O Lord, be merciful when I reduce Pray’rs to compulsions and repeat the lines Like incantations till my mind lets loose. I love you, but obsession undermines Abiding and I get stuck in the steps, Working to breathe instead of breathing free, Approaching rev’rence, bypassed to precepts. I struggle not to strive. But you know me. You formed me in the womb and there could see Each struggle I would face. I’m understood. When I can’t do, you give me grace to be. When all feels wrong, you still can make it good. Remind me of this truth when scruple binds: The Maker’s still at work in anxious minds.
The grass grown here is named for St. Augustine— The Florida one, not the church father, Though the bishop’s name befits this place. Lust in Its past plagues its present, and souls bother With all manner of “wisdom” while the truth Beckons from the lips of Christians homegrown And transplanted into the hard soil. Youth Still steal pears, or citrus here. On their own, One might think it impossible they’d find Their way from Desire. The city of God Is near and far. Yet the Father is kind, Answering Monica’s pray’rs, making sod Like Sodom’s sprout blades of grass that grow strong And vines that produce fruit further along.
I have been formed by faith and OCD, The former giving language to the latter That quickly learned to chatter and to batter My mind and heart until I could not see That what I thought was freedom charged a fee And pseudo-peace did cut, curse, cripple, shatter. The tapestry was torn until a tatter Became the whole of my theology. But faith in God does not require perfection, And grace abounds the more in misperception. In his good time, he trimmed the troubled vine, Redeeming days I lost to the infection. Truth triumphed over every deception. My peace and freedom now are his design.
In the corner spot of the bench seat, I Met with God and with great thinkers, studied Past papers and pages. Pimento toast With bacon and a cold brew, glass sweating— I keep napkins underneath to catch the Condensation—kept me fueled and focused, That and the eight-hour YouTube video Of coffee-shop sounds and soft jazz, because The real thing by itself is just a bit Distracting. After studies, or before, I open a journal and a notebook, One for prose, one for verse, and I reflect On life, its beauty, its difficulties, And on God’s great faithfulness through it all.
I believe in a light overcoming And that good will endure to the end. I believe there’s an end to this running. When I feel most alone, there’s a friend.
I believe in a hope not unfounded, In foundations untouched by decay, In desires fulfilled, grace unbounded, In the imminent breaking of day.
I believe that assurance is granted Despite all evidence for the lie, That the future’s a seed that’s been planted And yet grows under God’s watchful eye.
I believe the existence of trouble Doesn’t mean that the trouble will last, That a garden can grow from the rubble, That good days are not just in the past.
I believe in a rescue from ruin, In salvation that’s certain and sealed, In a day with no sorrow to rue, when What is broken is finally healed.
For years, I wrote of learning how to walk, Of following the Master of the waves, Of choosing to obey instead of balk, Of trusting in the God who loves and saves. But I misdiagnosed anxiety, Embracing fear as if it was the Lord. I was a slave to scrupulosity. My death was unto him but was untoward. But light was shining though I could not see, And love was better than I ever dreamed. In time, he led me through and set me free, And all that I had broken he redeemed. I lost my hold but still was held by grace. Through suffering, I better learned his face.
At the right time, as the Scriptures say, you did all we needed and more. But we who count days, to whom 1,000 years are not as a day, often count you late, or at least ill-timed. But the Lord is never late, nor is he early; he arrives precisely when he means to. Help us to trust you.
Seasons are strange things. In some ways, there’s a sense of safety in an understanding of seasons. For example, it’s currently summer, which means it’s hot and humid here in New Orleans. The weather feels almost oppressive at times, zapping our energy levels and frustrating us with its unrelenting heat. But summer is a season, and seasons change. Some day, the air will feel cooler and dryer. The weight of the still, stuffy air will be lifted by cool breezes, and we’ll feel lighter instead of heavier as we step outside. Knowing this, I can endure the discomfort of today because I know a change will come. I need not get lost in the difficulty of today; I can rest in the knowledge that this process will continue on as it has always done. This is simply the season for heat and humidity, and that’s okay.
Our understanding of seasons doesn’t diminish the difficulty of the present day, though. We who are especially prone to discomfort during summer suffer, in a way, while in that season, longing for the relief of fall. Likewise, we who are especially prone to discomfort during winter suffer in the cold as we wait for the relief of spring. The seasons don’t look the same, and we don’t feel the same way through them all. As they change, so do we.
Seasons of life are similar. We experiences seasons of joy and peace, of fun and freedom, filled with recreation and rest and friends and family. We also experiences seasons of hardship and loss, of discomfort and distress, of loneliness and isolation. We experience seasons of abundance as well as seasons of lack, seasons of much and seasons of little. “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens,” as the author of Ecclesiastes reminds us (Ecclesiastes 3:1). And we change with those seasons, sometimes growing, sometimes struggling to grow. And just like there are cooler days in the summer and warmer days in the winter, our seasons are not monolithic. There are genuine joys in the midst of hard seasons, and there are genuine sorrows in the midst of easy seasons. Life is complex, as are we. Knowing this brings some comfort, but it does not necessarily lessen the weight of our experiences.
Through every season, though, God is constant, steadfast, faithful. He remains sovereign over every season, Lord over every day we live. Jesus continues to intercede on behalf of his own. The Spirit remains with us to comfort, to convict, and to encourage growth in godliness. Though our experiences change, and though we change over time, our God does not. I think this is part of why Paul can say in Philippians 4, “I can do all things through him who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13). Though seasons change, one thing remains constant through it all. By centering our lives on Jesus, we find strength to weather any season.
That’s easier said than done, of course. In difficult seasons, it can be hard to abide in him. Our circumstances, our community, and at times, even our own thoughts, feelings, and bodies can feel like obstacles to walking with Jesus. We can know cognitively that he is with us and that he will sustain us without feeling it to be true, and we can try to seek him while feeling like our limbs are too heavy to do the work. In such times, an understanding of seasons can feel almost worthless. But if the Bible is true and if God is faithful, then there is always hope. Maybe in our most difficult seasons, our weakness doesn’t have to define our experience. Maybe it’s not greater effort but rest that will lead us to freedom. Maybe the answer isn’t in us but in him.
As seasons change, and as we change with them, it’s easy to lose sight of what is constant and unchanging. It’s easy to forget that the one who has overcome this world has indeed overcome this world, that even death itself has been experienced and conquered. If this is true, then nothing we face is outside of his ability to turn for good. Nothing we face, and nothing we become, is beyond his power to redeem. So we can exist in this season, and in every season, with a hope, a foundation, and a strength found not in the season itself but in the one who walks with us through every season. Further, we can rest in the fact that for those who love God, no season is wasted. All things work together for good (Romans 8:28), and nothing can separate us from God’s love (Romans 8:31-39).
Seasons change, and so do we. Sometimes we long for the change, and other times we dread it. In every season, though, I believe we can “taste and see that the LORD is good,” and we can find refuge in him (Psalm 34:8). We can hold fast to the promise of future glory, glory that will more than make up for any suffering faced in this life (Romans 8:18). And we find hope in him. If he has shown himself to be good and faithful now, amidst the change and discomfort of these earthly seasons, how much more does he want to give us in eternity?
Thank you to Maci for her feedback on this post! She makes everything better, and I am so grateful for her thoughtful eye.
as i learn to walk 