This is the story of the first night I cried after the fire.
In the midst of evacuating in the middle of the night and not being sure what we would have waiting for us when we ever got to go back, I still had faith that God was with us. I had faith we were in His hands and I trusted Him when I heard Him tell me our house would be spared. I even had peace about this as we watched everything else crumble down around us. Going to “bed” without knowing what we would wake up to in the morning got hard, but I still had faith that God was watching over me. Telling people our house was ok when we knew the hills were still on fire felt very premature, but we did it because we had faith that it would still be there when we went back. But one night I realized that I felt anything but OK and that that was OK. I had been hiding from my own feelings for days and enough was enough... I cried out to God, ashamed at the thought that I had lost faith in Him over such a simple thing as personal belongings, but He met me with an answer I did not expect: having faith doesn’t mean not feeling pain. Knowing God is good doesn’t make it hurt any less not to be able to go home at night - but it does give me peace that He is with me wherever I go. Sarah was considered righteous because she considered Him faithful who had made her a promise (Hebrews 11:11), but that didn’t stop her heart from hurting over all those years she went childless. It didn’t even stop her from laughing when she heard God’s plan to give her a baby when she was 90. Faith can still acknowledge the ridiculous. Faith can still feel the pain of waiting, separation, and loss. Faith can (and as I finally realized, should) cry when it feels the weight of sorrow and suffering. And so yes, I cried, and I cried hard. I cried as an outlet from the stress of leaving behind our home and all of the memories left inside. I cried because I didn’t know what would happen and it was scary either way. I cried because I saw the pain and distress in my family’s faces that mirrored what I had been feeling the entire time too. I cried because I felt the pain of many others in my community who we already knew HAD lost everything. And because even though things can be replaced, there is still something inside all of us that screams that no one should have to go through such terrible times as these. But even though I was crying, I found that it didn’t take away from my faith in God to redeem these situations. What defines faith is how you feel the pain, not whether or not you feel it. Do you wallow in your hopelessness, or give it to God, in whose hands you trust.. Do you shrivel in loneliness, or do you find a way to still smile and see God’s goodness in the every day.. Do you sink beneath the weight of loss, or do you allow the emotions to pass over you and then be replaced with the hope and joy of the promise you hold.. Having faith doesn’t mean being immune to pain, and trusting God doesn’t mean not feeling fear. It means that when I feel them I bring them back again to Him to help me process and make sense of, and in their place I gladly received the joy which runs over and peace that goes beyond my current understanding. He also showed it to me this way: faith doesn’t mean pretending the night isn’t dark; it means knowing that the night will only last for a time, and that it will be followed by a beautiful sunrise! So I encourage anyone going through a struggle like mine not to discredit your own faith just because you are burdened under the weight of pain or loss. Just like a man who lights a candle isn’t giving up on the day coming, we can and should allow ourselves to grieve and feel these heavy emotions healthily as we hold onto the promise of a new day.
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ErikaJeremiah 29:11 Archives
March 2023
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