I have been frustrated by life lately. It’s a long story, but I am walking through life transitions, while also journeying into some pain from my past. This last weekend was particularly hard for me. I felt angry, and sad, and lonely, and unseen (Just what you want to accompany your holiday weekend).
And then today I broke my French press. I know, big deal, right? Wrong. It was a big deal.
A. I had only purchased the press a month or two ago and it was pricier than I had anticipated.B. Money has been tight and the thought of having to buy another press so soon was frustrating.
C. I had to clean up all that glass. Blarg!
D. What about my coffee tomorrow morning?!?
It felt like the cherry on top of an already disappointing few days.
After finishing cleaning up (and let’s be honest, shouting in frustration), I sat down and re-read an email I received today. In it, the person mentioned a blog I should check out. I clicked on the link and was introduced to the story of a family that has gone through deep suffering in the last 5 years. As I finished exploring their website I realized how trivial my French press situation was. I didn’t feel guilted on by God, but rather I was given the gift of perspective.
I was reminded that my breaking this French press did not mean that God didn’t love me. I know that sounds silly, but for a moment there, I kind of believed that he didn’t. It felt like another piece of evidence in my trial against God, who just wants to mess with my life. Exhibit A, disappointing Memorial Day weekend. Exhibit B, the dreaded French press!
Now, there are sturdy parts in me that know that this is not true of God. He’s not off on the sidelines of my life cracking up when I break a French press. But there are times when I’m confronted by other parts of my heart that have a hard time believing that God is really all that loving. There were times in my life when I felt lonely. Those significant memories have stuck with me and they war against the truth of who God is. I find God winning more and more, but the lonely parts of my heart have a difficult time trusting that God really does care.
I know that the French press situation was not really about the French press itself. It speaks to a deeper place of sadness and frustration within me. I know that when I find myself in those places, that it is hard for me to grasp onto God’s character. And yet somewhere hidden in that beautiful mess, I know that he loves me, even there.
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