Early this week, I spent prepping for a minor medical procedure. I knew what was at stake. It was going to be hard. And I dreaded it.
I faced a day of clear liquids – no big deal. But then, drinking in rapid succession 128 grueling ounces of a potion that seemed like what antifreeze would taste like.
The night before, I thought a lot about a friend’s wife who endured years of strong treatments in an attempt to conquer a virulent form of cancer.
And the morning of my own preparation, I received an email about a friend who is now pursuing every possible means of overcoming an unexpected turn in his health. I was ashamed of my despair.
There are going to be a lot of things a lot harder than this. I realize that.
As a runner, I know the momentary afflictions of the steep hills where I live. And I have found the way to get up those daunting ascents is to just put my head down and keep moving upward, one step and then another, not looking up, lest a turn in the road gives birth to another grueling climb.
When I first began running as an adult, I asked one of our cross-country running daughters how she faced the demanding slopes. “How do you talk yourself up the steepness?” I still recall what she said so many years ago, “It depends what you are thinking about. Don’t think about the hill.”
The ancient Hebrews had an entire collection of hymns that they sang as they climbed toward Jerusalem on their way to worship. These “songs of ascent” are preserved in Psalms 120-134. They sang their way through the hard places. They worshiped even on their way to worship.
And so, on Monday evening, in the middle of woes both real and imagined, I tried not to think about the “hill," but to turn an uphill battle into an ascent. I set my phone to chime every ten minutes for yet another 8 ounces. One after another. As daunting as that whole gallon was, I poured out my next dose, and then the next. Ounce by ounce. Just one more. And I realized that obedience sometimes means --as hard as it may be and as bad as it may taste-- intentionally slugging it down and holding my nose, if necessary. One necessary gulp and then another.
Just twelve more cups. Just six. Just three left. My last.
“There are three stages to every great work of God; first it is impossible, then it is difficult, and then it is done,” wrote Hudson Taylor, a pioneer missionary to China in the late 1800s, who learned that the word impossible doesn’t appear in God’s dictionary.
“And then it is done.” And we realize that only God could have given us the strength. Only God could have made it happen.
Sometimes victory is just getting through to the other side, staying faithful to the path, head down, keep going, slugging it out. Just because it needs to be done. Sometimes victory is accompanied by the theme music from the movie Rocky, the soul-moving sounds of the Hallelujah Chorus, or a crowd lined street of people cheering.
And sometimes the silence is broken by a whisper of “Thank you, God, for bringing me through.”
Life in this broken world is not always going to be a series of pleasant experiences, but obedience to God always prepares us for something more than we can know, another dimension of God’s strength, not new, but realized. We come to know Him deeper and differently. Even in this hard thing. Even in the next.
God never promised life would be easy, but “I am with you.”
God is not waiting at the end of this, but helping me through. Just one more sip. Now another.
This is what I want to remember from this: His faithfulness.
In the middle of this hard assignment, a verse from God’s Word kept coming to the surface:
Fear not, for I am with you.
be not dismayed,
for I am your God.
I will strengthen you,
I will help you,
I will uphold you
with My righteous right hand.
Isaiah 41. 10
The circumstances may not change,
but the journey can be different.
The best way through?
“Trust Me in this.”
We have forgotten
He is the Almighty One,
and He is with us.
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