Sorry for the radio silence. I’ve been in a bit of a slump lately. I actually have a few posts sitting in my Drafts box. Words that I’ve started and stopped. Everything I try to write feels so heavy lately. But the truth is . . . I tend towards sadness.
Have you ever seen Disney Pixar’s movie Inside Out? The first time we watched this movie, my family looked over and I was bawling. Of course, they all laughed at me. And I didn’t just cry when Bing Bong sacrificed himself and faded away, I cried through a lot of the movie. But I love this movie. As I watched it, I was keenly aware of how greatly every aspect of our lives is a mingling of joy and sadness. We need sadness.
Human lives are touched by so much sadness, tragedy, suffering, brokenness.
Life, day to day living, has a way of tempering the bubbly, naive, childlike joy in each of us.
However, as a believer in Christ, I fight hard and strive for joy. Some days I lose this battle. Some seasons I lose this battle. But I always come back to, even cling to, His Word so that my emotions are not driving me. So I take captive every single thought and fight lies with truth.
This past year, I have seen so many beautiful examples of the blessed dance between joy and sadness in the lives of those around me. I watched two families say goodbye to their teenage sons. Though filled with overwhelming sadness and grief, theses two fathers, men of God, brothers in Christ, bound in grief, stood shoulder to shoulder and sang God’s praises at the funeral. I’m not sure how they did it. I’m certain there wasn’t a dry eye in the building. But their strength was something beyond this world. Literally, from another place. God gives immense peace and joy and strength in the midst of horrific circumstances. What an unfathomable testimony, that two dads would lead others in worshipping God, in the very service where a son is being honored upon his death? Supernatural. And a sure way of communicating that Hope is found beyond this mortal life, in a good and kind and patient and holy and just God.
A young wife in our church body lost her husband several years ago. I’ve watched her, from a distance, pouring love into her three small children and faithfully serving the Lord. She recently remarried. When I saw pictures from her beautiful wedding, I cried. A radiant bride, walking down the aisle, trailing her smiling and happy children, arm in arm with her late husband’s dad. He, offering his love and joy and hope in this new union, even in the midst of great sorrow. Again, a beautiful example of supernatural strength and joy, beyond anything we can understand as humans. Hope in God.
He is faithful.
He restores.
He upholds.
He redeems.
There have been countless others. People who testified of God’s goodness, even on their death beds. Loved ones who offered forgiveness and love, in the face of great injustice. Believers who sang praises, even when facing persecution.
How is this possible? It’s only by God’s grace.
The sadness, the sorrow, is ok. It does not consume. It’s true, just as Paul wrote all those years ago, “But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show the the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us” (2 Corinthians 4:7 ESV).
We are but earthen vessels. All the power is His. Not ours. This declaration in 2 Corinthians continues:
“Afflicted in every way, but not crushed;
Perplexed, but not driven to despair;
Persecuted, but not forsaken;
Struck down, but not destroyed . . .”
Faces and names come to mind as I read these verses. Both near and far, past and present. People who hold fast to God against incredible odds, including Paul himself. Their testimonies give us courage and bolster our faith. They help us endure. Challenge us to display a similar resolve.
“So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal” (2 Corinthians 4:16-18 ESV).
That’s how we live, from the ordinary moments of caring for a child dependent on you to the extraordinary moments of declaring His praises while grieving the loss of a child. Joy and sadness mingled together, in a way that testifies . . . the power belongs to God and not to us.
I think I’ll keep it short tonight. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m going to go watch Inside Out again . . . tissues in hand.
A Thousand Little Deaths 