain. There is joy, and there is sorrow. There is love, and there is hate. There is life, and there is death. The effects of the fall still haunt us, echoes of a harmony that turned discordant when we shattered shalom with our rebellion. And sometimes the weight of the darkness threatens to snuff out what light remains.

A fuel truck explodes in a small town in a country with no fire department. Lives go up in smoke and flames.

A baby boy, loved and prayed for by hundreds of people, is laid in a casket just days after being placed in the arms of his adoptive family.

I have watched, heartbroken and helpless, as people that I love deeply walk through valleys of shadow that seem to have no light at the end.

I have begged and pleaded with God for answers that have not -and do not- come.


And in the midst of it all, I stumble across this verse:

"Is your steadfast love declared in the grave, or your faithfulness in Abaddon? Are your wonders known in the darkness, or your righteousness is the land of forgetfulness?" 
Psalm 88:11-12

I mull over these words. I feel the sadness mix with bitterness and anger, and like the psalmist, I begin to question God. "Where is your steadfast love? Your faithfulness? Where is your light? Are your wonders here, in this darkness? Are you?"

Is God here in this place?
This place where I find myself pondering the lamentations of the prophets and the psalms with no resolution far more than I read passages full of joy and promise?
This place where I find myself unable to sing the words in worship, but praying that God will make them true of me? That he will help me believe them?
I long for the darkness to lift. For the pain, sickness, suffering, and death to meet their end. My soul aches because I know that this world is not as it should be. That I am not as I should be.
And as I sit in this place, it is so tempting to give in to despair. To allow sadness and hurt to turn into bitterness, cynicism, and eventually apathy. Because hope feels like foolishness and a setup for disappointment.

But God, in his faithfulness, waits for me. He waits through the sadness, the anger, the hurt, and the questions, until I have nothing left. Until I am finally still and silent before him. And he speaks.

He reminds me that my feelings do not dictate truth. That when I sit in darkness, he will be my light. That he is a good and faithful Father. That his ways and thoughts are higher than mine. That though he may be silent, he is not absent. That he is always working things together for my good and his glory. That he never changes. And that he is the only thing that will ever fully restore and satisfy my soul and this broken world.

I don't need answers. I need Jesus.

So I will pray that whether or not my circumstances change, he will use them to change me. Instead of building walls around my heart, I will continue to love and allow it to be broken. I will remember that while death may still sting on this earth, it does not have the victory. I will choose to have hope in the One who holds all things in his hands. Instead of becoming frustrated by a lack of clear direction, I will listen for the still, small voice that guides me one step at a time. I will hold all things not with clenched fists, but with open hands, remembering that nothing truly belongs to me - it's all his. I will pray that God will continue to show me the wonders of who he is and what he is doing - even if it's in the darkness.