The Loss of All Things
I’ll admit it, I am in a funk. I’ve been stuck at home for the past few days unexpectedly. Once you’ve caught up on laundry, binge watched Friends, and checked work email for the 10th time before 9 am what else is there to do? God was calling me to spend some time with Him. I do my daily study time but lately it’s felt a bit clinical. I’ve been checking it off the list and renewing my mind but my heart has not been fully involved. Add to that I’ve been coping with stress a bit differently. Eating less, sleeping more, isolating myself from my friends, avoiding making plans for vacations, almost scared of having anything tangible to hope in. I’m basically living in a world of indifference, where I move from irritability to frustration to anger in a relentless cycle. I guess trying to numb myself isn’t working very well.
So I’m here at home, trying to have an authentic connection and see this interruption as opportunity. I start to journal, which is usually always a catalyst for a blog post, and it hits me: I’m grieving. Not a person but a life. So many things changed for me a year and a half ago that I counted on to fill me up. I seem to view time through the lens of before/after March 2020. I’ve tried to make life the way it was and stay positive but deep down I’ve finally accepted it’s never going to be. My attitude is showing me I need to partner with God in this new work of processing loss.
As Christians, we are called to die to self everyday[1]. I’m finding I need to die to a way of living. The world has never been our home, yet I struggle to separate myself from it, especially because I was fairly happy with how I was living before—yet I think God has more for me. Christ died to give me abundant life[2] and that means having less of the worthless things I was hanging onto to give me significance.
Indeed, I count everything as a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ. Philippians 3:8
I’m in the process of counting everything as loss. It’s painful, having things taken away that you relied on to give life meaning and value, but it’s a necessary pruning[3] because if those things remain, I won’t gain Christ. In Philippians 3, Paul lists his spiritual pedigree, his resume of the Jewish faith. I had one too in Christianeeze: a worship leader, bible teacher, mentor, speaker, leader. I felt like an integral part of my church —but it was really all meaningless if I took any self-importance from it. Was I serving God or serving myself? I’m grieving parts of my identity that were wrapped up in my service.
My faith community has also changed. I’ve always loved feeling like more than just an attendee on Sundays. My heart longs for biblical fellowship and regular community and that is currently in short supply. Another loss to grieve.
Some other constants are changing. I’ve been a mom for 17 years now and having 2 high schoolers is making me anticipate impending loss. They are as independent as ever, which at some level I am grateful for as this is the job I’m to do to prepare them to make it on their own, yet I’ll really miss them and who they are becoming. Another thing to prepare myself to let go of.
So what about you? Is there something you are needing to grieve? It might be big or small but it is worth facing and moving through with Jesus. I’m trying to face grieve instead of ignore it. I’ll finish up with this quote by John Eldridge that sums up our need to lose sometimes:
“Jesus began to show me something quite helpful—we can’t stand at a distance from our own soul and ask Christ to “go in there and deal with it.” This isn’t hostage negotiation; we don’t hide a block away and hope God takes care of business. This is your own soul we’re talking about; the door opens from the inside. “I stand at the door and knock,” Jesus explained. “If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in” (Revelation 3: 20). We open the door to our soul from the inside. This is the purpose of naming the loss, feeling it, allowing ourselves to return to the place in our own being that we walked away from. We must enter these places ourselves—the memory, the emotion, whatever it is we are aware of. We inhabit our own soul again. Jesus insists on it. Once there, we open the door from the inside, inviting Christ in, which he is always so eager to do.[4]”
Will you join me? Will you open the door to Christ and let Him into the wounded places? We will find that we gain all that we need-the presence and power of Jesus.
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