Two Years of Hell

The past two years have been hard. Beyond hard. They’ve been like a “hard as hell” kind of hard. Two years ago our youngest child, a 3^rd grader, was diagnosed with learning disabilities. We prayed and prayed and prayed and asked God for wisdom and direction. He led us to public school. We’d been homeschooling for 18 years, but had peace and conviction that putting him in public school was the right thing to do. He seemed to flourish and was getting the help he needed. The first year he went part-time, getting special education in various areas. It was wonderful. The second year (last year), we decided to put him in full-time. It started out great, but by October, incidents of troubled behavior began to occur. By January they were almost an everyday occurrence. Phone calls from the principal followed. Then Covid hit and distance learning was a disaster with a capital D.

It.has.been.hard.

Two years ago, our senior pastor of 31 years retired. I had only recently joined the leaderboard board when he dropped the bomb of his retirement. We’ve been in transition for twenty-four months.

It.has.been.hard.

Twenty-two months ago, my mom died after being hit by a car while crossing the street while on vacation with her husband of just 16 months. Our beautiful, tender-hearted mother was gone just like that. No more cards from her in the mail, no more hilarious humor and sage sarcasm. No more “Oh, bless his heart” or “I’ll be praying” remarks from her. No more cribbage, gin rummy, or 10% card games. Her wisdom, faith, and advice no longer heard over long phone conversations.

It.has.been.hard.

I’ve struggled to find my footing. The death of my mom shook my faith, made me question whether God was really good, and made me doubt whether this Christian life was worth living.

Dealing with a special needs child has driven me to the brink of insanity more times than I can count. It’s dumped me in a pit of hopelessness deeper than deep more days than I care to admit. It’s taken a toll on family dynamics and caused fractures in relationships.

The transition in our church has been far from smooth. Most anything can be handled well if one knows it will be short lived. We were told to expect transition to last 12-24 months. Great. We can handle that. But reality was a whole other story. Reality was, in fact, messy. Very messy. A sort of “someone left the lid off the blender” sort of messy. Decisions from leadership were opposed at almost every turn, blame on all sides sprinkled like vinaigrette over a salad. A once beautiful body of believers soon became divided, distrustful, and demanding.

THEN, Covid showed up in the midst of the already hard. An invisible virus that threw us all into a hell hole we never dreamt existed. The memes about a dystopian novel turned real life aren’t so funny anymore. A virus smaller than the cotton threads in our state-wide, mandated masks turned friends into foes and buried the smiles of our mouths beneath a barrier of illusion. Covid pitted physical health against mental health as if they were opponents in a boxing ring. But the fact is, they’re not opponents, but allies. Separating physical health and mental health is like trying to say you can have a skeletal system without a muscular system. (Technically, I guess you can, but you’d be dead.)

It.has.been.hard.

Two years of hard with an unknown ending to the hard has reminded me of this, however: Hard, in God’s economy, is never wasted, never without purpose, never for naught. When hard things hit and life goes beyond what I can handle, I can rest in the assurance that God is with me. He has not turned a blind eye or turned His back on me. He has not hidden His smile behind a mask or His power and authority behind a virus. He is sovereign. Nothing I’ve faced in the last two years has been a surprise to Him. Nothing endured has been with the intention of destruction. No, only Satan, the enemy, comes with the intent to kill, steal, and destroy. (John 10:10) The enemy is a liar and a thief. His intentions are only evil.

But God intends good things. He works all things for good. (Rom.8:28) God is good. (1 Chronicles 16:34, Ezra 3:11, Psalm 25:8, Mark 10:18, to list a few.) These trials, this hard? They are meant for good.

God.is.good.

I was blessed to attend this year’s virtual IF: Lead 2020 conference. One of the many phenomenal conference speakers, Katherine Wolf, spoke of a Sir Richard Baker quote. I couldn’t take notes fast enough during the conference, so I looked up the quote later and came across this post from Joni Eareckson Tada titled, “God’s Idea of Good.” In her post is Sir Richard Baker’s quote:

“But how is this true, when God oftentimes withholds riches and honors, and health of body from men, though they walk ever so uprightly. We may therefore know that honors and riches and bodily strength are none of God’s good things — they are of the number of things… The good things of God are chiefly peace of conscience and the joy in the Holy Ghost in this life; fruition of God’s presence, and vision of his blessed face in the next — and these good things God never bestows upon the wicked, and never withholds from the godly.”

— Sir Richard Baker

The good? The good is that I can run to Him who is faithful. The good is that He can use these hard things to develop character in me, the fruit of patience and gentleness, a character of strength and peace, of trust and abiding. The good is ultimately HIM. The good is God. We get God, His presence, Him…in the hard. Toni Collier, another IF: Lead 2020 conference speaker, said, “We are in a season where we are fighting for hurt and hope to coexist.” I would add that every hard thing we face or experience is an opportunity to recognize and accept that hurt and hope can and do coexist. We need to allow hope to coexist with our hurt. We need to fight for hope. Oh, that we would wrestle with hope like Jacob wrestled until he received the blessing!

God.is.good.

Beth Moore, yet another IF: Lead 2020 conference speaker, shared that there’s not much difference in the Hebrew between the word “wrestle” and “embrace.” Wrestle, in the Hebrew, is Abaq. Embrace, in the Hebrew, is Habaq. “Wrestling is a form of intimacy,” she said. If we wrestle long enough, wrestling can turn to embrace. It’s okay to wrestle with faith, with hard things, because it is in wrestling that we are intimate with God. When we wrestle we are in close proximity with Him. Wrestle with the hard, and embrace hope.

God.is.good.

Our hope is Jesus. Our hope is Christ who died for us, for our sin. Sin separates, and pain and suffering are consequences of a fallen, broken world, a world steeped in sin. But God.is.good. He gave us Himself in the form of flesh, through the body of Jesus Christ. We are not abandoned. We are not hidden. We are not unworthy.

If the last two years has taught me anything, it is that God is good. I am loved. I am seen. I am not forgotten. He is near. He hears. He knows. Therefore, I can say with confidence that though these circumstances are not good, He is.

God.is.good.     

In the hard, God has shown up. There have been incredible blessings, treasures, if you will (Is. 45:3), in this difficult season. God has provided not only His presence, but His provision. He led us to some really great professionals for our son, our church is getting a new senior pastor Sept. 1^st, and I’ve been able to find a great counselor to help work through the grief of my mom’s death, as well as other struggles. He’s shown me that this forced slower pace is good, even if it’s hard.

God.is.good, my friends.

Blessings,

Angie