Giving Glory in the Valley

 

I had a conversation with someone a good while back in which we were celebrating someone else’s victory. The person we were discussing had recently received what appeared to be answered prayers!  My friend was so proud of and inspired by this person’s journey and how all this person has been through was always used to glorify God. We discussed how this person never lost faith and gave God glory throughout the entire ordeal. I thought a lot about that. About how publicly, this person has done and said all the right things. That’s genuinely admirable and certainly a trait to cultivate. I do not think for one second that this friend meant anything toward me by the statement - that wasn’t the purpose of the comment at all - , but as an introspective person, I was quickly convicted that the same compliment probably wasn’t being said about me somewhere. Instead, I have publicly and transparently struggled throughout my nervous breakdown, and now I am struggling through this new physical and mental terrain. 

So the question came to my mind: are only those who never struggle with their faith publicly the only ones we can call “good Christians”? Are they the only ones worthy of praise for how they handled their “valley”?  

When I thought about Bible accounts in which I knew real people, real believers had struggled - even wrestled - with their faith and doubts and unbelief, several came to my mind: Naomi in the loss of her husband and sons (Ruth 1:20-21) and Elijah (1 Kings 19) would be two of the first that popped in my mind. A quick search on the Internet, and I was dumbfounded about so many others I had overlooked. 

Peter. You see, I really like Peter. Mostly because I’m a Peter. I identify with him so frequently because I say whatever comes in my mind and then think on it (i.e. apologize for it) later. Yet he became one of the most compelling orators in New Testament history. 

Thomas. Literally nicknamed “the doubting apostle.” But Jesus was still tender with him as he admitted his lack of faith. And he got to touch the resurrected Savior! 

Mary and Martha. I see every woman, everywhere inside the reactions of these women. “If only you’d been here...” they fire at Jesus after the death of their brother. In the pain of their trauma they lash out at their very Creator, the Lord of all. And they experienced perhaps the most encouraging and glorifying miracle of all: the raising of Lazarus from the dead. 

Let’s be real though. I have doubted and lashed out too. A lot. 

Public displays of obedience and faith are wonderful. They do bring glory to God and can inspire others to renew their faith and zeal during trials too. But praise God that I wasn’t made to be perfect all the time because perhaps I have lived the exact opposite of that kind of a praiseworthy attitude. Does that make me lesser?  Does it make my Christianity in vain?  Does it mean I still won’t experience God’s greatness and fullness and blessings in spite of and on the other side of my trial?

NO. A resounding no. 

I know that conversation was never meant to make me question my faith and my public display of it. But as a reflective person, that’s where my mind went. It’s made me challenge what I share on social media - particularly during this latest trial of my surgery - to make sure I’m still “fighting the good fight” to the eyes of those around me. Though I still want others to see authenticity in the fight. (Hence this post, really.) 

But... an honest moment? Behind closed doors, late at night, I’ve cried huge, angry tears that this has happened to me. I’ve screamed ugly screams and said horrible things in my desperation to be through this trial. I have tried to remain positive, but I’ve crumbled under the pressure and length of this burden many, many nights. The tides of depression threaten to drown me again, and it feels like no one... absolutely no one... has a life buoy for me. I know that’s neither logical nor factual, yet still the doubts and fears swallow me whole and war against the logical places of my mind. 

There is irony though... for my friends in a season of depression (or even those as far as experiencing their own trauma response or nervous breakdown), I’ve learned those “social media” cries for soothing a weary soul yield little response from people. At best, they produce superficial comments from people who don’t know what to say... at worst, no one says anything, but they keep scrolling. 

My point is that we cannot all be “Daniels” all the time (Daniel 3:18). Whether you are public or private, transparent or hidden, the pain is still the same. And whether you share it and bare it to the world or you keep it completely covered, it does NOT make you a worse Christian. It does NOT mean you will not rise up to glorify God again. It only means that you are human. And delicate. Fragile. Hurting. 

Just like Peter. Just like Thomas. Just like Mary and Martha. Just like many others before us. 

You are human. I am human too. And that is okay.