Sometimes I feel like I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders.
That's not where it belongs, and I know that. There is only One who has ever been strong enough to carry
that burden. But even still, so many times--
too many times--my soul is weighed down and my spirit downcast as I consider the state of the world these days.
Sometimes it's school shootings and the gun control debate. Sometimes it's abortion, an issue that has particularly stirred my heart ever since I was a teenager going to D.C. for the Right to Life March and standing alongside the road here in my hometown holding a sign against abortion. Sometimes it's a local tragedy, like when a couple of high school students were in a car accident and died a few months ago. Sometimes it's news accounts of various crimes from around our country, some of which are so heinous as to be nearly incomprehensible. Sometimes it's hearing about child abuse and wishing that I could do something so that no child would ever have to feel that way again. Sometimes it's reports from overseas, from places like Syria where ordinary people like you and I are fighting for their freedom against a government that is ruthless in its quest for control. Sometimes it's division in the church and the bitterness that so quickly roots itself in people's hearts and turns the whole situation into a victory for the devil. Sometimes it's an isolated incident that, even though I don't know any of the participants personally, makes me crumble a little inside when I think of how I would react if my family were involved, like the situation with the boy in Alabama who was held hostage for nearly a week in an underground bunker. Recently it's been the knowledge I'm gaining about human trafficking, especially the fact that the Super Bowl is the largest human trafficking incident in the U.S.; along with the fun of a highly competitive game goes a horror that is mostly hidden, but all too real for the women enslaved in that way.
For these reasons and many more, I often find myself thinking, "The world is such a dark place. It's just such a dark, dark place!"
And then I feel old.
I'm pretty sure that there have been those in every generation since Jesus lived on earth who have thought that the world was getting so terrible and how could it be any worse and certainly Jesus would come back in their lifetime. The kinds of thoughts I've been having surely fit in the Ecclesiastes 1:9 category:
there is nothing new under the sun. I know that. So why do I feel such a heavy blanket of grief covering me and a sense of bleakness and despair as I poke my head out of the nice little bubble of my nice little life and consider what goes on in the big, big world around me?
I discovered the answer to that a few days ago--at least, a partial answer--as I realized something about myself. And it has to do with laundry and housework (
whaaaat? how does that apply??).
Whenever I find myself getting completely burdened by stacks of dishes that need washed or clothes that need put away or dust bunnies that need vacuumed up or shelves that need organized or any other household task that is piling up around my ears, all I need to do to feel better is one simple thing:
start. With laundry, for example, I could find myself--like I did last week--with so much dirty laundry lying around in the laundry room that the floor isn't even visible, with a load in the washer needing to be put in the dryer, with a load in the dryer needing to be folded, with all the
laundry bins overflowing with clean clothes that I somehow haven't managed to carry upstairs to put away yet, plus a laundry rack full of clothes that also need folded and put away. Overwhelming, to say the least. But the moment when I begin to feel better is
not when the entire job is done and
all the clothes are washed, dried, folded, and put away (and it's a good thing because that moment actually never comes since laundry is such an ongoing thing around here!). The moment when the weight lifts and I feel hope and I think, "It's not so bad! I can do this!" is when I simply begin...when I take that first step--not across the finish line--but out of the starting gate. It's when I get that first washer load of clothes going, knowing that many more await me; but at least
I have begun. That, for me, makes all the difference.
And that is precisely why I get so discouraged by the state of the world here in 2013. Because I feel like I'm sitting on the sidelines. I'm not in the race. Not only have I not reached the end of the race, I haven't even begun. In the quest to make the world a better place and affect the eternal destiny of someone (or a few someones), I'm still in the spectator category; and it drives me nuts.
I know what a kind-hearted person might say. "Well, Davene, don't underestimate the important of what you are doing in your home for your family. You have five little sets of eyes watching you, and raising them in the ways of the Lord is the most important work you could be doing now." Agreed. I don't question that for a minute; but still, there is a lost and dying world out there as the forces of darkness and pain triumph on many sides, and that knowledge presses down hard upon me.
I want to be clear about one thing: my desire to do more doesn't come from a sense of "I'm not doing enough, and God's going to be mad at me" or "my entrance to heaven is shaky because I haven't crossed off all the items on my spiritual list yet" or anything like that. My motivation is not a sad sense of guilt because I haven't crammed enough items into my schedule, or the feeling that I should be doing more so everyone can see how great I am. It's nothing like that.
Honestly, it's because I care. It's because Jesus lives in me, and His love compels me to love...even when it's easier or more convenient not to. It's because I know there's a better way to live, there's a better plan designed by the One who knows us best, there's the possibility of transformation awaiting those who are currently stuck in tragic, horribly difficult circumstances.
I know that because I've seen it and participated in it. When we lived in California and then in Israel, we were much more directly involved in ministry--not just when we were officially in the paid ministry, but before that as well. The church of which we were a part was an extremely hands-on, take-Jesus-to-a-hurting-world, evangelistic, love-people-deeply kind of group, and it was a joy and privilege to watch people's lives do a 180 as they began to build a real relationship with Jesus.
I have missed that (which is an understatement of massive proportions, but I can't think of how to express it adequately in words, so you'll just have to imagine).
What I came to realize a few days ago is that, back in those days, I didn't feel such a consuming sense of grief about the pain in the world because I was doing something about the pain. I was in the fight. I didn't have to worry so much about the skyrocketing divorce rate because I knew that Jeff and I were regularly meeting with couples whose marriages were on the rocks but who were beginning to turn things around as they devoted themselves to truly following Jesus. My grief about abortion was tempered by the fact that I was actively involved, for example, in the life of an unwed mother and was supporting her desire to choose life and give birth to her child...and what's more, the woman I was reaching out to and studying the Bible with had once had an abortion but was discovering healing and peace that can only come through a right relationship with our Heavenly Father. My discouragement about seemingly impossible political situations (like in Iraq some years ago, for example) was eased by the way we were giving money to people whom we had met personally who were then able to go into those dark places and bring light and hope.
Was there still terrible pain all around the world? Of course! Were horrible things happening right in our very own city? Absolutely! But I was doing something; and like with the laundry, the weight on my soul lifted, not when the finish line had been crossed, but when I had only just begun to run.
In my current life situation, I hardly know how to run. Sometimes I feel like the Bible character I most identify with is Lot because, as 2 Peter 2 records, he "
was a righteous man who was sick of the shameful immorality of the wicked people around him. Yes, Lot was a righteous man who was tormented in his soul by the wickedness he saw and heard day after day." Tormented in my soul--yes. But what can I
do about it?
I could write many, many more words about all of this; but for tonight, let me simply bring it back to the starfish principle. Do you know the story of the starfish and the man who walked along the beach and picked them up, one at a time, to throw them back into the life-giving water? Do you remember the point of the story, the wonderful line "it matters to this one"? If you have no idea what I'm referring to, you could read
this post from four and a half years ago because I included the story at the end of it. When I looked back in my old blog to find that story, I discovered that it was in a post about adoption (at the time, Tobin was a baby and we were seriously considering adoption as the next way to grow our family...but then God surprised us with Shav, so adoption got put on the back burner). How appropriate because tonight, I want to mention an adoption that is very near and dear to my heart. No, it's not mine. Jeff and I are not in a position to adopt right now! But I'm still so very excited about it. Let me explain...
Christie and I "met" a number of years ago, before she and her husband (a pastor in North Carolina) had any children. I remember aching with her as she dealt with infertility and the desire to have a child...and then rejoicing with great excitement as God opened a door for them to adopt a little girl.
They named her Moriah.
That was before my Moriah was born, but I felt my heart knit to Christie's even more because she had chosen such a perfect name for her daughter. :)
A week ago, Christie
announced that once again, God is holding open the door of adoption for them and inviting them to walk through it. On the other side of that door is another little girl who is due on April 6 (but I'm selfishly hoping she'll be born on April 9 because somebody else really special that I know just happened to be born on that date!). ;-)
You can read more about this upcoming adoption on Christie's blog; and I sincerely would love for you to do that. But here's how it relates to me...and to this post...and maybe to you, too.
I wish I could eradicate human trafficking, but I can't. I wish I could put an end to child abuse, but I can't. I wish that I could take in all the unwanted children of the world so that none of them will ever know the pain of going to bed at night thinking that no one cares, but I can't. I wish that I could adopt a child (my heart always has room for more), but I can't.
But rather than letting the heavy blanket of grief drape across my back as the weight of the world sinks onto my shoulders, I'm pushing it back. How? By supporting Christie and her husband in their adoption. By praying for them. By giving a little money.
By taking that first step to get in the race and make a difference.
I want to pick up speed. I want to increase in zeal and passion for God until the day I die and cross over into my true home. I won't be content until I've given everything for Him.
But along the way, I want my eyes to be open to the opportunities He puts in my path. Because that baby girl who's destined to become Moriah's sister is a starfish, and what we do today
matters to this one.
**********
Here are some words from Christie herself...
