This is not where I thought I’d be.
Almost a year ago I started what I thought was a dream job. I’d finally found a flavor fusion of writing and ministry with awesome people.
And then it wasn’t.
I’ve always had a sense of purpose, meaning and mission in my work. But all of that vanished. Without exaggeration, everything became meaningless. What should I do next? Would I be any good at it? Would I ever like my work again?
Around the same time, I experienced a personal struggle and loss so sharp that I still can’t quite find pithy language for it. So that’s not for here.
I’ve historically found my identity in my work; my circumstances. As a believer, I know that this identity cannot be the last say. But setting everything on something intangible is horrendously hard when you maintain a physical existence.
My brain and heart are frequently disconnected (I’ve been accused of being too Cartesian), so rational thoughts such as “you’ve survived hard seasons in the past, so you’ll get through this one” might plink on the top of the head, but don’t comfort.
Depression/anxiety is curious because it freezes time. Any idea of the future is horrible because whatever the possibility, it’s fated to be terrible. All that exists is the paralyzing present. For me, time feels like a drawn-out numbing tunnel, devoid of color and light. When feelings surface, they just hurt, often manifesting as physical pain. For a planner and formerly strategy/task-oriented human, it’s terrifying to feel so out of control. No plan. No vision.
Then comes the whispered self-reproach for feeling bad and being a downer because after all, other people have it worse. I’m being too dramatic? Fine.
The Reformed bent of my faith community isn’t helpful when you have thoughts like these.
Stiff-upper-lip sentiments about God’s will and sovereignty smack of quasi-fatalistic resignation, even if it’s unintentional. Much like Job’s friends, they feel uncaring and make the pain worse. I said to one friend (who, thankfully, is nothing like them), “I just need to know that God loves me and has good for me.” And on better days, I ask for hope for the ultimate future.
I can’t really handle much more than that right now. No insecure pastors bickering on Twitter or in the church about minute theological concepts, defending one’s rightness, or trying to pick apart the mysteries of God with man-made systems. Just Jesus, and to know that God’s Word is true. Anything else comes across as callous and indifferent to the Christ I know, who cared.
Dear friends (and the odd wise professional) have shown the Christ who cares to me. This is the main reason I’m walking forward.
Aspiration Risk is a terse hat-tip to the work I’ve been doing the past several months in medical articles. It’s provision for which I’m thankful.
