reflections on suffering

The day of reckoning is drawing near...
In a few short weeks, I'll have to make a decision to reduce my class load for next Spring.

My freaking house in Arkansas has not sold, and my savings (which I've been using to cover the mortgage) are almost depleted. When they run out, I'll need to find a full-time job to cover the expense of carrying a house that I do not live in and probably will never see again. Sometimes, life is thick with irony.

I am haunted by that house.

The leaves are falling in its yard for the third time now, a sign that it's been in my life for far too long. I could have left the house alone two years ago and lost less money than I will end up losing now - after wasting a year of my life working in misery and desperation to finish it.

My hope for selling the house quickly soared over the past several months, but that hope no longer remains. I do not expect the house to sell by the end of the year; I would be less surprised if Jesus himself returned before December.

So, where does this leave me?

I'm in the thick of story. As Dan Allender would say, "My shalom has been shattered."

Life is not easy and certainly not peaceful, but I feel more alive than ever.

At any given moment of the day, I'm on the verge of tears. Tears that rise from the despairing tragedy and sorrow of life, or tears that express overwhelming emotions for the beauty, goodness, and grace that I see everywhere.

I am suffering, and I am finding God.

Over the weekend, Ashley and I were invited to dinner with friends. We were expecting to have some good conversation, laugh, and enjoy a break from school by playing some games. What we encountered was a fellowship of sharing in suffering. We spilled our story about the house, and they shared a tragic story of their own.

Together, we met around a small table, listened to some good music, drank even better wine, and found understanding and hope in community.

No description of those moments can do justice to the joy I found sitting around that table. It was not your typical joy aroused by happiness, but a deep, longing joy for our redemption that is to come. I found joy because I found hope - not hope that the house would soon sell, but hope that in the midst of the suffering, God would be near.
That night, his presence was so real, and my joy so complete, that I was thankful that the house had not yet sold.

Even writing that last sentence, I think to myself, "You fool! What is wrong with you?!!"

But my heart was alive that night, and it still is today. The suffering is almost unbearable - I am still in disbelief that I may have to postpone my passion for going to school, a loss that has brought me to tears more than a few times over the past weeks - but I would not exchange the life coursing through me for an easy road of comfort and complacency. I do not want to be numb; I've too often lived anesthitized.
I want to be alive, and right now, I am.

"the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings" - I had not understood this phrase before, but I'm beginning to see a glimpse. I don't know how long this road will last, or when this chapter of my life will end, and I certainly await that day of redemption with expectancy - my celebration will definitely possess a triumphant fanfare - but in the midst of it all, I'm beginning to be thankful for the nearness of God and the tears that the Suffering One sheds with me.

I learned today that the word passion comes from a Latin root that means suffering. Hmm, ironic how my greatest passion right now - to go to school - is so intertwined with my deep suffering. Maybe passion will always bring suffering. If so, I'll willingly bear it for the life that comes from pursuing passion.