Victory Amidst Defeat

Discouragement is one of the concepts that crosses all sectors of humanity. It's the result of being human in a broken world. So, because I inhabit planet Earth, I've experienced my fair share. I won't for a moment pretend that the situations that have brought about my discouragement would even register on the tragedy scale – but as I've explained before, my heart is frail anyway.

In my short life, I've experienced discouragement ranging from mild to severe on several occasions. Some was the direct result of a life happenstance, some was mere emotional turmoil – a gift from my enemy. Typically, this discouragement is confined to one realm of my life and does not bleed into the others, making it easier to handle.

Recently, an onslaught of discouragement afflicted all three major realms of my life simultaneously – Logistical Trivialities (into which my employment falls), Personal Relationships, and Ministry. Immediately after the last discouraging puzzle piece slid into place, I flew into my bed and vowed to stay there until God finally saw fit to take me Home.

There's really no way to describe what happened next. It consisted of many tears and much prayer. I said a lot and heard very little in return. I called up the Prayer Troops and begged for their intercession. There was a fair amount of bargaining, and some begging for time to rewind. The bottom had dropped out; life was unraveling; I had become a messy puddle of a person.

Then God blessed me with sleep. And when I awoke – whether the result of mental recalibration or the prayers of my prayer warriors, I shall never know – peace was mine once again. Mental clarity ruled, and for a brief instant I recalled the blubbering fool I had been less than an hour before. That Past Nora was not a Victorious Nora; that was a Defeated Nora. But defeat is not one of the fruits of the Spirit, nor is it a characteristic of a child of God. My flesh had won – but now I was on to it. Now I was aware of its little game.

So I have vowed never to let myself be so defeated again. I won't be arrogant enough to vow never to be at all defeated, because unless sweet relief from life comes this instant, that vow will soon be broken. But I will not surrender as easily next time. Next time I fly to my bed, it will be because something far worse has happened to me than has ever happened to me before. And next time I meet this same amount of discouragement, I will blubber for a shorter amount of time and waste fewer words in bargaining. And if I am made to live long enough and endure enough disappointment, one day I will experience complete victory over the urge to fly to my bed and blubber and bargain. One day I hope to meet discouragement head-on – unflinchingly.

Until then, Lord, I ask only for victory amidst this defeat.

Ever Weaker

There are a couple modern science-fiction stories featuring a giant spider – a spider so big that it could lift even a hefty human off the ground. Such spiders do not exist in the real world – which is fortunate, because if they did I would have sealed myself into a concrete bunker years ago. Recently, however, I have realized that I treat several of my problems like fictitious giant spiders.

In my last post, I compared my biggest fears in life to spiders – tiny, fragile creatures next to God's giant steel-toed boot. If God is as powerful as the Bible says He is, then He is able to crush them as easily and as swiftly as a boot crushes a spider. I am fully convinced that God could handle even a tarantula of problems without any struggle whatsoever.

But recently, I have found myself beginning to believe that giant spiders exist – spiders larger than life, against which God may struggle in His fight. Take my employment, for example: I'm a Registered Nurse who graduated from school in 2010, and I've had zero experience since. As I feared, this makes finding employment rather difficult. So I have begun to doubt that I will be able to find a nursing job. God is powerful, of course; but this is a giant spider problem. So if nursing was in the plan, I had to take action. Knowing I am too tiny to help fight this giant spider, I looked around for ways to shrink it. First, I lowered my expectations and started looking around for a less-enjoyable, less-skilled position. And then, when that didn't work because I found myself still so very unqualified, I started looking around for ways to make myself appear more qualified. Now we would have a more manageable, tarantula-sized problem. These, of course, are not wholly unnecessary courses of action, but stick with me and you will see my error.

I approached God again, this time with a smaller problem. I said, “God, last time I was here I asked too much from you by asking you to fight a giant spider, so I totally understand why you didn't come through. But now, all I want is for you to take care of this tarantula.”

This is when I was slapped in the face by the Holy Spirit. He got my attention, and when He was sure I was listening, He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor 12:9).

Giant spiders do not exist, either in real life or in metaphorical terms. There is no spider that could pick me up and carry me off; neither is there any problem I could ever face that would make my God break a sweat. With God fighting for me, even I am not too unqualified to find a nursing job. He may ask me to settle for a less awesome position or pursue further training, but it will not be because He is unable to succeed otherwise.

Many times over the last several months, I have uttered the phrase, “I don't know whether God will do this, but I know He can.” God's answer has been, “Do you?” He has challenged me to believe fully that He can do all things. And I issue this challenge to all of you.

I don't know what God has in store for me, but whatever it is, it will not be a second-rate future that He settled upon because the other futures were impossible to acquire. My God is bigger than everything – all of it, all at the same time. Whatever your situation, God is bigger. Whatever your burden, God is stronger. He is bigger than death – even death of your dearest. He is bigger than illness – even incurable cancer and AIDS. He is bigger than divorce. He is bigger than same-sex attraction. He is bigger than unemployment. He created this entire massive universe, after all. Your plight cannot overwhelm Him - He can squash it like a bug.

This does not mean He certainly will. But don't for one second stop asking Him to help you – and don't let the deceiver convince you that He can't.

“Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Cor 12:9-10). Today, I am content with my under-qualification, and I will not stop setting my sights ever higher. Lord, make me ever weaker, so that when I succeed, the world will know I did not do it on my own.

Spiders and Fuzz

Spiders freak me out. I have an irrational fear of tiny eight-legged creatures who are so fragile I have managed to kill a few accidentally. It's one of those fears that cannot be rationalized away, try as I might. If I live to be ninety, I will be a tiny ninety-year-old woman who can't kill a spider without wearing four flip flops, counting herself down, and smashing the poor spider three or more times, just to be sure it's really dead. And I'm sure the victory dance will still be as loud and dramatic as it is today.

Sometimes, this fear of spiders causes me to experience mild paralysis and elevated heart rate at the sight of a cleverly-disguised ball of fuzz. Without my contacts in, these wads of fabric become very convincing spiders. I often wonder whether the spiders who live in my walls spend hours contriving these practical jokes and then sit back and watch me freak out. I can't say I'd blame them – I'm sure it's quite a sight to behold.

I wish I could say spiders and fuzz are the only causes for mild paralysis and elevated heart rate. Being a worrier, I often worry myself into full-blown fear. Listing all the causes of such fear would take way too long, and would actually be quite unnecessary. With the possible exception of the irrational spider fear, the rest all have one common factor: I don't trust God enough to take care of ___. Usually, that blank contains the word “me.” Occasionally, it contains the name of a friend or family member I'm afraid of losing in one way or another, or who happens to be going through a tough time. This lack of trust in God makes all of my fears irrational fears – no different from my fear of tiny arachnids, and no less ridiculous than my fuzz paralysis. These situations I experience are mere fuzz in comparison with God's power. Even the more serious circumstances are tiny spiders next to a giant steel-toed boot. Even if I were to meet the tarantula of problems – the death of a loved one, poverty, cancer – God is big enough to squash it like a bug. “So we say with confidence, 'The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid. What can mere mortals do to me?'” (Heb 13:6, NIV).

So even if I live the rest of my life petrified of spiders, I should be able to handle real life with grace and dignity – for what can mere spiders and fuzz do to my God?

Not Alone

"...Our whole being by its very nature is one vast need; incomplete, preparatory, empty yet cluttered, crying out for Him who can untie things that are now knotted together and tie up things that are still dangling loose." -- C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

It's such a relief to know that I am not alone in feeling so desperate for God.

Standing Still

I don't cope well with change. I've lived in the same county since I was three years old. I've had the same best friend since I was … three years old. I've never lived more than fifteen minutes away from my parents. I held my first job for six years. And a few months ago when I got my hair cut shorter than it's ever been before, I had a mild panic attack. So you can imagine how I felt when the family whose nanny I had been since January moved out of state last month.

The first emotion I felt when I found out they were moving was grief: these two little girls I love to pieces were going somewhere I wouldn't see them every day. But on the occasions when the sadness took a break, I felt the panic setting in.

Being a control freak, I like to be prepared for everything that happens to me. I like to have plans A, B, and C in place, with a few more back-up plans prepared for each extenuating circumstance. I mentally prepare myself for each alternative. My strategies are organized flow-chart-style: If x is true, enact Plan A; if y is true, enact Plan B; if z is true, run away screaming. And so on.

I had no plan in place for being out of a job.

So I began planning. I considered all my options. I weighed each alternative. I set deadlines for myself. And I asked God to initial my proposal. His answer was an emphatic “No.”

So I went back to the drawing boards. I came up with different options, different methods, and a different time line. This time, I was hopeful that I would find approval. Again, God's answer was “No.”

Let me clarify what I mean by that. I didn't hear God say “No.” I didn't even encounter opposition that made me question myself. But every time I told God what I planned to do to amend my circumstances, I immediately felt uneasy. And even when I adjusted my methods, the uneasiness did not diminish. Each time, I thought I had come up with the wrong plan. But no plan I presented was met with approval.

Very gradually, I began to discover my error: I was taking control. I thought that if I didn't do something – if I didn't provide a solution – that no solution would be found.

My conversations with God began to take on a different tone, and slowly I felt Him whispering to me, “Do you trust Me?” Broken-hearted, I realized my answer was “No” – I had not been trusting Him.

After all He has done for me, I still think I can do better. After all He has taught me, I still think I know best. After all of the events in my life that seemed like disasters have been intricately woven into a beautiful tapestry of love and provision, I doubt He can provide for me.

That was a hard pill to swallow.

So now my methods are different. With strenuous effort, I am following the advice Samuel gave the Israelites: “Stand still and see this great thing the Lord is about to do before your eyes!” (1 Sam 12:16). I have stopped planning, and have begun to let God's plan happen to me. I will remain still until He tells me to move.

The most comforting realization is this: nothing will ever happen to me that catches God off guard or spoils His plans. There is nothing that can cause Him to say, “Oh, shucks. Now I have to go with plan B, and I'm gonna need Nora's help to do it.”

I have now been unemployed for three weeks. Nothing disastrous has happened yet.

Strengthened

I would be the first to admit that I have had an easy life. I grew up in a stable, loving environment. I was given great education. I have been spared great tragedy, and have suffered the loss only of two grandparents and one aunt. I have experienced good health, as have those in my immediate family. I have never gone hungry, never been homeless, never been poor. I do not boast in these things, for they are not of my own doing – rather, they are evidence that God's hand has been upon me since birth. For some reason I have yet to identify, He has seen fit to spoil me with ease.

And yet, in spite of this ease, I find myself - with surprising frequency - crying out like David: “My life is consumed by anguish and my years by groaning; my strength fails because of my affliction, and my bones grow weak.” (Ps 31:10) God has given me a weak heart – one that is constantly over-burdened by the groaning around me. Like any human, I have experienced my share of disappointed dreams. While my tragedies are nothing in comparison with those experienced by others – even others within my zip code – they are the only tragedies I have known. While my worst day is nothing in comparison with most of the rest of the world, I have felt pain that has broken me – pain that has pierced the deepest, softest layers of my well-protected soul. For though God has made my own burdens light, my natural ability to bear them has never been sufficient. My own strength ran out years ago.

In our church culture, it is unpopular to appear weak or broken. Somehow we have convinced ourselves that a relationship with Christ brings only joy and comfort in this life. Perhaps this started as an evangelistic ploy, as part of the “health and wealth Gospel” that was so popular. But now we are buying into it ourselves. Have we forgotten about the forty-two chapters of the book of Job?

God is the God of all comfort (2 Cor 1:3). This fact has become the foundation for the idea that a spoonful of Jesus removes all discomfort from life. Comfort, however, is not exactly the absence of discomfort; rather, comfort joins discomfort to make life more bearable. Life with the God of all comfort is not a life of ease. God can provide relief – He is all-powerful. He can ease our pain or change our circumstances. But sometimes He chooses not to. And who are we to challenge His motives? This was Job's error, and in response to such pride, God said, “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?” (Job 38:4)

This pain we experience is an unavoidable fact of life in a fallen world. Some comfort may come from our hopeful future, and this joy amidst suffering is discussed at length in the entry titled Pit of Despair. Yet for many of us, the pain lingers. This is the thorn that remained in Paul's flesh, despite his pleas for its removal (2 Cor 12:7-8).

The song Praise You In This Storm by Casting Crowns describes life with the God of all comfort so beautifully. With tender pain, the song tells the story of mankind – opening their eyes after prayers for relief only to find more rain. The obvious defeat brings tears of remembrance to my eyes each time I hear it – tears that only increase when I hear what comes next: “But as the thunder rolls, I barely hear You whisper through the rain, 'I'm with you.'”

There will be times in life when you feel you can't go on. There will be times when you beg God over and over to remove the thorn from your flesh and He sovereignly, silently refuses. But this God of all comfort does not leave you to languish alone. Instead, He provides the strength to carry on in spite of the pain. The Old Testament is sprinkled with numerous instances where God tenderly promises to strengthen His people. In Isaiah 41, God tells His people, “I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand... For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.” (verses 10b, 13) Most precious to me is Isaiah 46:4 - “Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.” God's strength is not an afterthought – it is His promise to “those whose hearts are fully committed to him.” (2 Chron 16:9)

In the Psalms, God's strength is compared to that of a fortress. “You are my strength... my fortress, my God on whom I can rely.” (Ps 59:17) I love this image. The word “fortress” does not conjure images of peace and restfulness, but rather images of war. In the midst of the longest, hardest, fiercest battle – smack dab in the middle of the action – stands a fortress. Its walls are impenetrable, its doors hold fast. Never in all civilization was a fortress as strong as this constructed by human hands. And inside, weary yet safe, injured yet bandaged, I stand. I cannot rest long, for battle still rages around me. I cannot live like a queen, blissfully ignorant of the realities of my world. My fortress has not removed the actuality of war. Rather, when I stand upon its walls I find strength to fight this battle. And within its walls I find protection from the evil one (2 Thes 3:3), so that when his attacks reach my heart, I know it is not a mortal wound. This is what the God of all comfort is for His people – a refuge and fortress, and strength to fight on.

A few weeks ago I heard a song for the first time at church – a song that caused me to cry a few subtle tears in public, which is something I try to avoid. It's an old hymn that I'm sure many have heard. It has been adapted to modern English by C. Kardinal, and the two verses read like this:

He gives more grace when the burdens grow greater. 
He sends more strength when the labors increase.

To added affliction He adds His mercy.

To multiplied trials, multiplied peace.

When we have exhausted our store of endurance,

When our strength has failed ‘ere the day is half done,

When we reach the end of our hoarded resources,

Our Father’s full giving is only begun.

There have been many days in my vapor of a life when my strength failed me before my feet ever hit the floor. My only hope on those days – and, indeed, on all of the others – was that my Creator lifted me out of bed and carried me in His arms from dawn 'til dusk, and often long past that, until I once again drifted off to sleep. I've made it through the pain, and I still harbor plenty of thorns. These burdens I carry – this weight of the world I continually heap upon my shoulders – feel anything but light. But I must remember that, compared to the sin-laden cross Jesus bore for me, my cross is barely a toothpick.

Pit of Despair

A few months back, I wrote an entry titled Empathetic or Pathetic? These words were the result of a conviction that I was worrying too much, and this worry had started depleting my joy. Since then, I have had frequent, unavoidable contact with the intrusive sufferings of this world. Even when God gave me the grace to fight off worry, life threw real, unimagined suffering in my face. It was as if Satan realized that worry was on its way out, so he devised another plan to steal my joy. As imagined suffering lost its potency, real suffering slammed into my consciousness. Despair ensued.

In one of these despairing moods, I found myself washing dishes. The mundane chore gave my hands something to do while my mind fought the emotional attack. Conscious of very real suffering quite near at hand, I mentally searched through the hundreds of Bible verses I had locked in my memory for a verse that promised reprieve in this life. I found none. The hopelessness deepened as I realized that this specific pain – indeed, all pain felt in this life – has great potential to endure until those who suffer from it leave this world. I was taught long ago that the promise made in Jeremiah 29:11 – a verse often quoted by individuals wishing to claim it today – is a promise specific to Jeremiah. God's plans – plans for prosperity and protection, plans for “hope and a future” – are not universal plans for all of His people. Any story about a modern martyr will tell you that. God never promised ease or comfort this side of heaven.

Wrapping my mind around this fact was extremely difficult. I love God deeply. More than that, God is daily making clear to me the depth of His love for me. Even the suffering I have seen has not shaken the hold His love has on my heart, and for that I am eternally grateful. I am unable to ignore God's love. But neither can I ignore the fact that many suffer – and some suffer for the entirety of this life. Now I am faced with the task of placing these two irrefutable facts side by side and somehow making sense of what seems like a giant contradiction. This task is a weighty one, because many have undertaken it and become unconvinced of the first irrefutable fact – God's love.

The fact of suffering has its origin in the fall of man. When Eve and Adam chose to depart from God's perfect design for humanity, God withdrew His perfect presence from mankind's world, and every fiber of its being began to decay. Their rebellion warranted death, and now our lives are steeped in it. As rejecters of our Creator, we deserve such a fate. In response, we must run from this death toward the Creator we rejected and finally accept His offer of life.

The fact of suffering does not refute the fact of God's love. Instead, this well-earned fate provides the perfect backdrop for this perfect love to evince itself. God Himself came in human form – down into our man-made muck and mire – to provide an escape from our perpetual pain. Through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, we have a promise that a day is coming without any pain or suffering.

So how do we continue here? How do we live well among this suffering now? How do we maintain a constant joy amid so much pain? Jesus spoke of life more abundant – did He speak only of suffering well until death provides relief?

Paul spoke often of joy amidst his suffering (2 Cor 7:4; 8:2). James even goes so far as to say that the two are related: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds.” (Jam 1:2, NIV) Even Jesus, when foretelling the trials His disciples would endure, told them to rejoice (Luke 6:23). Perhaps this life more abundant is joy amidst the pain, not reprieve from it.

Joy is necessary for the life of a believer. It is listed among the fruits of the spirit, coming directly after “love.” Joy is one of the defining characteristics of a person redeemed by the death of Jesus. Joy is what caused the unborn John the Baptist to leap inside his mother's womb in the presence of the unborn Jesus (Luke 1:44). Joy is what the shepherds felt when the skies filled with angels proclaiming the birth of their Savior (Luke 2:10). Joy is the emotion Jesus used to describe the appropriate reaction to finding the kingdom of heaven (Mt 13:20, 44). Joy sets Christians apart from the world – “God, your God, has set you above your companions by anointing you with the oil of joy.” (Heb 1:9) If we are going to wander about on this decaying planet claiming we know the Way, the Truth, and the Life, we'd better have a smile in our hearts that occasionally reaches our faces. No one wants to subscribe to misery.

Joy is possible, even alongside this present suffering. This life doesn't have to be one of misery. Our joy is not dependent on our circumstances. (At this point, I must make note of a slight difference between “joy” and “happiness.” Happiness is a superficial emotion, based primarily upon immediate circumstance. Joy is a foundational emotion, and can be felt alongside sadness, whereas happiness usually cannot.)

Joy amidst suffering is a daily struggle for me. I have a horrible habit of piling burdens too heavy on shoulders too frail. I will not pretend to have mastered this conundrum. Here are just a few helpful tips I have learned along my journey:

We can have joy amidst suffering because of what Jesus has done. He endured the most dramatic suffering – He was beaten and nailed to a tree, an innocent Lamb murdered by those He came to save. In death, He endured separation from the Father, as God ostracized Himself to bestow holiness upon undeserving people. “For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame” (Heb 12:2). He didn't stop there. After three days, Jesus defeated death. This pinnacle of suffering, this power feared by all mankind, was powerless to stop the Son of God from bringing joy to those He loves. All of the words in red ink are precious to me, but perhaps the dearest to my heart are these: “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)


We can have joy amidst suffering because of Who Jesus left with us. Jesus has conquered this world and left us with the Holy Spirit – the person, fully God, who lives with each believer. With the Spirit living inside us, the sufferings that we experience allow us to grow. This may not make suffering any more enjoyable, but the big-picture perspective may allow joy to permeate. In the midst of this suffering, the Spirit provides the comfort of direction and correction, as David expressed so beautifully in Psalm 23: “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” On top of the joy that comes from growth, the Holy Spirit, being fully God, has the ability to simply fill us with joy. Several times throughout the New Testament, joy is stated directly alongside the Holy Spirit (Luke 10:21, Acts 13:52, Rom 14:17). In 1 Thessalonians, Paul tells the church that the Holy Spirit can give joy even in suffering: “You became imitators of us and of the Lord, for you welcomed the message in the midst of severe suffering with the joy given by the Holy Spirit.” (1 Thes 1:6)


Finally, we can have joy amidst suffering because of the hope we have for our future. Paul used the words “joyful in hope, patient in affliction.” (Rom 12:12) Jesus said to His disciples, in an attempt to prepare them for His coming absence, “Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.” (John 16:22) This same joy can be ours – joy based on the same hope. Some day unbelievably soon, we will stand or sit or bow at the feet of Jesus, having been redeemed from our well-earned eternal suffering. “Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we boast in the hope of the glory of God.” (Rom 5:1-2) This glory of God which gives us hope is the glory belonging to Jesus that was graciously bestowed upon us at the cross. When your joy is based on this hope, “no one will take away your joy.” (John 16:22). Nothing can separate us from the foundation of this hope – the love of Christ (Rom 8:35, 38-39). His love has provided for us a future without pain – eternity with no tears.


The well-known lyrics to the beloved hymn “Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus” lay out these truths much more beautifully than I ever could:

O soul, are you weary and troubled?
No light in the darkness you see?
There’s light for a look at the Savior,
And life more abundant and free!

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.
(Helen H. Lemmel)

In order to have true joy in the face of true suffering, we must maintain a constant understanding that this life is short and its troubles are slight in comparison to the glory that awaits us at its end (2 Cor 4:17). Paul, who suffered much for the cause of Christ – and suffered joyfully – did not consider his trials even worth comparison with the coming glory (Rom 8:18-39). When he did compare the two, he concluded that the things of this present life are rubbish (Phil 3:8). I have never met anyone who has suffered more than the apostle Paul, though I'm sure such a person may exist. However, I am convinced that if Paul managed to suffer his trials joyfully in the light of the glorious future of seeing Jesus, we can endeavor to do the same. Paul may have been extraordinarily blessed by a face-to-face with Jesus on the road to Damascus, but we have been blessed with the Holy Spirit – a direct line to the throne room.

There is no ignoring the fact that on this side of eternity, there's going to be more total brokenness than total healing. “Even in laughter the heart may ache, and the end of joy may be grief.” (Prov 14:13) This fact, though ponderously gloomy, can “grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace.” The Gospel does not promise to eliminate the sufferings of this world, but instead brings joy into its midst.