When Nothing is Left
“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”
Romans 8:18
Dear Friends,
The loss I’ve experienced in my life has wounded me, leaving a mark—a scar that I thought would be fully healed by now. It’s been so long since learning my body wouldn’t provide the perfect home for another life to grow and expand. I grieved that loss years ago, handing it over to Jesus and pursing a beautiful form of family. So why does every birthday remind me of what isn’t instead of what is? The older I get I’m reminded of any opportunity for the miraculous slipping away.
This verse has long kept guilt on the front porch of my heart, like I shouldn’t feel the present sufferings I am feeling right now. Like there’s a hope and a glory to come that should negate any feelings of suffering, despair, loneliness, anxiety, depression, or grief so I shouldn’t dare allow those feelings to exist within or around me. The hope and glory of what’s to come should overshadow the suffering of what is, shouldn’t it?
But friends, this is not always my experience and I also don’t think guilt or shame is the response I’m supposed to carry because of my emotional depletion or deep sadness within this wilderness. Lent is a season to expose and lay out everything left undone in my life—all my regrets, disappointments, traumas, sadness, anger, anxiety. Lent invites me to strip away every comfort that allows me to avoid, leaving those comforts behind as I step into the bleak wilderness of what is—fully facing the present suffering without having to wrap it in some heavenly bow of glory.
In suffering, words become insufficient. In suffering, it’s difficult to communicate the raw, exposed, and tender parts of grief. In suffering, you might not know what to say when facing the pain, uncertainty, doubt, and grief from loss, hunger, poverty, trauma, sickness, or death. When asked how you might need help, you respond with:
I don’t know…
how to feel. how to continue. how to take care of myself. how to love again.
what I need. how you can help.
I don’t know.
When everything is stripped away, a hope for some sweet by-and-by escapism feels insufficient. Words often become insufficient in wilderness times of suffering.
Just after the Apostle Paul wrote about turning our perspective to the glory to be revealed in us, he writes this about suffering: “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit herself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”
When my words fail and my suffering feels all-encompassing, God is not disappointed in where I put my focus. God’s Spirit intercedes where I cannot. She moves where I cannot. And in those times, Spirit provides peace and calm that goes beyond what I can make sense of.
May that be enough grace for today and bright hope for tomorrow, especially in a wilderness.
With (love),
Bethany