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“I am sorry. I am not going to make it,” read the text on my phone. A bit of anger rose up inside of me. “I am willing to give my time, but I am not willing to waste it!” I muttered under my breath as I walked home in the rain. We had a family member visiting from the States, but I had carved out a bit of time to meet with this woman I had never met before. She expressed interest through a mutual contact in attending the Bible study I lead. I wanted to help her feel more comfortable by meeting her first, but now she hadn’t shown up.
Although a Christian for many years, this crisis did a number on my faith. I questioned God‘s love for me. I questioned His whereabouts and why He allowed this to happen to my family. Instead of seeking counseling, I hid in shame and secrecy, isolating myself from everyone I knew who cared and could offer love and support.
Each one of us, regardless of our background, has something invaluable that we can offer others. We hold the figurative life preserver to cast to someone drowning in a sea of uncertainty. We carry the symbolic, kind gesture of a homemade casserole to feed a grieving family.
I seem to miss encouraging words and deeds when I’m stuck in a season of perpetual disappointments. It’s as though my head becomes stuck in the sand of discouragement, and nothing anyone says or does can get my head unstuck. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because I want to remain in that ostrich-like pose. After all, it is comfortable, safe, familiar. Other times, I think it’s because no matter what encouraging words or deeds others say to me, it never ends up being enough to stem the pain disappointments bring.