Discouragement | All is Well

Great is His Faithfulness: The Hope of Lament

February 18, 2019 By Shelly Durkee

I honestly do not know that I’ve ever truly read Lamentations 3.

Oh, I know that I have, in my never-ending and often failed quest to read the Bible through each year. I’ve also skimmed over it from time to time, when I’ve been in a rush to get to Lamentations 3:22-24; verses that I have clung to many, many times over through the years.

But until recently, I do not know–or, rather, do not remember–ever reading this chapter and letting the very words and images sink deeply into my soul.

It is the brutal and incredibly raw picture of Job-like suffering. The words are so personal…so achingly honest…that while reading, I almost felt as if I should not continue, for fear of invading the author’s private moments of heartache. The pain is so deep and so real, that you almost lament–grieve–alongside the author.

Or, maybe not “almost”.

Maybe you do grieve.

Maybe that’s actually the intent – the “reason” we find these words in the pages of our own worn and tear-stained Bibles.

Like so many of the Psalms–these laments give voice to some of our deepest aches–the tender, sore places in our souls that can’t be seen but that never truly seem to go away—the darkness that descends without reason. The events that change our worlds in the matter of seconds and plunge us into despair. The things that awaken us at night, and keep us from sleep. The evil we read about in the news–or that we fall victim to ourselves.

Or maybe just the weight this world carries.

However, maybe this lament–and other laments–are divinely included in scripture because they also point us to the only sure foundation, upon which our hope is built.

Which is the very reason I was driven to this chapter in Lamentations earlier this week.

My soul was “bereft of peace” (vs. 17). “My endurance had perished.” (vs. 18). The darkness—an old familiar friend and enemy had returned. (vs.6). The reasons and whys are not important. What is important, was that in those moments, I had a need to remind my soul–to preach to myself, even–the settling truth that I knew I would find there:

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
23 they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
24 “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,
“therefore I will hope in him.”

Great is His faithfulness.

His mercies are new—every morning.

Truly, there is tremendous settling in that.

And, the reading of the rest of Lamentations 3–I mean, truly reading it in its entirety–just all the more emphasized the truth of His faithfulness.

Our own harrowing accounts of suffering and grief in our lives may tempt us to grow cynical. Fearful. Doubtful even.

However, what we learn from Job, and Habakkuk as seen in Habakkuk 3, and with the author of this lament here in Lamentations, is that when we entrust our grief and pain to our God, we land here: Great is His Faithfulness.

And, when we read these words from authors who knew such deep and tremendous grief and suffering–instead of reading such declarations of the hope found in His faithfulness and sovereignty as weakness–these proclamations are words that ring forth as signs of strength and fortitude.

They infuse strength in us, to also place our hope, in the only one who is worthy of that hope.

The only one who is our strength, when our endurance has perished.

Praying through this entire chapter the other day–not just verses 22-24–also led me to search out the lyrics to the hymn “Great is thy Faithfulness”. And in those moments, I found myself typing out the words of that hymn, along with key phrases found in Lamentations 3—

“You have redeemed my life.”

“You said, ‘Do not fear!'”

“You heard my plea…”

“You have seen the wrong done to me, O Lord.”

“Though you cause grief, you will have compassion…”

“Great is thy faithfulness.”

Truth.

In Him alone is pardon for sin, and peace that endureth.

In Him alone, is strength for today, and hope for tomorrow.

And only by His grace, are there new mercies morning, after morning, after morning.

He changes not, His compassions–they fail not.

Great is His Faithfulness.

He is my portion, says my soul, therefore, I will hope in Him.

The Battle

October 12, 2018 By Shelly Durkee

Discouragement is such a strange thing.

It can creep into our souls so stealthily….so sneakily….that, before we can even see it coming, it is there.

Stealing joy.

Stirring up despondency.

Siphoning away the ability to sense God’s presence.

Discouragement makes it challenging to be still and know, that He is God.

It’s rare to find anyone who is not affected by discouragement. Even the most positive, upbeat person can find their feet knocked out from underneath them, by the icy fingers of discouragement. It can come from anywhere, and in any form. School, finances, work, family issues, health issues, friendships, current events, social media – even church – all of these, and more, can be sources of discouragement. At times, discouragement may come from multiple sources.

I know this full well.

It has truly been an incredibly discouraging week.

Actually, this sense of discouragement has been steadily building over the last month. Work, health, disappointment, concern for hurting friends, worry over my crew, frustration over not meeting self-set goals – all of these have woven together to lead me down an old, familiar, worn path toward temptation to succumb to discouragement.

Yes, you read that right.

Temptation.

We read in 1 Corinthians 10:13, these words: “No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man.” Discouragement – or, rather, giving in to the despondency and weariness that comes when discouragement wraps itself around our minds and souls and threatens to choke out joy – is a temptation to sin. When we are tempted to embrace discouragement rather than fight it, we find ourselves on a slippery path towards embracing unbelief and doubt – which are also two long-time and familiar foes that like to dance on the threshold of my mind, just waiting for a crack in the door so that they can slither their way back in.

We are told repeatedly in scripture, to not lose hope. To not give in to what is common to man. Philippians 4:6 tells us to “..not be anxious about anything.” Proverbs 3:5 exhorts us to “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding.” Paul tells us in 2 Corinthians 4 that “We do not lose hope….For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.”

But…

We are anxious.

We do not trust.

We lean on our own, often-wrong, always faulty understanding.

We. Do. Lose. Hope.

We do all of those things, when we reach for the easier path of unbelief rather than the narrower, rocky way of trusting in that God sees and knows (Exodus 2:25), and that, even when we may not sense his nearness, he will strengthen us, help us, and uphold us with his righteous hand. (Isaiah 41:10).

The narrower path – the only path that leads to hope and joy – requires that we not trust our feelings of discouragement and despair. This is a tough thing to do, in today’s world where we are encouraged to welcome our feelings and let them have sway over all that we do. We rush for comfort so quickly, when things are tough. We engage in distractions, to avoid the work that relationships take. Addiction to pain pills is on the rise – in 2015, nearly 2 million Americans were reported as having an addiction to opioid based medication. (Source: Webex).

We’ve become very good at trusting our “feelings” and going with “whatever makes us feel ‘better'”…whatever “better” means.

That’s not to say that there are not times when comfort is warranted. There are most definitely times when we just need someone to say, “It’s going to be OK.” There are moments of weariness with the cares of life are so heavy that truly the very best option is to go to bed, with the plan to get up again tomorrow, and trust that “His mercies are new every morning.” (Lamentations 3:23)

But we – or I – so often forget that discouragement is a temptation to cave to unbelief and distrust, and so I – and we – must fight it.

Looking through scriptures on discouragement this evening, I saw something that I had not ever noticed before – nearly every single scripture that addresses discouragement is written in “command-type” language:

Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in me. (John 14:1)

Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” (Isaiah 41:10)

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6-7)

As for you, brothers, do not grow weary in doing good. (2 Thessalonians 3:13)

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go. (Joshua 1:9)

…and so many more.

We reach for these verses because we find them uplifting and comforting…but, if you really look at the sentence structure, they are actually very firm. Directive. Commanding.

I think sometimes we skip right over that, and grab hold of the comfort words such as “peace” and “God is with you”. “God will guard your hearts” and God will strengthen, help and uphold us.

The comfort is good, of course. It is what we long for…what we need in those dark moments, but I think sometimes we rush to them, forgetting that there are things that we are called to do as well – we are told to not be frightened, when sometimes the situation is terrifying. We are told to not be dismayed, when sometimes circumstances are spiraling so fast out of control that we can’t see an end to the chaos. We are told to not grow weary in doing good, even when we are certain our wells are empty and we have no more to give. We are told to not let our hearts be troubled, when at times they literally feel as if they are being shattered.

It is not an easy road, this road of trusting in the face of discouragement and despair. And so, we must remember that, in ever single one of these comforting and assuring verses, we are called to fight to do exactly what we do not think we have to the strength to do – trust, obey, keep doing good, be courageous, trust.

Trust. Trust. Trust.

And, keep fighting to trust.

Keep fighting, to keep our souls well.

John Piper tells us this in this article that I find myself drawn to so very often, when we need to speak to our tears. His focus is on grief, but I believe the very same idea applies to discouragement, despondency and despair. He writes about the importance of believing and trusting and perseverance. We recognize and acknowledge that grief, discouragement and despair that cling to us are very real, but that we must fight through doing the tasks before us.

I will close with a section from his post; but I encourage you, dear reader, to take in his words, and the Psalm he writes about, by visiting his site here: Talking to Your Tears

And then, my friend, let both of us fight to break free from the shackles of discouragement by asking our God to help us trust and run the opposite direction from unbelief. Let us fight for joy and to hold fast to the truth that He is with us “…wherever we go.”

When there are simple, straightforward jobs to be done, and you are full of sadness, and tears are flowing easily, go ahead and do the jobs with tears. Be realistic. Say to your tears: ‘Tears, I feel you. You make me want to quit life. But there is a field to be sown (dishes to be washed, car to be fixed, sermon to be written). I know you will wet my face several times today, but I have work to do and you will just have to go with me. I intend to take the bag of seeds and sow. If you come along then you will just have to wet the rows.

Then say, on the basis of God’s word, ‘Tears, I know that you will not stay forever. The very fact that I just do my work (tears and all) will in the end bring a harvest of blessing. So go ahead and flow if you must. But I believe (I do not yet see it or feel it fully)—I believe that the simple work of my sowing will bring sheaves of harvest. And your tears will be turned to joy.” ~ John Piper

The Unexpected (Spiritual?) Benefits of Exercise

September 13, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

I am far from one who sees spiritual implications around every corner or in every activity.

That’s just not me.

For instance, if I get a parking spot near the door of the grocery store when it is pouring down rain, I do not immediately conclude that it is God blessing me or granting me favor. No, I generally conclude that the someone pulled out right as I reached that spot, vacating it and leaving it open for me to pull in. Hallelujah. Amen.

I certainly probably and sinfully contain more than my share of cynicism.

It’s kind of how I feel about exercise. Our bodies are a temple? Ok. But that sentiment, even though scriptural, is not going to get me to exercise more. Not really.

I really don’t like exercise. I am, inherently, a slug.

But today I am wondering if there are is some sort of connection between exercise and the well-being of both the mind and the soul.

I mean, I already know the answer to that inquiry–it is a resounding “Yes.” It’s kind of obvious. People who exercise regularly are healthier, and have less stress, and on and so forth and on and so forth.

But why?

This morning I woke up wildly discouraged. Deeply so.

So much so, that I didn’t leave my bedroom until after 8:30 am. That’s not my usual mojo. I’m a crazy early riser. And I move from my bed to my desk to study and pray at around 5 am, and then move from my desk outside to walk 5 miles before my work day begins. So, yeah. Me, in my bedroom, till after 8:30 = wildly discouraged.

I was awake since about 4:00am, but paralyzed by much. The to-do list. Relationship challenges. Parenting challenges. Responsibility challenges. Soul and mind challenges. I just could not get moving.

And, at 8:30, when I did get moving, I didn’t get far. I kicked myself outside and walked for about 1.5 miles, and then gave up, using the excuse that my feet hurt and I needed to change shoes. Which I did, after I got back home, but then I crawled back into bed.

My soul/mind were messed up.

But somewhere around 10:00ish, I convinced myself to try again.

You see, I knew. I knew that if I lay there defeated, there was very real danger that I would remain there defeated the rest of the day. And maybe tomorrow. And maybe the next day.

So, by grace, I got up. And tried again.

But I was angry. And so:

Mile 1: Furiously Stomped down the street, muttering words that I should not have been muttering
Mile 2: Stomping and anger turned to uncharacteristic tears, mixing with sweat rolling down my face, because good grief, it was humid out there.
Mile 3: Tears turned to preaching truth to myself:
- God is real.
- Salvation is real.
- God is sovereign.
- God sees and knows. And Acts.
- Scripture is truth.
- Grace is free.
- Mercy is given.
- Shhh, soul. Be still.
Mile 4: Preaching continued, but accompanied toward putting things in the right columns on the “White Board” I keep in my brain–lining things back up, sorting out the doubts, placing fears in proper perspective, examining motives, thinking thinking thinking.
Mile 5 and 6: Prayer. Worship. Singing.

A renewing of the mind. And soul.

I think that it may be similar to the man in John 5.

You know the one. 38 years this guy was an invalid. Laying on his pallet. Waiting for someone to carry him down into the waters that supposedly had some kind of healing nature to them.

38 years.

And Jesus doesn’t empathize or sympathize or feel sorry for this guy. No, he asks him a question that, quite honestly, would have made me a bit peeved. “Do you want to be healed?”

Well, of course. Of course he does. I mean, good grief, it had been 38 years. Why wouldn’t he?

Why wouldn’t I?

Do I? Sometimes I don’t like the answer to that question.

And then Jesus tells the guy this:

⁸Jesus said to him, “Get up, take up your bed, and walk.”

Get up. Take your bed. Walk.

Get moving.

Maybe I’m off-base here. I quite possibly could be. I could be reading way, way too much into this. If so, I apologize, dear reader.

But this I do know:

I was not well when I started.
I was much, much better when I ended.
And the day was redeemed.

So, Keep Moving, friend. Keep moving. Even when you don’t want to. Especially when you don’t want to. Especially when you don’t.

***On a related note: That last half mile or so today? Yes, it was spent singing. Quietly, because, well, neighbors. But it was going on, because on that mile I remembered–out of the blue, I have no idea why–a song that was my grandpa’s favorite song. He would sing this song while we walked around his yard, looking for locusts shells to put in my shoebox for my “collection”. “His Eye is on the Sparrow”. A few years ago I thought about singing it at church, but I wasn’t ready. I am now; this will happen in November, because these words are not nothing:

Why should I feel discouraged, why should the shadows come,
Why should my heart be lonely, and long for heav’n and home,
When Jesus is my portion? My constant Friend is He:
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.
I sing because I’m happy, I sing because I’m free,
For His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

Sometimes Standing is Moving

May 4, 2015 By Shelly Durkee

We, as a whole, are goal setters.

In one week, I typically participate in 18-20 teleconferences; some weeks many more than that. Objectives are laid out, and Action Items are identified to help move toward the end goal, tasks are assigned, and tracking spreadsheets for all these things are updated. And, that’s a good thing. A very good thing. It’s how bridges are built, technology is innovated, rocket ships are launched, cures for diseases are found–by incrementally tracking planned courses of actions that keep a task moving forward. We like to see progress. We like things to be quantifiable.

I like things to be quantifiable. For instance, in my (hard) work to reach my goal of 100 pounds lost (closing in on 70 pounds lost–so close to that mark), I know the following information about this past week:

I took 78,744 Steps
I walked 33.96 Miles
I burned 19,635 Calories
I was “active” for 742 minutes

Nerdy, huh? Quite.

I like to see progress. I like forward movement.

I despise losing ground.

I tend to fall to the (sin?) of approaching my relationship with God the same way. Often, I have to fight the urge to quantify what being a Christ-follower looks like. I have to fight the pull of being the snotty-nosed, disheveled child who brings home the B- on their report card and who says (to God) “Look, God, are you proud? Do you see what I have accomplished?”

I think we are all like that, to some degree. Maybe.

“Don’t just do something, stand there.” ~ Dr. Al Mohler

I read the above quote by Dr. Mohler a few weeks ago. He uttered these words during a convocation sermon at Southern Seminary in the year 1993. I may have actually been there, though I don’t remember it. I certainly remember the climate of the school at the time, though, and reading over the transcript of his sermon, I understand his purpose behind the words–his exhortation to the seminary community to stand on scriptural foundations as put forth by school’s Abstract of Principles. At the time, the atmosphere was hostile. His words, and his stance behind the words, helped turn the very large ship of Southern Seminary around and back into Biblically clear waters.

However, I feel pulled toward Dr. Mohler’s words in another sense. Not that I wish to take them out of context, but I think there can be other, similar meanings applied.

For example, there are times that, as Christ-followers, standing fast is forward movement. Standing fast is progress.

Discouragement and grief can so quickly morph into unbelief and doubt, by default.

Good gracious, how well I know this to be truth. This past week, even. This week. My soul.

And, unbelief and doubt can quickly morph into despair. This, too, I know to be truth.

And, I suppose, there is much sin in that despair. And sin in the unbelief and doubt. Much.

It’s kind of like quicksand. Quicksand often appears solid, but isn’t–much like sin; it gives the appearance of being able to support weight. But, in reality, an agitation of some sort has occurred to the ecosystem, causing the sediment to lose strength by liquefying and to becoming unable to support weight. An object sinks in the sand to the point that the weight of the object is equal to the weight of the displaced water and sand.

And it’s not easy to get out of.

Discouragement and grief can, on occasion, agitate the soil of being sure, leading to displacement of certainty. And, then, despair (and unbelief) (and sin?) holds us there.

And flailing about seems to only strengthen the grip of the sand.

Or the despair.

Sometimes, standing fast is progress.

We see this time and time again in scripture. Most famously, we are told this in Ephesians 6:13. After being instructed in how to put on the armor of God (that’s not cross-stitch, key chain, Christian Bookstore t-shirt stuff. Look it up and look beyond the imagery), we are told this:

Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm.

Here’s what’s interesting about this Ephesians verse, though–these words: “Having done all”. In order to stand firm, there is still work to be done. Every single day, there is work to be done. But it is not the work of Action Items and task lists and quantifiable spreadsheets, as wonderfully nerdy as those things are. It’s soul work of prayer. Of worship. Of confession. Of confession. Of confession.

But, sometimes, once that work is accomplished, the task becomes to “Stand Fast.”

To not waver. To not doubt. To not give way to unbelief and cynicism. To not despair, even in the grief and discouragement. It’s the stuff of Hebrews 10:23:

Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.

We mimic the Psalmist, “Why are thou downcast, O soul? Hope thou in God. Without wavering. He is faithful. He has to be. He is, surely He is. Surely He will hear. Surely He will answer.”

It’s the Standing Fast of 1st Thessalonians 3:8.

Standing Fast sometimes takes more energy than surging (flailing?), or giving up and drowning. However, always, always, always this is truth: standing fast in God is forward movement toward soul-knowledge of who He is.

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