Surviving a Broken World When You’re Created for a Perfect One
Last summer, Daniel built a fence for our backyard so I can more easily take my three toddlers outside by myself. As we sat at the table to eat lunch, my four-year-old had so many questions as to what Daddy was doing and what kind of tools he was using. As he went to his room for quiet time, he had to stop in the bathroom to peek out the window at their work. That day, I had to get up three times because he had to “go to the bathroom.” Each time, I found him standing on the bathtub edge trying to see out the window.
As I guided him back to his room, I thought of my own heart straining to see what God is possibly doing in my own life. “Why did you allow this, Father?” I ask. “Why are you doing this? How are you possibly going to use this for good?” I find myself searching and peeking through the windows of my life to see my Heavenly Father at work.
God works in ways that are mysterious to us. Like my four-year-old, we don’t fully grasp how he’s building our lives. And while at times God allows us to see the structure he’s building, other times we never see what came of all that work he was doing, and we never get the answers we desperately grappled for. We don’t get to have the moment Joseph had before his brothers as the Pharaoh’s advisor. Instead, we’re often like Job—left with many unanswered questions.
We know that grief is unavoidable. Last year, I held my husband’s hand through the funeral for his beloved grandmother and felt the heavy sadness of that room. Grief also accompanies illnesses and diagnoses, losses of friendships, and in life-altering news as we realize our future isn’t going to be anything like we had hoped.
While this is a comforting hope we have, God knows it won’t erase the grief of earthly suffering. Death is mourned over, even if the one who died was redeemed by Christ. We grieve illness. Bad news dismays us. We cry for broken relationships. We grieve because this isn’t the way life is supposed to be—death, heartache, sickness, and disharmony shouldn’t exist, but the fall brought it all upon us. We grieve the brokenness of this world because we were intended for a perfect one.
As we grieve, we know that God works all things for our good (Rom. 8:28), and that he promises to draw near to us in our broken-heartedness (Ps. 34:18). This knowledge often puts us on the tips of our toes, peering and peeking over every ledge and valley to see where this goodness might be hiding. We want a piece of that perfect world we were meant for right here. I burn my fingertips trying to dig out the beauty underneath the still smoking ashes. I grapple with gratitude lists and twist myself into knots trying to come up with a positive spin for my trials. If I don’t have something polished and beautiful to show at the end of this, I wasted my suffering and possibly missed out on catching a glimpse of my heavenly home I’m journeying towards.
I’m realizing that in my immediate search for the lesson to be learned in my suffering, I’m using it as a way to avoid the grief I’m feeling. I don’t want to face the grief, the ache, the longings, the loneliness, and the hurt. I want to feel happiness and cheer, like my heart was meant for, so I plaster on a silly smile to push through the pain. Yet when I do so, I’m avoiding part of who God made me to be—a woman in his image, meant for a world without sin. My discontent with the way sin has snarled his good world is a cry of agreement that this world isn’t as it should be, and it’s a reminder to thirst for eternal life as I grieve what isn’t right.
In my wild searching, I paradoxically miss the very goodness I was looking for. I think of Levi again, who missed out resting because he was so busy standing on the tub straining to see his daddy. When he finally did get to go outside to work alongside his dad, he was so wound up from the lack of rest that he had to come back inside early for not listening. Perhaps it all would have gone differently if he had rested rather than anxiously running to the bathroom from fear of missing out.
As we reach for something other-worldly, we forget that we’re not getting a brand new world—rather, our world will be remade. We can catch a glimpse of the new heavens and new earth if we cast our eyes to creation, as God beckoned Job to do. See the flowers dressed in splendor as they sway, watch the doe with her nursing calves, cast your gaze on the mighty hawk soaring to her nest. See the beauty of God’s creation and let your heart be stirred to consider your mighty, creative, strong Savior who crafted every part of it. Consider his gentle hand that sustains every blade of grass and remember that he promises to sustain you as well. This world might be broken, but God’s design is not destroyed.
In searching for supernatural comfort in my grief, we often miss the millions of ways God is already providing for us—which are often much more ordinary than we anticipate.
After Abraham’s wife Sarah died, he sent one of his servants to find a wife for his son, Isaac. When the servant brought Rebekah home, Scripture says, “Isaac was comforted after his mother’s death” (Gen. 24:67 ESV). God took note of Isaac’s grief and recorded it. God notices your grief, too. As the Psalmist sang, “You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?” (Ps. 56:8 ESV). As God takes note of our weeping, he provides comfort.
I long for comfort to be downloaded into my heart, but God often works through ordinary, creaturely means that are much better. For Isaac, he provided a wife to comfort him as he mourned. Perhaps for you it’s a meal when you’re exhausted from planning a funeral, a card with a handwritten note, or a true friend who didn’t abandon you. Maybe it’s the golden sunlight slanting over the snow while deer gallop across your lawn. God comforts us in our grief and doesn’t expect us to get over it with goofy smiles and daily gratitude. He expects us to mourn and draws near when we do, and he often provides in the most ordinary of ways.
We were made for another world—a perfect world. This world is marred by sin, disease, and natural disasters. One day, God will redeem it. Until then, we grieve the brokenness rather than running from the sadness, and long for that beautiful day of redemption.
You May Also Enjoy:
