I love the idea of easing into my day-I’d wake up naturally from the sound of gentle rain tapping on a slightly opened window. I’d slip on a silky robe, walk downstairs and pour a cup of fresh coffee. I’d walk outside to sit on the front porch, not worried about the way I look… there’s no such thing as bedhead, caked makeup, or bad breath. I’d take a sip, look over to the actual person of Jesus sitting next to me, and say “Good morning! What’s on the agenda for today Lord?” and he’d say, “Oh, Ro, I love the way you look first thing in the morning. You are so refreshing. How about we just sit here together for a while?”
And then we’d sit. Noting the hints of flavor swirling around in our magical coffee and we’d plan our day together. We’d feed the homeless with someone else’s food, save 3 people, and heal a leper. Nothing would look inconvenient or interrupted. We’d come home to a medium-rare steak and a glass of merlot.
Beautiful. I could imagine that forever.
Instead, my morning hair looks like Chewbacca’s and my days usually start similar to that of a juggler. A struggling juggler, in fact. One of his balls is coffee, which is nice.
I’m not sure why, but us Christians tend to think that life should look easy. I’m included in this, and so when suffering shows up to knock on my door, I’m totally caught off guard.
I think it’s time I allow a theology for suffering. I’d also like to learn how to dance in its’ fire.
God has called us to live in peace (1 Cor 7:15), but he has also called us to suffer (1 Peter 5:10).
Following God led Jesus to one of the most painful deaths in human history, and he is the source and perfecter of our faith. The Jewish people and fellow believers have experienced scourging, stoning, being sawed in half, and lit on fire. (Heb 11 &12 )
No matter what Christian denomination we are, no one is promised a free pass.
So what do we do when suffering comes our way? We grieve. We experience human emotion. We hope for a better tomorrow and we pray.
We also learn to dance, because we are promised joy (Rom 15:13)
How though? How do we learn to dance?
I think it’s important to know that mourning and joy can be weaved together, and we often enter God’s throne room with both. There are times I have marched in crying and demanding answers, only to come out singing, comforted by his presence. I have found the joy he promises by allowing myself to drink in the Holy Spirit- especially in times of trouble.
Blog articles are supposed to be short and so sadly, I’m ending here. But I encourage you to ask the Lord himself as if he were right next to you, “what does it look like to dance in the fire?” And remember what he whispers in your ear.
His truth trumps any word I could ever write.