Secure Footing in Unstable Circumstances

I’ve managed to scrunch myself into a tiny wooden desk, perched on the hard, child-sized chair. This 80 year-old antique desk once belonged to my husband’s Aunt from her elementary school days, and it now lives in our home, in the corner off the kitchen by the washing machine. 

It’s an odd spot to have a children’s desk, yet this cozy corner offers just the right amount of privacy and still feels connected to the rest of the home. With three young children, our home is bustling with life and noise. That very thing I love about our family is the very thing that could cause friction this year when trying to follow through with our most recent plans to homeschool.

This is why I’m here at the tiny desk, ignoring the aches and pains of wrangling my body into this small, uncomfortable space - it’s the eve of the first day of school and I do not feel ready. 

I would have loved to have this work space finished, with the chalkboard hanging up instead of leaning against the closet door, and educationally inspirational things on the walls instead of the vacuum beside me. 

I would have loved to have felt in control of our situation by knowing the details of what to expect and how to do school at home, instead of feeling so unacquainted and unfamiliar. 

I would have loved to try homeschooling another year, when my youngest was older, instead of his infant self still being fully dependent on his Mama. 

But here we are. 

The circumstances of our world in pandemic right now and last-minute schooling decisions didn’t leave enough time to be fully ready. 

It’s that feeling of being unprepared that tempts me to not even try; to quit before I’ve even begun because my ideal, perfect place of having it all together does not exist. It feels like I’m beginning this school year unbalanced, standing on uneven ground, unable to get a secure foothold.

It’s interesting that these places and seasons we find ourselves in, or are directed into by God, leave us so rarely prepared that we think we must be doing something wrong. 

But what if it’s not wrong? What if God is allowing us to start off on sinking sand so we will desire instead to stand firm upon the rock? 

The Bible talks about what we are standing on, by referring to the foundation on which we build a house. It says the house built upon the sand will come crashing down in a storm from the rain and rising waters. Yet about the house built solidly upon the rock, it says this: “The rain fell, the rivers rose, and the winds blew and pounded that house. Yet it didn’t collapse, because its foundation was on the rock” (Matthew 7:25).

Deuteronomy 32:4 says: “He [God] is the Rock, his works are perfect, and all his ways are just. A faithful God who does no wrong, upright and just is he.”

It seems as though the fate of the house, whether it will stand secure or come crashing down, does not depend on the house itself, but rather on the foundation upon which it stands.

This gives me tremendous hope, because the outcome of this school year at home, and the process along the way, is not dependent on how prepared I am tonight. It is dependent on whether I choose to stand on the Rock, and put my trust in who God is and what He is capable of. 

Though I am battling feelings of inadequacy and uncertainty, I can choose to act in confidence by seeking God and asking for Him to bring us joyfully through. 

If you are reading this, and are in a place of feeling not enough for your circumstances, be encouraged that a simple choice to seek God and stand upon Him as your foundation, can greatly change your course and outcome. 

When we are standing on the Rock, we are firm and secure.

Grow Our Grit

Everything is uncomfortable. Painfully uncomfortable, even. 

The mind-numbing boredom is inescapable.
The close quarters are suffocating.

The finances are tightly squeezed.

The fear and worry threaten peace.

The lack of distractions leaves a void.

The loneliness is hollow.
The unceasing kid questions are draining.

The future is unknown and out of our control. 

It is everything at once, tugging relentlessly, with no means of escaping, that constitutes the daily fight against discomfort.

And then add to that the heavy sadness of Easter celebrations spent in isolation. It is almost too much to bear in some moments.

The distractions of junk food, Netflix and FaceTime can only go so far, as they are poor substitutions for the way things were before.

Discomfort. That is our fight. Fighting to face it. Fighting to live alive in the midst of it. 

In my experience from the past month of COVID-19 isolation, things were satisfactory at the beginning with newness of circumstances and fresh adrenaline. As time dragged on, enduring got harder because the end is still out of sight. 

I have been at the point of tears on many occasions because the invisible ache is so painful and I can’t make it go away. Some days are tolerable, and some days I can't stand it. 

And yet this discomfort I feel pales in comparison to the burden of pain and sadness Jesus carried as He came triumphantly into Jerusalem, riding a donkey on Palm Sunday, knowing He had come to die. Or the loneliness He must have felt praying alone in the Garden of Gethsemane surrendering to the will of His Father. Or the anguish of crucifixion, knowing He could stop it at any moment, yet choosing to allow death because of His great love for us.

How did He do it???

And how do we face our intangible pain, the invisible enemy of discomfort, day after day?

It appears we are faced with a great choice: Either retreat in defeat, or lean in and take new ground.

When we lean in, we rise to the occasion. We prepare ourselves for what we are facing. We grow the muscle to fight back.

We grow our grit.

According to Merriam-Webster, grit means to have "firmness of mind or spirit; unyielding courage in the face of hardship or danger".

Jesus had grit. He was able to stay the course, leaning into the discomfort, and literally creating life where there was none before.  He grew His grit by continuing to lean in when things got hard, instead of pulling away.

Like a muscle that is worked out increases in mass and strength, so does our grit and ability to endure increase when we continue to lean in and hold on.

Where there is discomfort, there is an opportunity for new growth.

In the stretching and pulling, new space is created for growth and new life.

To grow our muscles, we lean in to the burn and fatigue, resisting the urge to quit.
To grow our discipline, we lean in to what is good for us in the long run, saying no to the momentary feel-good option.

To grow our patience we lean in to the slowness of time, pushing back against forcing everything to happen immediately. 

To grow our faith we lean in to what God says is true, surrendering our fears and worries.

To grow our trust we lean in to the feeling of being out of control, letting God be in charge.

When we sit in that place of discomfort, we make room for new growth. Leaning in holds the space, making room for something new to occupy it. But we need the grit to hold on. 

In this time of certain discomfort, we have the unique opportunity to lean into whatever that discomfort is, growing our grit, and creating something new that we did not have before.

So what's it going to be?

For me, I am leaning into the feeling of being unsettled, restless, and unfulfilled, allowing God to make more room for Himself to satisfy my every longing and desire. And it is painful, because most of my ways of being fulfilled are not available right now. Many days result in frustration and frantic searching for something to satisfy.

But when I do lean in to God, there is new growth in Him.

Jesus knew His death on the cross was the ONLY way for us to be able to be with God today and for all of eternity. Jesus is the only way to eternal and abundant life.

 He had grit. And His grit gave us life.

"Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful." (Hebrews 10:23)