When life doesn’t go as I expect, I don’t often respond well.  I want explanations when there are none to be had.  I hold onto hurt and easily come up with all kinds of ways in which my circumstances prove that I am a failure and unloved and unlovable.  I’m scared to be hopeful…scared that I will only be more disappointed in the long run, scared that I will let myself be deceived by impossible expectations.  I have convinced myself that I would rather just believe the worst.

This week, though – as I found myself clinging to grief that was threatening to slip away – I felt the Lord challenging me to rejoice.  There was peace and joy and hope right there – so close that I felt it pressing me, so tangible that I was forced to make a conscious choice.  I tried to find rationale that would allow me to hurt just a little longer, but I found none.  What I found, instead, was an overarching belief in God’s goodness to me, and His sovereignty in all things.  I didn’t have answers, but I realized I didn’t need them.  Knowing that my life is in His hands is all I need.  It was sort of a revelation to me.  I have a hard time willingly abdicating control of my life.  I’ve never trusted enough.  Once again, God is proving Himself faithful to continue His work in me, though.  I am so thankful.

For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, “Abba, Father.” — Romans 8:15