I can't believe the difference a year makes.
On January 1, I am normally planning to keep things more organized or eat healthier or exercise more. That's why I was a little put out last year when my former Bible study leader texted me with a New Year's message that essentially read, "Wishing you blessed suffering in the coming year." Suffering wasn't on the horizon. We were excited to put a 'completed' stamp on this adoption thing in the coming weeks. Days earlier, we had received notice our adoption was complete in the DRC. We were officially JP's parents. 2013 would be a year of homecoming and bonding and restoration. Suffering would have to wait.
But, anyone who has followed our story knows that, within a few weeks of receiving that text, we were thrust into a year out of control, full of uncertainty and loss. I don't know if my friend was prophetic; what I do know is that she was preaching the Gospel to my soul right before I needed it. In fact, she has spoken that Truth to my heart for the past several years, neither of us knowing how much I would need it.
And, I am thankful for her. I am thankful for her courage and willingness to speak that Truth. I am thankful that she did not tickle my ears with words I wanted to hear, but that she knew the Lord deeply enough to know that a life in Christ involves suffering.
The beautiful thing is that Christ's suffering is different than the world's suffering: it is always accompanied by hope. In fact, it produces hope (Romans 5:4). According to Hebrews, Christ's suffering was not a flaw; it was actually that which makes our salvation perfect. And our suffering is a privilege (Philippians 1:29) to make us likewise perfect, not lacking in anything (James 1:2-9). I especially love how 2 Corinthians describes the goal of our "momentary" afflictions: to teach us to fix our eyes on what is unseen, to look toward the future, eternal glory that awaits us.
And, I can tell you that is exactly what happened through the worry of this year. January and February brought panic and anxiety as we saw the first glimmer of the troubles to come, and I faced the fearful task of traveling to DRC without Philip. I cried out to God to prove His faithfulness. June and July brought an adventure I could not have imagined a few months earlier--packing up in a matter of hours and heading to DRC completely alone. Amidst shaking hands and whirling thoughts, I prayed for courage I could not muster alone. And, the most recent season has forced us into an acceptance of a loss that may not be restored this side of heaven.
I can tell that my reaction to songs reflects the state of my soul. In August, I heard a song by Shane & Shane. I did not like it at the time. Honestly, it is a song of acceptance, and I was not ready for it. You can listen to it here. My heart rebelled against the lyrics, "Though You slay me, Yet I will praise You. Though You take from me, I will bless Your name. Though You ruin me, still I will worship. Sing a song to the One who's all I need." I didn't believe it; I needed more. But, one day months later, the Lord brought the song back to my mind. I went to YouTube, and I played it. My heart still stirred against it, but I also felt a need to listen, to make room in my heart for the opportunity to praise. Just a few weeks ago, I was at my computer, listening to that same song. New tears streamed down my cheeks. My once rebellious spirit was filled with overwhelming comfort and peace. Not only had He had sustained me through the difficulties of the year, He had revealed Himself to me and changed me in the process.
2013 was a year of suffering. Our family has suffered. Through this experience, I have met so many women who have suffered the loss of their children, both literally and figuratively. We have cried and prayed with close, young friends who lost the illusion of control and security to disease. We have watched the DRC close adoptions for an uncertain period of time, leaving so many families like ours to long and worry for their children for the next year.
2013 was also a year of immeasurable growth. It was a year of incomprehensible dependence. It was the year I thought I knew God, and then I got to know Him. It was the year I learned that true praise does not come cheaply. That the Lord can make us cry tears of grief, only to sustain us for tears of joy. It was the year that I saw Him turn mourning to dancing, not because our circumstances had changed but because He invited us deeper into the fog so we could see Him more.
Some may expect that we want to put 2013 behind us. But, I want to do the opposite. I want to place this year before us. I want to place a stone of remembrance around 2013, to remind us of God's goodness to us. I want to remember God's sovereignty this year, to know that He does not leave us alone but walks through our trials with us. I don't want to be lulled back to a desire for a slimmer figure or more organized home; I want to gaze at a God who knew and knows suffering.
It is likely that someone reading this will have a rough year. I have the same message for you, "Wishing you blessed suffering." If you are like me, you will bristle at the thought. And, I get that. I will probably bristle again when our next season comes. But, I hope I will go back to this year. I hope I will remember that God is faithful. I hope I will remember that He will sustain. I hope, on those days I don't want to get out of bed, I will remember that He will get me through this day and the next day, and though the journey of grief is long and exhausting, it is strangely beautiful in its metamorphosis.
And, I hope I will remember the value of the desert, the wilderness, the sackcloth and ashes--that suffering is not something that has gone wrong in this world, an imperfection to be overcome. In God's world, suffering is what makes things perfect, what makes us perfect.
And, I hope I will remember there is a world beyond this one, where suffering will be no more. Where tears and pain and sadness will cease. Where, Lord willing, I get to hang out with my Congolese little boy for all of eternity.
