I’m supposed to be in Africa right now, eating potato greens and reconnecting with a people and a place that I love very much. But I’m not. I’m here at my house and these are my realities:
- The hospital up the road is completely overwhelmed with sick people and COVID and there is one ambulance servicing my entire county. Surrounding hospitals are full as well. Doctors and nurses who have been working so hard and selflessly are tired, and there’s not much good on the horizon on that front.
- An influential and popular apologist who I appreciated for his graciousness and commitment to communicating the Gospel was revealed to have another side. A side no one knew about.
- The government seems to be turning on each other and the whole thing feels like a house of cards, ready to crumble. Scenes from the seat of American government yesterday were not so dissimilar from the beloved African country.
Honestly, if the meteorologist would predict an invasion of grasshoppers tomorrow, I wouldn’t be surprised.
Are we all losing our minds? Both separately and collectively?
How do we live with all that? How do we live when everything that is supposed to represent safety and security is rocked and is shaking violently? I’ll admit- I walked around yesterday afternoon in a daze. I’m concerned-for America, for the church, for all of us.
These national crisis’s have a way of exposing just exactly what is inside our hearts in ways that aren’t possible during normal times. I’ve felt the quiet nigglings of things inside my own that haven’t been right. And then to see the hearts of others, in moments of extreme emotion, thrown out and exposed on social media is painful to watch. Everyone is seeing each other in new ways, and that brings its own set of disquiet and angst.
My friends can attest to my anguished, tearful messages and conversations over the past months. The angst and the disquiet and the disappointment. I’m no hero at this crisis stuff and I’m shaken just as much as you are. But, the most special and even sacred memories of 2020 were the friends who didn’t just listen to me, but who spoke Scripture and words of truth to me. They sent me rock finding.
The psalmist says it this way in Psalm 61: “from the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
Eric Ludy calls it getting rock beneath your feet. I highly encourage this message for context.
The idea is that in moments of crisis, our first instinct is to get on solid footing. To reach for what has been true throughout the ages, and then to hang on tight. This is the stuff that sat with Daniel that night in the lion’s den, and carried the martyrs to their graves. It is the stuff that helps you go to sleep at night in the middle of multiple crisis’, and not have fear. This rock stuff has not been carried by one specific denomination or one theology profile, but by faithful people throughout the centuries who were hungrier and thirstier for God than for anything else.
Getting rock beneath your feet doesn’t always mean standing on boulders. Sometimes, it’s smaller chunks of gravel, stepped on in faith that carry you through a crisis.
If you’re struggling today, I prayed for you. I prayed for us. We will get through this. One chunk of gravel that I’m standing on is the truth that God has never lost control in the history of forever, and there is nothing that catches Him by surprise. And the other bit of rock under my feet is the fact that in these moments of unique anguish and pain that we may likely never experience again, there is a God who comforts and holds close in unique ways that we may never feel again.
I hope to do more rock finding on my blog the next little while, as a way of encouraging us all. I have a Written Down Big Facebook page that I hope to update as well. And if you’re really struggling and not doing well, please reach out to someone for help. I’ll leave my email address in the comments.