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.
Lord, keep me weak if I can’t handle strength, For pride precedes destruction, and I fear Forgetfulness, the turning of the ear To people’s praises. I would run the length Of life in faithfulness, but know the length Of steadfast years is short unless my ear Inclines to you, unless a holy fear Is fixed in me, for therein lies true strength. Humility, my Lord, is my request, To know my stature and to call it blessed Whate’er my lot because I’m found in thee. And temper henceforth every request, Reminding me what truly makes men blessed: True knowledge of themselves in light of thee.
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.
When my thoughts were all gum on my shoe-bottoms, tripwires, and straitjackets, my decisions were all running away, confused striving, and well-intended wounds.
Too few of my steps were right, and I was left at a loss for direction.
But every misguided misstep, every freezing fear, and every burned bridge became a step toward truth, life, and love, and I see now you are sovereign over time even when I can’t tell it.
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.
Unsafe, unsettled, captive to my mind, Caught by impending ambiguity, Lost in a steady rain of thoughts unkind, Just out of reach of true reality. I know the signs and triggers, subtle clues That signal shifted thinking, but I feel A restlessness and see in starker hues That taint the truth and dull my sense of real. This state distorts perspective, leaving me The least equipped to navigate the haze. My greatest need is objectivity, But I stay subject to uncertain days. But truth is truth and real is real despite My inability to see the light.
My mind disfigured your face in my mind, Painted piercing eyes, uncompassionate, Shaming, in place of those you said I’d find. My view of you and you were disparate Persons, known too well and not well enough. “You” imposed a self-imposed prison cell, Held hopeless standards, always called my bluff. I was always guilty, not free, unwell. Thus I assumed from this false gospel, lie Of law’s freedom. Truth is not so broken. You are love. Your yoke brings rest, peace, a sigh Of relief, rooted in words you’ve spoken: “I have overcome the world.” Now I see Your overcoming work extends to me.
God said, “Let there be light,” and so it was. And thus it has continued to this day. Night threatens darkness, but it never does Persist. The deepest shadow fades away.
God said, “Let there be Light.” A Son was born, And truth and beauty shone throughout the land. Self-blinded men loved death, but still the morn Arrived. Christ rose and raised dry bones to stand.
God said, “Let there be light,” and I could see As love cut through all lies with things more true. My love is weak. He knows and still calls me His own. The old has passed, and I am new.
We have this hope when grieved by present pains: When God shines light in darkness, light remains.
When I look back, I do not see successes. At least, I do not see them easily. Instead, I see a mind that second-guesses And find that failure fits more feasibly. When I look back, I do not see your mercies, Or seeing them, still feel they are not true. All good seems covered up in controversies, In all the ways I failed and still fail you. When I look back, I see the circumstances That roll like waves across a wind-swept sea. I do not see the Son, the second-chances, The grace that still abounds for those like me. When I look back, I must distrust the lies That claim truth is determined by my eyes.
as i learn to walk 