Seems like nowadays mushrooms are everywhere. You can find them scattered across schools, the internet, homes, workplaces.
"You have to work as hard as you can and hope that you'll make enough money."
"Make sure you have a five year plan or you'll never amount to anything."
"Your Tumblr must be filled with inspiring quotes plastered over calming scenery."
"But do you and your friends meet three times a week for life-changing Bible Study and meditation?"
Oftentimes I feel overwhelmed with this need to have deep, meaningful days every day. Real life wears me out. I get so bogged down with finding the next thing that I miss the best thing. Sometimes I even get so worried about figuring out what the "best thing" is that I miss the little things.
In learning so much about myself this summer, I've come to realize I have a fear of loss. This fear becomes poisonous, however, when I get so scared of losing that I lose my joy.
Joy. It bubbles up, bright and light, like a field of tulips dancing in the wind. (Poetic, right?) They're all around us.
Laughter.
Hugs on a tiresome morning.
New opportunities springing on the horizon.
Mountains so large they sing of joy.
So when did I become a mushroom in a field of tulips?
Surrounded by so many blessings, and instead of becoming more lovely I became more lonely.
How often do we forget to be lovely?
We are loved, friends. The same God who carved out the Alps, which burst with His joy, reaches down and calls us Beloved.
How often do we miss this?
This grace is immeasurable. Unfathomable. Beautiful.
And we give it up. At least I do. "Never have I lived with anything as bewildering my own soul."
I give it up because I feel unworthy of it. Because I blindly go along with the seeds of rebellion in my heart. I'm broken. Shattered. At war with myself. I get so trapped in the pain and fear that blares in my ears and I fall deaf to the songs of joy. I miss it. The older I get, the harder it seems to be to hang onto it.
I want my joy back. It was stolen by my sin, my fears, my heartache. I've robbed myself of my own joy. How dare I take away what the Father has so graciously given me.
Life seems to be two steps forward, one step back lately. It's hard. Excruciating. Painful. It's all I can do not to forget how to breathe.
Because, friends, there's always the tulip in the field of mushrooms. Some days it's kateelizabethconnor.com or Ann Voskamp's blog. Other days it's annoying pop music that I will never admit I enjoy. Other days it's bad puns and cat gifs. And that's okay. God may be the ultimate healer, but laughter and good words never hurt.
I don't have any answers. But I find sometimes the quickest medicine is simply knowing I'm not the only one struggling.
The best medicine, though, is whether we are a tulip or a mushroom, God's still holding on to us. Still fighting for us. I may have lost my joy, but He will get it back. "Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning."
He will not forget me. He will not let me go.
I still have to preach to myself daily. I'm forgetful. I forget His goodness, the ways He's proved Himself over and over.
But this is only the night. It doesn't last forever.
"I believe unswervingly that there is always hope.I believe that everything is redeemable. Everything.The thing is, redemption almost never looks the way I think it will.Isn’t that always the way? They looked for a king and got a baby. They looked for a conqueror and got a servant. They looked for a throne and got a cross. Redemption never looks like you think it will. It’s hard to see coming."
"But I am not discouraged by the fact that I have no idea what’s going on, or by the fact that a whole lot of things look pretty darn UNREDEEMED. I am steadfast in hope because of this glorious mystery:
Christ in me, the hope of glory."
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