Use it On Monday, by Michelle DeRusha
Michelle writes a daily blog about finding faith in the everyday at Graceful. On Monday's she reflects on Sunday's sermon in a weekly post entitled "Use it on Monday." She's nice enough to let us re-post it on Southwood's blog. You can read it here each week and then click over to Michelle's blog for more of her writing.
The Forest Through the Trees
I am a complainer. I’ll put it right out there. I complain. And I whine, too. And I’m prone to disgruntled crabbiness. I am, as my boss once called me, “a glass half-empty.” It’s true.
I think my glass-half-emptiness often stems from my inability, or rather, my unwillingness, to see the big picture, to see the forest through the trees, as the age-old saying goes. In the midst of hardship, I typically get caught up in the burden of the moment. I can’t see beyond it. And I forget, of course, about all the moments in the past in which God has come through for me already.
In this way I am very much like the Israelites who complain and moan and groan to Moses, and to God himself, during much of their time in the wilderness. For instance, yesterday’s reading (Exodus 16: 9-21) began with God’s response to the Israelites who had relentlessly complained about their hunger and thirst:
The Lord said to Moses, “I have heard the Israelites’ complaints. Now tell them, ‘In the evening you will have meat to eat, and in the morning you will have all the bread you want. Then you will know that I am the Lord your God.’” (Exodus 16:11-12).
We roll our eyes at the Israelites, muttering to ourselves, “I can’t believe that they distrusted God after everything he’d already done for them! Weren’t the plagues enough? Wasn’t the Passover enough? Wasn’t the Red Sea enough? Didn’t they know he would come through for them again? Didn’t they know he would never abandon them and leave them to starve in the wilderness?”
It’s so easy for me to criticize the Israelites. It’s so easy for me to identify their flaws. It's so easy for me to see their bigger picture.
But yet I can't see my own.
I am every bit as distrustful, every bit as blind. I lose myself in the hardship of the moment, unable to see that everything will be okay, just as it has always been okay.
In the last few weeks as my family has walked this familiar road of illness and grief, I’ve said to my husband more than once, “I don’t think we’re going to make it. It doesn’t feel like we are going to make it. It’s too hard.”
And Brad has pointed out, more than once, that we will indeed make it, that we have in fact made it through a similar period of grief and anguish before. Brad reminds me that life does indeed resume again. Joy is found and laughter returns and normalcy – a different normal, but “normal” all the same – comes around again.
He’s right, of course. Not much more than a year ago we walked this same road with my mother-in-law, Janice, as she slowly succumbed to cancer. And although it was extraordinarily painful, and we still miss her deeply, we did recover from that place of hopelessness and fear. And life did return to a new normal.
I know now that God was with us all along on that difficult journey. And that knowledge, along with Brad’s comforting reassurances, are enough to help me broaden my gaze from the difficult moments in the present to the bigger picture at hand. On some days, I can even see the whole forest.
Do you easily get caught up in griping about present discomforts, or are you pretty good at being able to see the bigger picture?
You can read more of Michelle's writing on her blog Graceful.
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