There’s no sugar coating it. I have to be honest. This season of my life has been so. very. hard. I’ve worn a brave face. But, my heart hurts; it aches...for no single reason, and it’s no one’s fault. There was no specific situation or scenario. It’s just the season I’m in. I have little direction. I have no clarity. I have no idea what I’m doing or
what I’m supposed to be doing. I hate the wait that I’m waiting. I hate not knowing what I’m waiting for. I am
lonely. I am tired in all the ways a human can be tired, physically and emotionally and spiritually. I’m not sure
what to pray. And worst of all, I don’t hear much of God’s voice. And yet, even as I labor through this weirdness, my spirit speaks truth to my weary soul, testifying within me that this season is working a Christlikeness in me,
that it is molding me into the image of my Elder Brother, that it is refining me, conforming me, cutting away at me. But, my flesh. Oh, my flesh hates it. And, to be brutally honest, right now, I am far more interested, concerned
and desirous of my circumstances letting up and just getting some peace than I am interested, concerned, or
desirous of sanctification. Right now, I (my flesh) hate sanctification. So, now what?
Now, my flesh must die (Romans 6:1-11). I have to choose to kill my flesh and live by the Spirit. I have to pray
with Jesus in the garden, “not my will, but Yours” (Luke 22:42). I must endure for the joy set before me (Hebrews 12:1-2). I must count it joy (James 1:2-4). And as I do, the joy of the Lord will be my strength (Nehemiah 8:10). This isn’t about me mustering up the strength to cope. This is about me acknowledging my utter weakness,
acknowledging my clay pot self (2 Corinthians 4:7), and leaning completely into the grace extended to me.
Because His grace IS sufficient (2 Corinthians 12:9). I may be pressed, but I am not and will not be crushed
(2 Corinthians 4:8-12). My eyes must be fixed on Jesus, the Author AND Perfecter of my faith (Hebrews 12:1-2). He does not just begin the good work within you as the Author, but He also brings it to completion in you as the
Perfecter (Philippians 1:6). Hallelujah, but oy vey! I SO want to be like Christ, but I don’t want the whittling and
cutting away. I don’t want to be refined by fire. I want the result without the process.
Somebody somewhere once said that the journey is the destination. In which case, I currently hate my
destination. Well, my flesh does. It’s just that this journey is hard. The furnace is uncomfortable. I don’t want to think of it as a destination point. If I can’t avoid it altogether, I really just want to pass right through it. However,
this momentary difficulty is producing in me an eternal weight of glory, something far greater than temporary ease and comfort (2 Corinthians 4:17). So while this is my current destination, this is not my ultimate destination
because it is not my ultimate and only journey. At 36 years old, I have come to see that this life is a series of
journeys...through valleys of grief, on mountains of victory, through wilderness wandering, in green pastures of
refreshment. God is preparing me and equipping me. If the valley or the mountain or the wilderness or the
pasture is where He has brought me today, then this is my current destination, whether I like it or not. I am right where He put me because this is the best place for my sanctification, and because from this place, I will have the best view of God’s character and glory. There is a next thing, a next phase, a next season, a next journey, a next destination, a next lesson, a next refining, and I will get there in His perfect time...but not today. If the journey is
the destination, then my circumstance, my location, my emotion, my opinion, my plan, my dream, my _____
aren’t the issue. My heart is. My willingness to be and wait and rest in this journey where God has brought me is directly proportional to my joy and peace in the midst of it.
“He trains my hands for battle, so that my arms can bend a bow of bronze.” (Psalm 18:34) And, y’all, the training is hard. It is exhausting. But He is faithfully teaching me to lean hard into Him. He is showing me the way to do
this life and the battles at hand is always and only through His strength. The way to live is to die (Romans 6:1-11).The way to be strong is to be weak (2 Corinthians 12:9-10). The way to endure is to yield (Job 2:10). The way tovictory is to rest (Exodus 14:13). It’s the great paradox of the Christian life. His burden is the light one. His
yoke is the easy one (Matthew 11:28-30). In Him, we find rest. Rest in the ease. Rest in the hard. Sufficient
grace. Abundant life.
But, oh, the training. Note the possessional pronoun in that verse, “He trains...so that MY arms can bend a bow
of bronze.” He is my rest and my ease, but He is also telling me to practice something hard. Really hard. I’d
prefer to just let Him handle all the bronze bows. But My Father says learning the bronze bow is best for me, andso, He trains me for battle...He trains me for the victory that He Himself will secure. I mean, I don’t know much
about archery, and I’ve certainly never bent a bow of bronze. But I can imagine how difficult that would be. I’m
reminded of a situation at our house. Our daughter is a natural learner. You say it, she’s got it. But the thing is,
as lovely as it is that she is bright and quick, it doesn’t help her as she learns to ride her bike. She wants my
husband (an avid cyclist) to tell her how to do it, and then she will, by some sudden and magical feat, be capable of riding her bike simply because her brain grasps the words my husband told her. I really think this is her plan. But. Unfortunately, this isn’t working out too well for her. She has to practice what her head knows. Not only will it allow her to fully experience the truth that’s in her head, but it will stretch her into something new...a bike rider. She doesn’t love learning to ride. She’s terribly afraid of falling and getting hurt. But as she yields to her father’s goodness and rests in his promises to not let her fall, she will be changed.
She’s so much like me. I, too, am afraid of falling. I, too, am afraid of getting hurt. Except I’m not learning how toride a bike. I’m learning to better walk by faith. I’m taking what I know through the Word, I’m applying the truth ofGod’s character, I’m in training. Training is a slow process. There are no immediate changes. It takes a lot
practice. I’m having to table my fear and and yield to my Father’s goodness and rest in His promises to protect
me from falling. And, as I yield, as I rest, as I find joy in Him in this journey of a destination, in the end, I will be
changed. So, what to do if you find yourself hating sanctification? Kill your flesh, fix your eyes on Jesus, and
endure the process for the joy set before you because it is exactly where God planned for you to be. You’ll really get the best view from where you’re standing.
