jess leigh hanna

Have you ever hit the brick wall where your faith and your feelings collide? You feel deeply about one thing, and you desperately want it, but your belief system warns otherwise. So you lay down your feelings, in honor of your faith, only to have more bad feelings assault you later—anyone? Maybe it’s just me. 

In those don’t-feel-good moments, I’ve slumped to the floor and uttered some very angry, honest words to the Lord. 

“What’s the point?”

“God, if you’re supposed to be the best and the greatest option, why do I not feel great right now?”

“If I’m following you, why have you brought me here? I don’t like this.”

Worse than the bad feelings now is the fact that, likely, God will keep us here for some time while we kick that brick wall until our shoes scuff and our toes hurt.

When we’ve settled down and the steam that once billowed out from our ears clears, we have finally positioned ourselves to hear from God. Our anger turns to exhaustion, and at last we are seeking him for rest. As we finish raging against the rustic red wall, we discover that we haven’t hit rock bottom, but that we’re actually clinging to the Solid Rock on which we’ve claimed to build our lives. He’s building something here. He’s making himself known. He told you “no” to that, because he wants a bigger “yes” to this: himself. 

“Wait, you actually care about me?” I’ve asked, swiping snot and dirty tears across my face. 

And ever-so-gently he responds that it’s because he loves me, he wouldn’t allow something else into my life–because it wouldn’t love me back. While I kicked rocks and complained that God was pausing heaven and earth like a toddler’s timeout, I would find it was instead an intimate intervention; he stopped to fill me with himself, and waited until I understood. 

“What you were chasing wasn’t going to fill you,” he said. “But I can. I’m what you’ve been chasing, you’ve just been running so long you couldn’t recognize me.”

I’ve chased Christianity for decades and ended up empty, often. I’ve wrung out my faith looking for validation, acceptance, love, purpose, satisfaction–all the things–and when I come up short, I yell at heaven.

In this most recent season, I’ve complained that he is too slow. I have things to do and places to be, and walking with Jesus feels like rushing a two-year-old who takes hours to put on their socks, and their shoes, and their coat, then slowly walks out the door, all while making small talk rather than making haste. But these days I’ve also learned to reverence God’s holy hush, and when he isn’t speaking, I probably shouldn’t be either.

When I can’t hear his voice, I have to listen for his heart. This involves taking my eyes off my situation and my feelings and my opinions, and taking the telescope to his vantage point. What does he see in the world, what matters to him? What has he made us for, and what are we doing? Who is he, and who am I becoming?

Lately as I’ve sat in the stillness, he hasn’t been silent. Actually, he’s had quite a bit to say.

When I pause, when I listen, I’ve discovered this is the whole point of Christianity: communion with Christ. When I realize that he caught up to me when I was running the opposite direction, when I realize that he wants me to dwell before he wants me to do, when I realize that he is just as pleased to stargaze in the valley as he is to tackle the next mountaintop…I realize my soul has found its rest. I don’t have to chase the next thing or do the next thing or be the next thing. 

My soul can just be with Christ, and in that I have enough. If Christ is my cornerstone, only good things will be built from here. I can step into my next calling or my next season or my next task from a place of rest, not from a soul that’s stressed. I can trust his voice and his words, that they will weigh heavier in my ears and on my heart than mortal words of good or ill. I can trust his forgiveness, so I don’t fear failure or mistakes. I can trust his mercy, so I don’t fear the bad days ahead.

Isn’t this what Jesus came to do? “Give me your burdens,” he said. “And I will give you rest.” His burden is light compared to ours. Both involve pain and suffering, but his comes with hope and power. We were never meant to carry his burden alone. 

So what’s the point of Christianity? It is Christ, after all.

And when we’re done kicking the brick wall, we’ll find that this hard place is worth clinging to and building on. 

Photo by Henry & Co. on Unsplash