The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are things you get ashamed of, because words make them smaller. When they were in your head they were limitless; but when they come out they seem to be no bigger than normal things. But that's not all. The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried; they are clues that could guide your enemies to a prize they would love to steal. It's hard and painful for you to talk about these things ... and then people just look at you strangely. They haven't understood what you've said at all, or why you almost cried while you were saying it.”
― Stephen King"Disappointment" is one of those words. So insignificant sounding. "Grief" sounds weightier--but so often "grief" implies an end and "disappointment" is so often about the lack of a beginning.
I know I am not alone. I know there must be pews full of us struggling to find some kind of balance between a faith that accepts "no" as the answer to our prayers, and a faith that keeps pounding on the door of the judge all night until his answer is changed to "yes". 2 Corinthians 12:9 Luke 18:18
If you think I am going to sum up this post with the answer to how to find that balance--just stop reading now. I don't know. I don't know how to judge my own heart--is this hope or stubbornness?
I know that I can't be the only one. I know that there must be many of us squeezing out the words to some song like "How great is our God!" but secretly singing, "How great is our God?"
I can't be the only one wondering in the secret-est part of my heart if I really can love a God who lets me sit with such deep disappointment. I can't be the first to cry out, "It wasn't supposed to be like this!"
I know church-y people are supposed to tell this story after they have been refined by the fire. That these stories are supposed to end with that uplifting kernel of wisdom that made the trial worthwhile. I know it's awkward to hear someone confessing how broken they are by something with an insignificant name like "disappointment".
A theologian I respect (who happens to be my cousin) shared a lesson he heard recently in Rwanda on the subject of hope. I have read and thought about what he shared countless times in the last few weeks.
It's the story of Ezekiel in the valley of bones--and he is called on, not merely to watch God at work, but to participate by speaking the words God tells him. How relieved Ezekiel must have been after 30-odd chapters of delivering bad news, to participate as God dictated a message of hope. Read the lesson here.
Did you hear it? (OK, seriously, no point going on 'till you read his lesson)
Did you hear it? Before Ezekiel gets to see the leg bone connect to the thigh bone and all that--he has the quiz:
Can these bones live?
And isn't that the problem? How do we know if the particular disappointments we are suffering through are occasions where God's grace is sufficient, or opportunities to bring life to things long considered hopeless? Walking through a valley filled with the corpses of disillusionment, regret, or sorrow--how do we know which bones are supposed to live?
Ezekiel didn't. He said, "You alone know."
I wish I knew.
I wish for faith sufficient to give a suitable answer like, "You alone know."
And I wish for the confidence to wait in stillness until God shows me whether the bones of this disappointment are meant to live or not.
Romans 8:24 We were given this hope when we were saved. (If we already have something, we don’t need to hope[k]for it. 25 But if we look forward to something we don’t yet have, we must wait patiently and confidently.)
26 And the Holy Spirit helps us in our weakness. For example, we don’t know what God wants us to pray for. But the Holy Spirit prays for us with groanings that cannot be expressed in words. 27 And the Father who knows all hearts knows what the Spirit is saying, for the Spirit pleads for us believers[l] in harmony with God’s own will.
