Over the last year I have questioned my faith, my beliefs, and doubted God and his Word to the point that I was ready to walk away. I had always hoped, in the face of great trouble and loss, I would be the Christian who continued on in unwavering grace and strength, my faith unscathed by my adversity. But grief is not always so pretty as that, especially when your faith seemed to have failed you. My prayer and conversation with God were laced with bitter undertones, anger at him for what he had not done for my family. I gritted my teeth through every song and sermon that proclaimed he is a miracle worker, that he is a healer, that he is good. I counted down the minutes until church was over, and avoided fellowship with people who meant well. I all but scratched out the scriptures in the Bible that didn’t “work” for me or that didn’t “feel true” to me. I screamed, yelled, lashed out at God for “allowing” my little brother to die in the way that he did, at the age he did, before me, before my mother, before it made sense. There appeared (and still appears) to be nothing redeemable or merciful in his death. And that made me angry. It made me feel betrayed by God. It made my heart harden toward him.
So why didn’t I just leave?
Because I remembered the response of Peter when Jesus asked the disciples that very same question.
Where would I go, Lord? You have the words of eternal life.
In the midst of my deconstruction, pulling apart and examining my theology, my beliefs about who God was and what I should expect from him, I knew what a life without Jesus was. I knew that as hopeless and helpless as I felt in that moment, there was no greater hope or help to be found apart from him. I knew that if there was anyone able to take this bitter cup from me, it was the one who had tasted it himself and overcome. And that even if he wouldn’t take it from me, he was the only one who truly understood the cry of my heart.
So I stayed. And I argued. And I questioned and I doubted. I wrestled and I fought, but I did it all in his arms. He never left me. Even when I wanted him to.
In a lecture given by Elisabeth Elliot in 1995, she says, “I thought, “What a dangerous position to put oneself in? To decide from now on that I’m angry with God, and therefore, I don’t need to pray about this particular matter that he has not conformed his will to mine. What pride and presumption?”
This lecture changed my heart. It changed my life. It opened my eyes and quieted my soul.
She goes on to say,
“Even an earthly father wants his best for his child and you mothers, you certainly know that there isn’t any question, that you want the best for your child. You want the very best. Very often you think what’s the very best and God doesn’t always provide it, does he? And that’s the point where he’s saying, “Whose agenda? Yours or mine?”
[…]
“Think what a dangerous position we put ourselves in, voluntarily, when we get angry with God. Is there anywhere else for us to turn? If you’re angry with God, I don’t know any other refuge. God is my refuge and strength. A very present help in trouble.
[…]
“He’s got you and me, sister, in his hands. Shall we deliberately reject such a refuge?
[…]
“As I look forward to what may be left of my future, I think of John Greenleaf Whittier’s beautiful lines, “I know not where his islands lift their fronded palms in air, I only know I cannot drift beyond his love and care.” Keep a quiet heart. Don’t pit your will against the will of God. Pause now, think in your heart, “What is that one thing that springs to your mind immediately so strange to you in the will of God in what he has permitted or what he has not permitted?” Does he know what he’s doing? Are we going to resent him? Presumption means dictating to God. It’s a display of pride. It’s a display of presumption and it’s unbelief, isn’t it? Let’s call things by their proper names. It’s unbelief. We call ourselves believers. Yet, how often we really don’t believe what God has said.
“We forget his promises. We forget his faithfulness. We hear the word of God sometimes and we decide we don’t really like it. I’ve always been interested in people’s questions that they ask when I have question and answer sessions such as we will have today. Often there is that note of, “I really would rather have answers than holiness.” Sometimes we have to choose between the two. God may not give us an answer because he wants to make us holy or he won’t give us the answer that we’re banging on his door to get because he wants to sanctify us and make us like Jesus Christ.
[…]
“Do you want solutions or do you want holiness? Do you want comfort or do you want Christ? Do you want answers or do you want orders? Paul says in 2 Timothy 2:4, “A soldier on active service will not become entangled in civilian affairs. He must be holy at his commanding officer’s disposal.” If we are soldiers of Jesus Christ, he is our commanding officer and we take his orders and we’re completely disposable. Let’s never forget that we’re completely disposable.
[…]
“Most of the time, let’s say they will be in some kind of conflict with the will of God. Pride, presumption or something, but he, by his gracious Holy Spirit, speaks to us and says, “I’m with you, I’m still in charge, I do know what I’m doing.” This is not for nothing. Any kind of suffering, any kind of bewilderment, any kind of perplexity, anything you want that you don’t have or anything that you have that you don’t want, God has assigned it. He has ordained it for our sanctification.
[…]
“Keep a quiet heart. Conform your will to the will of God. You’ll be able to keep a quiet heart because Jesus said in his last discourse with his disciples, “Peace, I leave with you. My peace, I give unto you, not as the world giveth to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” God bless you.”
What wisdom. What truth.
The events of the last year do not make sense to me. And maybe they never will. But they don’t have to. Because I believe I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. There, it will all make sense. There, it will no longer be sad or painful. There, I will see a full picture of the goodness and mercy in what now feels only like pure and unjust heartache. There will be a redemptive glory.
Until then, God is teaching me to keep a quiet heart. I am learning to not lean on my own understanding as he teaches me to trust him, and to humble myself as I rest in the blessed assurance that he is good and his will is greater than my own. And so, I am no longer struggling against his embrace, but resting in it. And there is peace. Finally, peace.
*If you would like to listen to the full 1995 lecture by Elisabeth Elliot, it is available on the Risen Motherhood podcast, episode 193. A link to the full transcript is available below.
growing through grief 