This week has been hard and weird. I haven’t written a blog or devotional, and, honestly, I had begun to wonder if I would even bother writing another one. In addition to the chaotic times that we are living in, under the unprecedented world-wide COVID-19 closures and restrictions, our family suffered another devastating loss. Ian’s sister, Kim, passed away unexpectedly at the age of 58 from a massive heart attack.
I have been practically useless all week, sleeping more than I need, and accomplishing very little. As a Christian writer, I find it very difficult to write about hope and encouragement and joy if I am not experiencing it, feeling it, to some degree. Let’s just say, this week, I have not felt joyful and hopeful or encouraging. In fact, I found myself battling an oppressive spirit of fear, anxiety, and discouragement.
Yesterday, I attended what has to be the most unusual funeral service of my life—and I have been to a lot. One small vase of flowers adorned a table with pictures of this wife, mother, sister, friend. Due to COVID-19 restrictions, there was no line of visitors. No tables of food were waiting for the family afterwards. Only a few of the closest family members could attend, awkwardly trying to decide if it was considered unwise to hug even in this time of grief.
As with every other time I have walked into a funeral home or attended a memorial service since Brandon’s death, I once again sat through this simple but beautiful service and thought not just about Kim but also about Brandon. I struggled to remain composed as we sang hymns from my childhood, one of which we sang at the close of Brandon’s funeral.
In many ways, in the last week, I have found myself envying Kim and Brandon, longing for Heaven in very deep and profound way. Then, we sang these words of the famous hymn, “Because He Lives,”
Because He lives, I can face tomorrow
Because He lives, all fear is gone
Because I know He holds the future
And life is worth the living, just because He lives.
It was then that I felt the Lord’s gentle and loving but firm conviction. No matter how dark the days, how hopeless life may seem, as a believer, my life is worth living—and living well—because Jesus lives, and He lives in me.
I am far from a perfect Christian. I have always tried to be completely honest about that. I have tried to be open and transparent with you, my readers, because I believe that by sharing the good and bad of our lives we can help make each other stronger. As I left the funeral yesterday, I began praying that God would forgive me for my lack of faith and that He would help me to feel the joy and hope that I know to be true.
Obviously, God hasn’t miraculously changed anything about our circumstances. I won’t lie. It’s not like I woke up this morning with a particular spring in my step. I am still struggling, just as, I’m sure, many of you are as well. But I have been encouraged to push forward, to not give up the good fight, to continue to do what I know I have been called to do since the day I was born—to glorify the Lord with my life and my words.
Author Mark Batterson wrote in his book, Whisper, “When we’re in an emotional funk, we often miss what is right in front of our faces.”
Yes, the world is hard. In many ways, it is harder this week than it was three weeks ago, but when I stop thinking about how I feel and start looking around, I am blessed to find encouragement in so many ways. So many people are stepping up. So many people are using whatever resources they have to help bring a smile to their friends, families and even strangers. My sister, Nancy, defined encouragement as this. She said, “It is simply the truth of God showing up in our lives when others would have seen tragedy or loss.”
Maybe it’s through a take-out bag from Chick-Fil-A with words of encouragement written all over it. Maybe it’s a children’s church pastor reading a Bible story on a live feed for her preschool Sunday schoolers while her own children perform antics in the background. Maybe it’s pics of a toddler hiding in the cabinet or climbing clothed into a bowl of water when her mom turns her back. I have been reminded that it’s rarely the big things that make a difference. It’s the small, individual moments of our lives that matter. That’s how we can reach out, even in the middle of social isolation. That’s how we can bring joy, and hope, and encouragement to one another.
So, in the words of the apostle Paul, in Philippians 3:14, “I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us.”
What about you? Share with me how God has showed up for you this week. How have you been encouraged?