Do you ever have times where you feel like life’s circumstances are about to overwhelm you?

Mother’s Day was like that for me. My family came to my bedroom with beautiful gifts and smiling faces, only to find me sitting in bed, weeping. It wasn’t unusual for me to cry on Mother’s Day—I’m often moved by their love. But on this day, the outpouring was one of pain and grief and confusion.

I thought I was doing okay. I had grown accustomed to the long periods of waiting that seem to be part of our new life. I’d learned to lay down my agendas and choose to trust. God was good. He was at work. We would see His answers.

Then came a time when things began to shift. Doors started opening—work for my husband (albeit short-term), an exciting opportunity for one of our children, a potential buyer for our van. Phone calls were made, paperwork completed, arrangements put in place. We felt the momentum of forward movement and our steps became lighter. Finally, we were seeing God’s promises begin to manifest.

Then, just as suddenly, all progress ceased. The company that had offered casual work failed to call —and the job assignment neared its end. The opportunity that shone before our child faded, leaving them confused and questioning God’s purpose. And the anticipated purchase of our van never eventuated.

Something inside me groaned. I knew this was yet another test— another opportunity to die to self. But I found myself wondering, Is there a point a person reaches where they just can’t stretch any further? If there is, God, I think I’ve reached it.  

Within days, I was confronted with another hard reality. A beautiful woman who had fought a brave battle with cancer was falling under its shadow. Vibrant, gracious and full of joy, she was one who brought a smile to all she met. Yet, despite fervent prayer, she had grown so frail that funeral planning was underway. Why, God?  

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick.” Old Solomon described it so well—that hollow, nauseating ache that gnaws at your stomach when the wait is unbearably long or the promise seems void. It’s hard to hold on to hope when you can’t see what lies on the path ahead of you. It’s even harder when you see that hope begin to take shape in reality, only to crumble and fall to the ground.

On Mother’s Day, all the grief that had been building inside me welled up and spilled over. I grieved for a family trying desperately to celebrate their mother, knowing she would be leaving them within days. I grieved over all the disappointments in our own lives—the ‘almosts’ that, for some reason, weren’t coming to pass. Deep down, I knew God was still good. I knew there would be ‘somedays’ where I would see more clearly and, perhaps, understand. But in that moment, I was more aware of questions than hope.

I took my pain to church that morning and poured it out as we sang. God wasn’t surprised by my emotions—He already knew them well. While I wept and sang, He listened, loved, then gently turned my thoughts beyond my despair to a time of far greater devastation.

There was a day when Jesus’ closest friends stood on a hill, watching Him die. Jesus was their hero, the One Who had shown them what real love looked like. He was the One Who had been stronger, wiser, more powerful than anything that challenged Him. Yet there He hung on a cross like a lowly criminal —naked, vulnerable, struggling for every breath.

How was it possible that One so perfect, so full of power and authority, could fall under the schemes of power-hungry men? The whole situation seemed so unfair, so awfully, terribly wrong.

But Jesus’ death wasn’t the end of the story. God had a plan. Right in the midst of the loss and devastation, He was at work, winning the greatest victory and opening up the way for all people to discover life as it was meant to be.

 

Jesus’ followers couldn’t possibly see His brutal slaughter as a good thing. In their eyes, it was the death of hope—for all of them. How limited was their vision. Rather than the end, it was, in fact, a whole new beginning. That ‘disaster’ was an entry point into life on a new level.

So it is in our hardest, darkest, most confusing seasons. Like a seed pushed deep into the earth, we feel the pressure, are confused by the darkness and fear the splitting of our shell. Yet it is through this yielding, this dying process, that life comes forth—more vibrant, more abundant and richer than what we’ve experienced before. 

Always, God knows what He’s doing. The question is, are we willing to trust Him and yield? On the other side of death, life awaits.

 

 

 

 

 

“I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” John 12:24

“If anyone would come after me, they must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow Me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for Me will find it.” Matthew 16:24-25.

Artwork by Esther Brown.