“When you have no vision from God, no enthusiasm left in your life, and no one watching and encouraging you, it requires the grace of Almighty God to take the next step in your devotion to Him, in the reading and studying of His Word, in your family life, or in your duty to Him. It takes much more of the grace of God, and a much greater awareness of drawing on Him, to take that next step, than it does to preach the gospel.” (Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest)
These words, lovingly framed and presented to me by my sister, have followed me in every one of my moves and held a perpetual place of honor over my kitchen sink. Morning, noon, and night my eyes lift to this quote, and I am strengthened to tackle sink after sink of dirty dishes. The other day I was startled to realize that my frame was missing, and my heart sank to learn that it had taken a sudsy plunge and was beyond repair. More than ever I needed this promised grace to take the next step…
Time and time again, the year 2020 has been referred to in bleak terms as “a marathon, not a sprint.” Or, worse yet, “a marathon without a finish line.” This startling analogy has made me consider the marathon I ran a couple of years ago with my son and the euphoria of spectators and volunteers who cheered us through the toughest miles and celebrated our finish. As an introvert and creature of habit who was transplanted 1200 miles from my New England home, I really had to step out of my comfort zone to find community for my family when we moved to Alabama. For the first year and a half, I was blown away by the warm, southern hospitality we received, even from strangers. Yet all of this changed with the arrival of the coronavirus pandemic. Sunny smiles were shadowed with dark masks, and anxious eyes darted in critical disapproval of my children who broke the rules of social distancing. Suddenly I no longer felt welcome in this unfamiliar place, and running “home” to New Hampshire wasn’t an option. In a new and startling way, I felt trapped in circumstances outside of my control. There was no forging ahead to finish this race, and I was forced to take each uncertain step with only flimsy faith in a nebulous finish line.
“…We lose interest and give up when we have no vision, no encouragement, and no improvement, but only experience our everyday life with its trivial tasks” (Chambers)
A few months into the pandemic, I felt overwhelmed by the
transitions and disappointments that had redefined the rhythm of our lives. My younger children were restricted from
their favorite activities and time with friends. My college students were banned from their
campus community. My littlest one passed
through babyhood without meeting his loving grandparents. The repetition and drudgery of everyday life,
caring for 10 equally frustrated and disappointed people, began to feel
oppressive. One evening I just burrowed
into the laundry mountain on my bed, too weary and heartsick to take another
step…
“The thing that really testifies for God and for the people of God in
the long run is steady perseverance, even when the work cannot be seen by
others. And the only way to live an
undefeated life is to live looking to God” (Chambers).
By God’s grace my feet hit the floor the next morning, and I resumed my race. I knew that, if I was going to finish this “marathon,” I would need to nourish my spirit, mind and body with life-giving fuel. I’d have to shut off the voice in my head that told me that my race was pointless, that the menial tasks I completed every day didn’t matter to anyone, that the hours I poured into teaching my children were fruitless… As I’ve done countless other times, when the needs of perpetually hungry and fussy children, the hopeless negativity of social media, and the despair of my own heart became more than I could handle, I headed out for an early morning run. This hour of exercise and reflection before the house stirs has become so precious to me. It is a time where I am conscious of my union with Christ, who retreated to His own solitary place to pray before spending long days meeting His children’s needs. During the first few miles, I listen to His Word and expose every dark corner of my heart in prayer. Next I feed my mind with edifying news podcasts or living books that stretch my imagination or make me laugh without restraint or indulge in healing tears. Inevitably my heart is refreshed. Slowly, steadily, the miles unravel the knotted tension inside of me, and I am strengthened for my course.
One day, as I was returning from a run, my eyes were drawn to a bare patch in my flowerbeds, where a sick rose bush had been uprooted. I knew that this bush, which had been crushed in a recent storm, was beyond hope, but it still broke my heart to let it go. Roses have always brought me great pleasure, and this particular bush with its multicolored blossoms was a beautiful gift from the Master Gardener to welcome me to my new home in Alabama. For weeks I had felt a morbid empathy with the sad remains of this bush – just a few roots being choked by neglected weeds. Yet, on this particular morning, I noticed something remarkable. There, growing up out of the ugly tendrils, was a beautiful, solitary rose. Against all odds, my bush was making a tenacious comeback and refusing to stop blooming. My heart took comfort in the reassurance that I would survive this season and that even this uprooted New England girl could thrive so far from home.
December arrived, and it seemed fitting to celebrate my birthday by running a solitary marathon. Early on that rainy morning, I mapped my course, loaded my energy drinks and an audio book on the topic of loneliness, and started the most difficult yet personally significant race I have ever run. This time there were no spectators to cheer me on or hand me electrolytes when my legs threatened to give out. Yet, even in my misery, I was able to view these 26.2 miles as a gift. In the midst of a pandemic where so many people were relying on ventilators to keep them alive, I thanked God for my healthy lungs. I thanked Him for the suffering He had ordained that year, that (no matter where the finish line might be) had given me endurance, character, and hope which would not put me to shame (Romans 5:3-5).
“Every Christian must experience the essence of the incarnation by
bringing the next step down into flesh-and-blood reality and by working it out
with his hands… Ask God to keep the eyes
of your spirit open to the risen Christ, and it will be impossible for drudgery
to discourage you. Never allow yourself
to think that some tasks are beneath your dignity or too insignificant for you
to do, and remind yourself of the example of Christ…” (Chambers).
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