Worry implies that we don’t quite trust that God is big enough, powerful enough, or loving enough to take care of what’s happening in our lives. Stress says that the things we are involved in are important enough to merit our impatience, our lack of grace toward others, or our tight grip of control.
I think to be discontent with a world that is wrong is actually the appropriate response – to feel uncomfortable with the way that the poor are treated or with the racism that still exists in our country or with your own spiritual hunger. These are discomforts that can move you toward the truth. You know, ‘Blessing are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness for they will be filled.’ I think the Beatitudes, especially the early ones, speak of a restlessness and yearning for a world we’ve never known.
I cling to Jesus with every fiber of my being because He is unfailing, He is absolute, He is steadfast and His grace is deeper and wider than my imagination can even fathom. In Him and Him alone is where I’ve discovered a hope more bright and beautiful than words can possibly describe.
"Gandalf! I thought you were dead! But then I thought I was dead myself. Is everything sad going to come untrue? What’s happened to the world?"
"A great Shadow has departed," said Gandalf, and then he laughed and the sound was like music, or like water in a parched land; and as he listened the thought came to Sam that he had not heard laughter, the pure sound of merriment, for days upon days without count. It fell upon his ears like the echo of all the joys he had ever known. But he himself burst into tears. Then as sweet rain will pass down a wind of spring and the sun will shine out the clearer, his tears ceased, and his laughter welled up, and laughing he sprang from his bed.
“How do I feel?” he cried. “Well I don’t know how to say it. I feel, I feel” – he waved his arms in the air – “I feel like spring after winter, and sun on the leaves; and like trumpets and harps and all the songs I have ever heard!”
I live inside the ache of love. It’s a beautiful place, but painful. And so I like the taste of coffee even though it’s bitter…just like I like the thought of You even though nothing is more agonizing. I almost saw Your face. I was this close…and instead You disappointed me again. And somehow with you disappointment tastes sweet because every time You make me cry You wipe my tears away. Why do You do this to me when all I want to do is get lost in You? I don’t understand You, but I love You more than I could ever express. You give, and You take away; You teach me to desire and You teach me to be content. So come into my dreams again, even if I cannot wake to You.
It’s this feeling that you want to love strangers, that you want to kiss the man at the post office, or the woman at the dry clenaers—you want to wrap your arms around life, life itself, but you can’t, and this feeling wells up in you, and there is nowhere to put this great happiness—and you’re floating—and then you fall down and become umbearably sad. And you have to go lie down on the couch.