Sometimes the emotions hit me like a tsunami, caught in the sea of overwhelm. Overwhelm that our Father saw all of our futures worthy of saving. Overwhelm at the aftermath trying to pray ourselves out of potential surgeries and pray ourselves into new vehicles. I see all of His goodness and that is overwhelming in itself, but there are tinges of grief through out it all.
Yesterday I was fine until I was not. One breath I was praising God for those small moves of healing the doctors have seen in Allie’s arm, holding off the idea of surgery until next week’s appointment, the next frustrated and angry, even though I knew those emotions were my cover. I could see them as the lid for something bigger, but I just couldn’t take the lid off to go deeper.
Half the time I don’t even know what I’m feeling, and that is overwhelming.
After stress-cleaning the whole main floor, scrubbing wooden floors on my hands and knees, I sat down in the chair, unsure what to even do. What could even make this better, Lord?
I picked up my Every Moment Holy book, a book of prayers specifically for death, grief, and hope, I flipped to the end and found one for ‘the troubling hour’.
Teach me, O Father, to love the idea of your Spirit here with me more than the idea of momentary relief.
The podcast I was listening to talked about inviting Jesus to live with our families for a week. Come vacation with us, Jesus. She talked about not overthinking it, because we all know we are filled with the Holy Spirit who is with us always. But that intentional shift that would happen if physical solid Jesus brought his bags and knocked on our door, staying in our guest room for the week.
Jesus in our hard moments make them lighter. Not the thought of Jesus, but actual Jesus who walked the earth with his disciples.
Jesus come enter into this moment. Fill these days with more of your Spirit to lift the weighty burdens of overwhelm. Lift the heaviness so we can dance in the light. Turn the lights on where joy lives.
Matthew 28 is packed full of goodness. Here are the quick notes:
The two Mary’s went to the tomb to find it empty with an angel waiting to speak with them:
“Jesus is risen from the grave just as He said. He went ahead of you guys to Galilee. Go grab the guys and meet up with Him!”
On their way to the guys, Jesus appeared in front of them declaring, “Rejoice!”, them both hitting the ground in worship.
The girls told the guys, and the disciples went to meet Jesus in Galilee. It says the moment they saw Him they worshipped Him, but some still had lingering doubts.
Lingering doubts means that the whole trip to Galilee, they really weren’t sure what they were going to find. It wasn’t a walk of faith. It was a walk full of grief, grief that lingered even after seeing Him there.
Jesus knew they still had lingering doubts, but He didn’t beat them up over it. He simply told them that He had all the power, told them to baptize the nations in the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and raise them up as followers. Then He says this line that has been on repeat in my mind through this:
And never forget that I am with you every day, even until the completion of this age.
Sometimes we focus too much on halting our grief or the heaviness of the season rather than inviting Jesus into it.
My friend texted me yesterday reminding me about Jesus giving us our daily bread- just what we need for this moment- so we can walk with Him through it, without getting ahead of ourselves. To be completely honest, that isn’t what I want right now. I want to be healed of the grief, I want to see the miracle instantaneously, I want to know yesterday that Allie will never need surgery on her arm- not this slow stuff where every appointment we go to they say this step is good, but the next step might still need surgery. Not this week, but maybe next.
But this is our daily bread. This is the Father reminding us to not get ahead of ourselves. To live in this moment and walk in this moment and say thanks for what He has done and delivered us from this day.
He is here, in the room while I sit in my frustration, asking me if He can take some of it for me. He is here, asking me if I will dress myself right now in the ever-present wraparound God that saved us in the accident. Will you still wear me? Will you still let me cover you? Will you still look for me and ask me where I am in this?
Its not a self-help letting go kind of thing. It’s a turning your eyes back to your first love and everything will reposition from there kind of thing.
Jesus is in the room, friends. He is here in the good moments and He is also here in the moments when we are so sick of this season and just want to move on with our lives. Don’t miss Him in this. Don’t be so busy trying to escape the emotions of this season that you miss praising Him in it.