Jesus, strong and kind

It really wasn’t anything big. The song, I mean. It was the song that often pointed to me to the cross of Christ in the twilight of my angst. But here I was, sitting down having my thrown together lunch, enjoying the few moments of solace that a mother of 5 usually only dreams of, when it wrecked me, in all the best, commemorative ways.

“Jesus said that if I fear I should come to him”

About an hour earlier, I had just finished what 2 Corinthians 1 presses into. You see, I have been faithfully comforted in all my affliction by the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort for the purpose of comforting those who are, too, afflicted. It’s been 2 years now. Strange to think of it in a time line. But it’s been 2 years since the shadows of the night and the movies of the mind plagued my restless and feeble heart. The wave of despondency crashing without warning, the helplessness made obvious. Wrestling in faith with the goodness of God, my heart was stretched paper thin. But what she said was an echo of the past.

“No one else can be my shield. I should come to him.”

When she expounded her experiences, it was like looking into a mirror that was 2 years the younger. The same mental reel of worst case scenarios. The same loop around the block because the rear view showed the same car for a touch too long. The same explosive anger that comes out like a volcano. But it’s been two years now. Only by the grace of God.

“For the Lord is good and faithful he will keep us day and night.”

While I grappled through the conviction of God’s grand goodness in the saturation of the psalms, the more convinced I became, not in theory but by honest trial and fire. That God ordains all that comes to pass. That God purposes all for the good of those who are his. That God’s concern is for his glory and will do what he wills to make it known. That God’s definition of “good” doesn’t always align with my finite understanding of the word; but that he is trustworthy, even whilst sleeping with the lights on and chronically watching out the windows.

“We can always run to Jesus…”

I wouldn’t sign up to suffer and despair again. I would not voluntarily walk through mental distress and physical anguish . But glory to God for his good hand in my life—and lest you be confused or misunderstand me—glory to God for his good hand in not only taking away my affliction, but for his mightily affectionate, good hand in allowing, purposing, using, giving, causing, ordaining the affliction in the first place. For now I know more intimately that my God is good, and he is for me, and he is for the preservation of his great name in me.

“…Jesus strong and kind.”