Today

 Breaking Down

    Today I feel weak and fragile. Unable to discern where God is leading me. Overwhelmed by the stresses of the hour that we’re living in. Longing for normal times.

    Today I should be writing, working in my yard, reaching out to friends in need. But today all I want to do is relax, zone out, recharge my batteries.

    Yesterday was bad. I fell apart. A friend made a comment about a conversation we had a couple of weeks ago. I had no memory of the details that she mentioned. Too worn out from overdoing the day before, I couldn’t handle the shock of hearing her describe a recent mutual experience that didn’t sound even vaguely familiar to me.

    My reported statement had involved one of her habits that affects my life and mildly annoys me. I’d decided years ago that I wouldn’t jeopardize our friendship by asking her to change her ways. I could live with her idiosyncrasy, even though it was a bit of an inconvenience for me.

    So the problem wasn’t just that I couldn’t remember something specific that I’d said to her. The problem was that I couldn’t even imagine making that comment. When she brought it up, I covered my confusion by suggesting that maybe she’d misunderstood me or hadn’t heard me clearly. She accepted that. To her, it was no big deal. But it threw me into a dark and fearful place where I seriously questioned whether I was losing my mind.

    For many years, I’ve struggled with medical issues that affect my brain. It’s mainly related to menopause, but side effects from an over-the-counter medication may have done additional damage. I have to be really careful about overdoing. Set boundaries and stick to them. Or pay the price in stages.

    First stage: broken body. Increased physical fatigue. Second: broken brain. The mental fog rolls in. Third, and most terrifying: broken emotions. Irrational fear. Hopelessness about my future. Obsessing over the negatives. Completely convinced that what I’m thinking is reasonable, understandable, normal. In my own mind (never out loud) I've labelled it “my insanity.” It doesn’t reach this point very often, but when it does, it scares me.

    Yesterday I was well into stage two when our conversation started. My weary brain took my friend’s statement, red-flagged this alarming new kind of forgetfulness, and ran with it deep into stage three. Do I have periods when I actually black out any memory of what’s happening, never to recall it again? Are there holes in my mind where I thought there was wholeness? Is this a sign of dementia creeping in? If so, what will tomorrow bring?

Coming back

    After so many yesterdays when the same emotional symptoms had occurred, I eventually recognized what was happening and went into response mode, using self-talk in an attempt to short-circuit the panic and the negative thoughts. (One important factor: even though my friend’s cancer has been in remission for several months, her chemo brain continues. It’s entirely possible that she misheard, misunderstood, or misremembered.)

    But the anxiety still haunted me. I couldn’t let go, couldn’t stop my imagination from fearing the worst. Praying: Lord, please help me to recall the conversation or to reason through the circumstances. Help me to somehow get a handle on what most likely occurred.

    God said no. Hours later, I was just as mystified as I had been when my friend brought up the subject. Instead, He provided a different answer. The Holy Spirit called to my mind other yesterdays when the insanity had clutched my brain with its fierce claws and sent me into a similar downward spiral. On every occasion, the cure was simple: time. Time passed. The symptoms went away. My perspective shifted back to normal. With this thought came peace.

Facing today

    Today the insanity is over. I’m puzzled by our conversation, not overwhelmed. But today I’m feeling weary from yesterday’s meltdown. I don’t want to work. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to reach out to others. I fear a repeat of yesterday if I do too much today.

    So what does God expect from me today? According to Jesus, my life is supposed to be one of sacrificial giving. Do I sacrifice my energy, my mind, my sanity by pushing myself to do more, to put others’ needs before my own? Do I plunge ahead, reciting the promise, “I can do everything through him who gives me strength” (Philippians 4:13)? He has refused me that strength many times in the past. Sometimes His will includes my weakness.

    Or do I give in to the urge to spend even more time than usual relaxing? Can I justify my inactivity by arguing that I might not accomplish a lot, but I will do a few things well, with a clear head and calm emotions? Will God judge me for my negligence, or is He sitting up in heaven shaking His head and sighing with compassion over my tendency to push myself too hard? Discerning His will, hearing His voice, is so much more difficult today than it is on my better days.

    Where do I go from here? Take one step at a time. Think and pray over today’s list of to-dos. Quiet my own imaginary voice in my head so that I can hear His instead. Put aside “should,” focus on “could.”

    I should work on my profile for my blog. But I’m not thinking clearly enough to have any confidence in my own editing. I could pour out my feelings and frustrations in a new post. Maybe God can use this time of fatigue and uncertainty to minister to someone in need.

    I should do some yard work before it gets any hotter. If I skip it completely, I’ll get further behind. But I could just finish up the job I started a few days ago, without tackling a new one. Ten minutes later, I’m back in the house cooling off again. Thank You, Father, for understanding my needs and desires, for leading me to the things that I can do, for letting me experience a sense of accomplishment even when I feel so limited.

    I take my usual breaks for eating, napping, relaxing. In between I check my to-dos. I could write one email. Done. Not too tired yet. I could write another. Done. A little bit of energy remains. I could check out a new website. Done. Looking at my entire list is overwhelming. Focusing on one item at a time is doable.

    As today ends, I’m feeling whole again. God has restored my emotions, my brain, my body. At this point, I always hope and pray that the insanity will never return. But I know that if it does, I’ll have one more memory of one more time when God saw me through it and grew me just a little bit more. Because of yesterday and today, I will be stronger tomorrow.

Growing Stronger

 Stronger or more bitter?

    “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”*

    I hate that saying.

    Why? Don’t I know that God is working for our good in all things (Romans 8:28)? Our highest good is to become more like Him. Therefore, in all things, including those that hurt but don’t kill us, God will make us stronger, won’t He?

    But is it automatic? I suffer, therefore I grow? Not from what I’ve seen. God is always working for our good, but we often have to work with Him, in an attitude of humility and submission, in order to heal and produce fruit.

    A Christian man I used to know dreamed as a child of one day becoming a doctor. He did all he could to make that dream come true. He demonstrated innate curiosity about things both natural and mechanical. He maintained high grades throughout his years of schooling. He became involved in extracurricular activities, including volunteering in the local emergency room on Friday and Saturday nights. He developed interpersonal skills that would contribute to a good bedside manner. If he had been born ten years earlier, he probably would have been accepted into medical school and gone on to a successful career as a physician.

    But he completed his bachelor’s degree in the late 1970s. At that time, there was a growing attempt to get more women and minorities into medicine. Highly-qualified white males, including my friend, were being passed over in favor of less-qualified females and people of color. My friend’s applications to various med schools were denied. He switched tracks and became an engineer instead. It wasn’t his first choice, but he accepted it and served well in his back-up field. What didn’t kill him made him stronger.

    I met another Christian man about fifteen years ago. Same dream, same focus on the goal, same failure to be accepted into med school. Different result. This guy was angry and resentful over being passed up for a career that he knew he deserved. He found another path, but pursued it grudgingly, meeting only the minimal requirements and continuing to complain to those closest to him about his unfair treatment so many years before. What didn’t kill him made him bitter.

Stronger or more vulnerable?

    A different friend went through a difficult time as an unwanted child. Finding Christ freed her of many false beliefs about her value and her ability to be loved. As a Christian, with God’s grace and power and wisdom, she worked through her damaged emotions and self-image. What didn’t kill her eventually made her stronger.

    A second woman that I knew many years ago had also had a traumatic childhood in an unstable home. She became a Christian and experienced the peace and joy and love of Christ. But she bought into the evangelically-correct idea that she wasn’t broken inside anymore. That was the past. It was over. God had instantaneously, completely healed her when she believed.

    She was the secretary to an assistant pastor at my church. That pastor left. A new one was hired. When he interviewed for the position, his previous employers failed to reveal his history of sexual misconduct. He immediately recognized the weakness of his new secretary. He preyed on her. He manipulated her. He destroyed her marriage by initiating an affair with her. What didn’t kill her made her vulnerable.

    I’ve seen too many broken Christians who never really heal. Like the second man who was denied access to med school and the secretary who had the affair with her boss. With inadequate treatment, the wounds fester. What doesn’t kill them continues to eat away at them, regardless of the facade of health and strength that they wear for others to see.

Our current opportunity

    What will the outcome of the coronavirus pandemic be for believers in America? Will we follow in the footsteps of the first people mentioned in each of my pairs of examples and be strengthened? Will we accept God’s detours in our lives and allow Him to grow us, or will we become bitter? Will we work through the pain in order to find healing, or will we put on a happy face through it all, then fall prey to those who know how to exploit us?

    And what about our attitude to Christians who are struggling with the fallout from COVID-19? Will we allow them, and even encourage them, to take whatever time they need to work through their pain and doubts? Will we be there for them, to walk alongside them in the process? Or will we shame them if we don’t see a quick fix occurring?

True strength

    Maybe we need to change this faulty assumption about growing stronger to some searching questions, asked with the compassion that desires healing for the sufferer. How might God use this non-fatal experience to make you stronger? Can you see anything that He’s trying to teach you through it? What small steps can you begin taking right now? What could you work on changing in your attitude or behavior in order to gain the strength that’s available to you? Who can help you as you try to move forward? A wise and trusted friend? A patient pastor? A professional counselor?

    Ultimately, our strength comes from God. Only He can heal our brokenness and bind up our wounds. But we have a responsibility, too—to be honest with Him and with others, to face our hurts and anger and shortcomings head-on, to be open to His guidance in pursuing healing, to learn to be thankful rather than resentful when He prunes our damaged branches. As we do our part, in His love and patience and grace He will bring growth. What doesn’t kill us will make us stronger. But it isn’t automatic, as that saying that I hate so much implies.


*Adapted from Friedrich Nietzsche. What he actually wrote was, “What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger” (italics added). Was he speaking only for himself, or did he believe that this principle applied to everyone, as our current version suggests?