Comfort Food for the Soul

Ingredient #1:  Hope

That’s where it all begins: with Hope.  Hopes and dreams and soaring expectations of living happily ever after.  Hope for a soul-mate who will always cherish and whose affections will never waiver.  Who will whole-heartedly nurture the children, and will thank God for the blessing of family.  Dreams of children who grow up to become responsible young adults, and who love the Lord with all their heart.  Who will honor and respect the ones who raised them.  Fully expecting that life will include financial stability, successful career, dynamic ministries, strong health, faithful friends, supportive family.

Hopes, however, have a way of not turning out exactly as expected. Somewhere in the process they can be broken, crushed, and scrambled, until they take on a different form altogether.  Barely recognizable as the dreams they once were.  Hopes fail.

Treasures of Darkness

Once upon a time, long, long ago, I was happy.  Or at least, I thought I was happy.  Everything in my life was bright and magical, just how I imagined it should be.  My days were well-ordered.  My home was well-kept.  My children were well-behaved.  Life wasn’t perfect, of course, but every day brimmed with possibility and there was almost always a reason to smile.  What could be better?  What more could I possibly want?

I barely noticed the dark, ominous clouds looming on the distant horizon.  Clouds that threatened dangerous and violent storms.  The first hint of worry trembled in my heart, but I ignored it, convinced that my family and I could weather anything just fine.  After all, I was confident and capable.  It would take more than a summer shower to quench my happiness.

It began with tiny droplets of water, a fine mist of disappointments that really were not all that significant if I compared them to all of the blessings in my life.  But then the splattering rain began to come faster and stronger, quickly forming deep puddles and rushing streams of runoff.  Broken dreams with no possibility of ever being realized.  A precious, beloved relationship that became strained, and I asked myself over and over again what went wrong.   A dreaded medical diagnosis that caused fear to stampede through my veins.  A searing, devastating loss that shattered my heart into millions of pieces.  It wasn’t long before the light sprinkling rain became a downpour, a deluge of wind and driving rain, and I could no longer pretend that I was happy.  My well-ordered, well-planned life was gone.  There would never be a happily ever after.

Awaken Me

In a stark contrast to the brightness of the dawn, the cloudy thoughts are bleak and cheerless.  Listless.  The long list of duties is almost paralyzing.  Where should the day even start?  How is it possible to prioritize?  An underweight, failure to thrive baby who requires hours and hours to feed.  And still loses weight.  A busy preschooler who needs direction and training and attention.  Without constant supervision, the messes and chaos quickly take over the house.  A sulky teenager, whose disrespectful words are like arrows piercing the heart, who needs patience and lovingkindness.  And help with a term paper.  An empty refrigerator that needs to be filled.  Loads and loads of dirty clothes that need to be laundered.  E-mails and phone calls that need responses.  Bills that need to be paid.  The responsibilities are burdensome, overwhelming and disheartening.  How can one person possibly accomplish all of this?

The temptation is to retreat, to stay in bed and hope, somehow, that the children will raise and educate themselves.  That the house will clean itself and the meals will prepare themselves.  Of course that is completely unrealistic.  There really is no other option except to inhale deeply, summon whatever meager reserve of strength can be found, and face the day. 

But surely there is more to life than just surviving through the endless to-do lists.  Than simply responding to the most pressing, most urgent demands. Than merely going through the motions with only a sense of duty and obligation.  Surely that old refrain, the one in minor key with the haunting words that get stuck, surely it can be replaced with a hymn of praise.

Lord, please awaken these lips.  Fill them with a new song.

I waited patiently for the Lord; He turned to me and heard my cry.  He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.  He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. – Psalm 40:1-3

Nothing

Long, long ago, long before I was born, He was writing my story.  Writing each page with precision, wisdom and passion.  It was a beautiful biography, a grand adventure, one that would include a damsel in distress, a valiant hero, a daring rescue.  And eventually, although it has not yet happened, it will include a “happily ever after.” It is ironic, therefore, that my testimony, the theme of my story, can be summarized in one unlikely word: “Nothing.”

Defeated

Today’s path has been long, steep, and treacherous.   Discouragement, my archenemy, has crouched behind every bend, attacking without warning, releasing a barrage of deadly arrows that have severely wounded. I lay my head down, bruised and bleeding, out of breath from running.  Weariness from the unrelenting battle drives away all thought except rest.  Please, please, let there be a reprieve this night.

But no.  The crushing Despair, that hostile foe who is determined to destroy, continues to pursue, refusing to back down.  In the loud stillness of the night, it senses that this warrior is weakened, and seizes the opportunity to advance.  Accusing, mocking, belittling. 

I know my opponent is close.  I can feel the cold breath on my neck and smell its stench.  Always near, always ready to ambush.  I am terrified that I will lose the battle this time.  That Distress is too powerful of an adversary for me to overcome.  It is so tempting to surrender.  To just give up.  To be defeated.

Enough

Every day, almost without exception, the thoughts murmur through my mind.  Scoffing.  Criticizing.  Accusing.  “You aren’t good enough.  You aren’t wise enough.  You aren’t holy enough.  Why don’t you just give up?  After all these years of trying and struggling to become a better person, what do you have to show for yourself?  How much progress have you made?  Are you any more mature or godly today than you were yesterday?  Just admit it:  you will never be enough.”

It’s like I have this cup.  A cup that I made with my own hands.  It is cracked and stained and ugly.  It once brimmed with idealistic hopes and ambitious aspirations.  Now, there is nothing in it.  It has been drained by the harsh realities of just trying to survive this life.  A life that sometimes includes disease, difficulties, disappointments, discouragement.  My cup is empty.  I have nothing to offer.¹  The striving.  The efforts and energy that never seems to amount to anything.  Is it true?  Will it ever be enough?  Will I ever be enough?

Once again, as I have done so many times before, I come before the Lord, offering Him my empty cup.  And El Shaddai², the All-Sufficient One, fills it with Himself.

Broken Promises

She used to be fun.  Every time I would see her, she would have recently had an adventure with her kids, or was eagerly planning the next one.  The local zoo, the children’s museum, the nearby farm, the water park.  Her scrapbooks were full of her kids’ sporting events, dance recitals, school plays, and birthday parties.  She was the mother everyone wishes they could be.

Not anymore.  The joy is gone.  Now she is in a dark, oppressive, terrifying place.  It’s as if she has been tossed into the bottom of a deep hole, with no way of ever emerging.  No hope of ever seeing daylight again.  Now it takes every ounce of effort just to get out of bed each morning.  She struggles through the days, counting the hours until her husband gets home from work and can take over the simple routines and responsibilities that, for her, have become insurmountable and nearly impossible.

She sits next to me in the kitchen, a mere shadow of the woman she used to be.  “I can’t,” she cries, the tears streaming down her pale face.  “I can’t accept that this is God’s plan for me.  Why is He allowing this to happen?  Why does He hate me?”

A Healthy Heart

The slate of a new year stands fresh and clean before me.  What new promises to myself will I write on it?

I should write, “Eat healthier.”  I meant to do that, and for the first few days I even succeeded.  Selecting nutritious foods.  Exercising self-control.  But then, as I stood in the checkout line at my favorite little market, I noticed them.  The papery-thin dark chocolate almond cookies.  Well, there went my resolve.  Mmmmm!  They were worth every delicious calorie!

I should write, “Exercise more” on that little list.  I do enjoy being outside, and generally I try to exercise a few times a week.  But alas, the temperature has dropped well below freezing, the wind has become bitter, and the sidewalks are now slippery with a slick icy coat.  Much too treacherous for exercise.  Somehow the cozy chair next to my fireplace seems much more inviting.  And besides, I need to stay indoors where I can finish off that box of papery-thin dark chocolate almond cookies.  So much for a healthy start to my new year.  Sigh.

And that’s just the physical goals.  The aspirations that relate to the temporary things, like the body’s health, are really not that essential when compared to all of eternity.  So what about my spiritual health?  Are my heart and soul becoming fit?  Sometimes I feel stuck.  You know, like I am still struggling with the same “issues” today that needed work 25 years ago.  How can I grow?  How can I continue to become more like Christ?  Maybe if I just try harder, or have more will-power and self-discipline.  Then maybe I could get past the first few days of sticking to my resolutions.