When God's Promises Feel Like a Lie

One wonders if after an absence this long I should just start a whole new blog, but all the work has been done here and so I will attempt to just pick up where I left off.

Too much has happened in that absence to even begin to go into it all, but perhaps the gripping title gives you an idea of the desert I have been walking through.

We have all been there. we cling to the promises of His Word, we fall at the foot of the cross and leave there the desires of our hearts (Ps 37:4), which he has promised us; we beg for the "good" that he promises will come of our anguish (Rom. 8:28), we peer through the hot tears looking for the joy that is supposed to greet us in the morning (Ps 30:5), and yet often we are greeted by another dark night, walking again through the valley of the shadow of death.

What do we do when the joy doesn't come? What do we cling to when we feel we have lost everything? We cling to his Promises, not because we are fools, not because we are delusional, but because we literally cannot endure a single loss, wound, or sorrow that He did not willingly endure for us first.

We are in the season of Lent. A season where we look inward, where we attempt to silence the world around us, and consider not just our sinfulness, not just our need for a Savior, but the great undeserving gift of his sacrifice. His choice to be scourged, crowned with thorns and crucified.

The last two years have been very difficult for me and my family. We buried a beautiful baby boy, and subsequently lost two more tiny babies; babies we begged for, babies we desired with all of our hearts. And yet they are whole and perfect in heaven and our arms our empty. But in our grief, in our great loss and confusion His promises sustain us. When death overwhelms us, when pain is unrelenting we have to choose to trust, to believe, to persist. Jesus had to choose. He sweat blood in the garden because he had full knowledge of the suffering that awaited him. He asked his perfect, loving Father to take the cup. But the desires of Jesus's heart were synonymous with those of the Father, and so he took the cup and he drank from it.

I have railed against heaven in my grief.  I have begged to see the glass more clearly so that I can understand. But what I have learned, is that ultimately what God asks is that like His son, we say even on our brokenness, even if it is covered in fear, "not my will, but yours be done."   There are many more promises in the Bible that assure us he sees our suffering. He saves our tears, (Ps56:8), he counts the hairs on our heads, (Luke 12:7) he has made a place with many rooms where there will be no suffering, no pain and all that has been lost on earth will be restored in heaven. We cannot pick and choose the promises that bring us comfort or appeal to our sense of what we think God is calling us to. The ultimate promise, the only one that matters, is the promise of his death and Resurrection, the promise that he will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead and His kingdom will have no end.

In the meantime, He longs for us to be at peace. He was at peace in the garden, even while blood came out of his pores. He was at peace on the cross when he forgave us for all our sins, for our unbelief for our selfishness.  I have been walking with the Lord a long time. It has been a life of many sorrows, many losses and a tremendous amount of physical pain but I can honestly say He is a God who keeps his promises. Because amidst that pain I have known unspeakable joy, and the blessings of my life far outweigh the things that have hurt me.  And the promise I cling to the most is that what I see now only in part I will one day see the whole. He tells us again and again to come confidently to his throne, that we may receive mercy and grace in our time of need (Heb 4:16).

The challenge we will always face on earth is our great desire to control our lives. Often my desires are good, selfless, holy but that does not make them the will of God. Until our prayer truly is that of Jesus in the Garden, or Mary at the Annunciation we will lack peace. The good news is God is so patient and kind. And I find that if we overwhelm our souls with gratitude his peace comes more quickly.

Eventually, like the Psalmist we will be able to say that the bones God has broken rejoice (Ps 51:8), or like James we will count it all joy when we suffer (James 1:2), or like my favorite Old Testament figure, Job, we will be able to say "Though he slay me, yet I will hope in Him." Job13:15