A sense of overwhelm has fastened itself to many people.
Beyond inflated costs, both mentally and financially, of doing business and life, one would think that is enough. Most days, that alone can fill a day’s worth of concern.
Yet, days of late have pushed good folks beyond their tipping point, expressing that they thought they were at rock bottom, only to find themselves falling through a trapdoor.
This presents similarly despite differences in circumstance.
Exhaustion spills into short replies or overly long ones, reactionary moments or heavy silence.
Progress unravels or halts, and we struggle to decipher which is worse.
We may find ourselves moving from building to fixing; from putting pieces together to doing our best to pick the pieces up.
The energy. Oh, the energy. It is still required, but now it is allocated to survival mode, accompanied by fight, flight, freeze, or fawn… often a blend of two or more.
We learn that the bursts and echoes of survival adaptation don’t fit neatly into any category.
We learn that the loudest voice isn’t always the rant to be freed from the grief or the gravitas of the situation. Rather, it’s often the silent resignation that the cage moves with us, the bars are fluid, and freedom might be the biggest illusion of them all.
We are free to offend and to be offended, and many find false identity and temporary power in these coping mechanisms.
And yet, we are also free to love and to accept love.
Our energy, however we choose to expend it, will be spent regardless of our attitude. In this reality, we are offered a glimpse of something well beyond ourselves and within ourselves: hope.
Yet it almost seems childish to hope when things appear bleak, especially when you hit one roadblock after another, taking one gut punch after another.
Hope, here, is not the cheer we owe the room.
As Christians, we know that the worst trapdoor was already entered by someone who did not stay there, and that the bars, however fluid they feel, are not the final architecture of a life created by God.
We can doubt the timing and often do.
We can distrust people who gift platitudes too easily or offer directions to roads they have never traveled.
And still, we can hold tightly to hope with peace that doesn’t come from being naive, but rather from coming through more than we even thought possible.
Not because the diagnosis changed. Not because the money appeared. Not because the relationship healed, the grief lifted, or the thing keeping us awake suddenly resolved itself by morning.
We can hope before any of that happens… before we see evidence that reality is changing in our favor.
Romans 4:18 describes Abraham as a man who, “against all hope… in hope believed.”
My experiences have, at times, provided no reason for optimism; yet, even so, even in the struggle, I have experienced both peace and joy that only come from the Lord.
Maybe that is what makes hope so strange to a cynical world. It does not require favorable evidence to exist.
It is not denial. Rather, hope acknowledges what is broken and directs us to trust the Lord in our brokenness.
There are days when all the strength we have is spent getting dressed, answering the phone, showing up for somebody else, or making it through the next hour without falling apart.
Perhaps faith in those moments is not willing ourselves to soar to a new height.
Maybe, instead, it is inviting God to keep us company on the floor, in the pit, in the betrayal, exhaustion, confusion, fear, abandonment, injustice, grief, anger, disappointment, and the unknown.
Friend, if life has reduced your energy to getting through today, get through today.
Do not confuse what you can see with all that exists.
The floor is not the whole house. You are not alone there, and you are not finished.
Provided by Dallas Express
