“As you do not know the way the spirit comes to the bones in the womb of a woman with child, so you do not know the work of God who makes everything.” – Ecclesiastes 11:5
There’s a little saying Christian people like to say when bad things are happening that can be used as a kind of ‘whitewash’ over the pain. “God is working, we just don’t know what He is doing.” This is no comfort to someone under extreme stress. I mean, what exactly is God doing, torturing me? God is either all powerful and all-knowing and in complete control, or He isn’t, and everything is chaos. And since the world is still turning, the sun still rises and sets and all of my atoms haven’t flown apart and started floating into outer space, I assume there is a force holding everything together. Alas, this doesn’t comfort me.
As I consider the ways in which I need to rebuild my life in the form of habits, goals, and behaviors, I have thought a lot about what a solid foundation looks like. I’ve been meeting with a counselor, and she is good at asking me blunt questions and forcing me to deal with the emotions I keep stuffing deep down inside. I am learning that even though I’m a good writer and communicator, I am even better at hiding my real feelings from people. I project the Margaret I want people to see and not the real Margaret who is. I thought this was necessary for me to function in real life. This is a pattern I have practiced for years. And in some ways, it is necessary in the workplace. However, I had gotten so good at this that the people I work with thought I was strong enough to withstand a tsunami. And I wasn’t. Things kept flying at me and konking me on the head and I just kept getting up and walking forward. Then, when the waters rolled in and grief knocked me over, there was no getting up. If I am to build a new foundation, one important thing to consider is I need to practice self-care while doing so. I thought I knew how to do this, alas, I do not.
I made a list of goals for 2024 and one of them was to stop hiding from conflict. A hidden broken heart doesn’t heal–it festers. I need to communicate openly and release all of this pain. I want to emphasize that this is really hard to do in a corporate environment where emotions are perceived as weakness. The goal is not to dump my pain on other people. The goal is to honestly and openly communicate issues so they can be resolved. That is a step, but not necessarily the foundation I need to build on.
The foundation will enable me to face my fears. It will be a strong platform to give me courage when I lack it most. It needs to be something non-negotiable and durable, more valuable than currency, and yet completely weightless. In fact, it will make me buoyant. What can I trust that can do all of these things? No one or thing on earth is able to do this for me. I have to make my foundation faith in God. This is the same God who allowed my beautiful dog to die and who has allowed great adversity in my life. Faith in God is a choice I continue to make even when it seems irrational. The reason I always run back to God is that everything else in this world has proven inadequate.
I woke up Tuesday morning and slowly built up to a panic attack as I thought about returning to work after my two-week vacation. I began to cry and pray out loud as I exercised. And somewhere in the deep shadows of my heart I felt a voice telling me to be still. He reminded me that my circumstances are always changing, but He does not. He told me I am His precious child. He reminded me I am adopted, chosen, loved. He told me to get out of the way and let Him work. How did I respond? I said, “Yes, Sir.”
And just like that, I felt so safe and protected and strong.
“Remember also your Creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days come and the years draw near of which you will say, I have no pleasure in them.” – Ecclesiastes 12:1
As I write this, the wren is singing outside my kitchen window. He’s very serious about singing. He trills as he jerks back and forth with intensity. It’s almost as if he is shouting at the world, “Hear me! My song is important! Listen! Listen!” And then he scoops a mouthful of peanut butter and walnut and retreats to the tree. I would imagine the life of a wren is very simple. Eat. Poop. Mate. Raise young. Sing.
I need to be more like that wren. I need to sing often and with fervor regardless of my circumstances. Why else does music exist? If God created the wren to sing, I know He created me for a purpose as well. I have decided to build on a foundation of faith this year. And finally, I am starting to have a little hope in what the finished structure might look like.
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