“The things that we feel most deeply we ought to learn to be silent about, at least until we have talked them over thoroughly with God.”
The email left my head reeling. I was about to walk out the door for an appointment, but my thoughts started to spiral. How could they do this to me!? I desperately wanted to call a friend and rant about it, but I remembered something I read in Elizabeth Elliot’s book, Passion & Purity, years ago: “The things that we feel most deeply we ought to learn to be silent about, at least until we have talked them over thoroughly with God.”
Okay, God, I thought, it’s just you and me on this one for now. I spent five minutes giving it to Him, then walked out the door for my appointment.
I had too many plates spinning at the time. Working full-time in a constantly shifting job, finishing my master’s degree, having recently lost one grandparent with another grandparent on death’s door, my father battling cancer, and trying to spend time with my fiancé and plan our future together despite many complicating factors. Social life? Out the window. I could barely keep all the plates spinning as it was. The email came crashing into all of that.
When I walked back into the house later and saw my roommate in the kitchen, I told her I felt overwhelmed, and that one more plate had just been thrown into the mix. “So,” I told her, “I’m going to drop every single one of these plates on the floor and go spend time with Jesus,” and I walked upstairs.
I collected my Bible, journal, and pen, sat down on my bedroom floor, and didn’t move until I felt satisfied. I came out of that time with a sense of peace and gratitude. I thought I knew the path forward and sat down to reply to the email.
Roadblock from God.
I rewrote the email.
Block.
Three days of drafting and redrafting that email, but zero permission from God to send it, until I finally realized what He wanted from me. And I winced. He wanted me to take the long, hard, difficult road.
The road of facing conflict, instead of avoiding it. Of seeking out face-to-face conversations and opening up communication instead of letting assumptions hang in the air. Of not caving to a string of impersonal emails.
The result? Peace from God that I did what He wanted me to do.
But why had He allowed everything to happen? I struggled with my questions. “At least,” I thought, “if I’m ever placed in a leadership position, I’ve learned what it feels like to be on the receiving end and have greater empathy.”
And then, out of nowhere, God handed me a leadership position in a different ministry. “I didn’t mean now, God!” I remember telling Him in shocked response. But I stepped forward in faith, trusting He would lead me. If He wanted me in the position, He had a reason for it.
The question was: Had I really learned my lesson? The test came sooner than expected.
The problematic situation arose during my first month in the new ministry position. I sat in the prayer garden during my lunch break, asking God what to do. I’d finished my regular devotions earlier, which somehow reflected on what I’d recently endured, but had moved on to praying for the current problem. Suddenly, the connection clicked. God reminded me of what I’d just reflected on, the lessons I’d learned, and how that connected to the current situation.
I knew how to proceed. With grace, understanding, open communication, and personal connection. Despite proceeding accordingly, I learned empathy for the other as well. I gained a greater understanding of the decisions leaders face. It’s not easy. No one is perfect. We all make mistakes. We all mess up. That’s why I’m so thankful for God’s grace. When my best is not enough, He steps in and covers the gap.
Over a month later, I’m finally seeing good fruit result from patiently wading through the mess. I knelt down beside my bed the other morning, “Thank You, God, for what You brought me through.” It’s the first time I’d been able to thank God for it. “Thank You for using it to teach me and to use it to touch another life and positively influence the outcome. It almost feels like I was put here for such a time as this.”
I don’t have to keep all the plates spinning on my own. When I let things slip out of my grasp to spend time with Jesus, it may seem counterintuitive, but it’s always worth it. And if something falls? Breaks? God reaches down, picks up the pieces, and creates something beautiful.
Discussion:
Where do you see God’s handiwork?
(In this story or in your own life)
Do you long to see the redemption of a difficult thing in your life?
How can I pray for you?