Of Rest and Expectation

This March marks one of following Jesus into rest, of giving things up and saying no and being quiet enough to be reminded of who I am in Him.  In the providence of God, it aligns with Lent and I find myself giving up extra things, choosing to walk into a season where I can be reminded of who I am, outside of my activities.

It’s hard.  I take a break from things that give me life, knowing that the overall result of them is a life too full for margin.   I rest from things that I’ve felt the Lord’s leading into, wondering why He gave me peace to step into them, only to be led to stop them for a time.

It’s really hard.  Again and again my body tells me to stop.  I get sick over and over, my body not being able to fight the germs I’m exposed to from myriads of toddlers.  Health issues that have gnawed at me for years get worse and the weighing fatigue impacts my ability to perform my job.  Tears threaten to overflow as the rush of dizziness yet again strikes and I feel worn out from the fight.  Doctors give me opposite input and I feel at a loss for what next steps should look like.

My work proposes changes to accommodate me and I find myself simultaneously thankful beyond words, humbled at my incapacity, fearful of what change will look like, and ashamed that I’m not able to perform my job.  I find myself questioning if this is all really necessary, if it’s an overreaction, if things are really as bad as I’m thinking.

In the sweetness of the Lord, my mom is led by Him into her own observation of Lent for the first time this year.  She tells me she’s reading Mark, looking at Jesus at a new character in this story and I join her.  I find myself in Mark 6:30-44 and I can’t move on.

Jesus is inviting the disciples into rest.  They’ve come back from doing and teaching and He sees their fatigue and that they are not even having time to eat because of all the people coming and going.  He invites them to come away to a desolate place and they all get into a boat.

I see myself in them.  I imagine the expectation that rises as they step into the boat with their Lord, with their close friends and ministry partners and head towards what they believe will be a time of rest.  That’s what Jesus has invited them into.

And I see myself in them as everything changes.

The people see them and go ahead of them on the shore, meeting them there. 

My heart begins to wrestle, as I imagine the scene.  They step out onto what was supposed to be their sacred place and are met my thousands of people. 

And Jesus’ response ignites my wrestling:

“When He went ashore He saw a great crowd, and He had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd.”

My heart cries out, “Why?  What about the disciples?  What about what He just told them would happen?  What about the compassion that He had had on them?  How could He lead them into something and then change it?”

I continue to read.  He teaches the people and the hours move on.  The disciples come to Him and I’m struck by the choice of their words to Him:

“This is a desolate place, and the hour is late.  Send them away to go into the surrounding country-side and villages and buy themselves something to eat.”

Desolate.  A lack of food to eat.  I wonder at the disciples’ intent as they use the very words that Jesus had used for them.  He had told them they would go away into a desolate place and had been aware of their need for food.

The heart posture of the disciples is unclear and could be bitterly untrusting or delightfully trusting:

The first is one of resentment, of reminding Jesus, “Don’t you remember what you told us?  This is a desolate place.  Remember what you said the desolate place would be for us?  A place of rest.  These people don’t have anything to eat here.  Just like us.  That was the point of us getting away, that we would have time a space to eat.”

Perhaps instead of a resentful reminder to Jesus, the disciples have experienced the love of Jesus in a way that overflows to others. They are keenly aware of the desolation of the place, because Jesus had described it as such in His loving leading of them.  And they are intimately acquainted with the hunger rising in the people’s stomachs from their own busyness that has prevented them from eating.  The ways in which Jesus has cared for their souls and bodies, they attempt to care for the people.

It’s hard to know the intent of their hearts, but the first response is staring me in the face.  It is me.  Again and again in life, I walk in the way I believe the Lord had led and question my trust in Him when He changes direction.  I find myself thinking that the crowds have replaced the disciples as the objects of Jesus’ compassion.  Why does Jesus change His focus from one to the other?

It’s far from the truth.  Rather that being replaced, one object of His compassion is poured into to overflow with compassion for another object of His compassion.

The fatigue, light-headedness, and bone-deep chills keep coming and walking through the halls feels like too much effort for me.  In a moment, the Lord speaks to my heart.  I am reminded of seasons in the past where I have felt like this and what was necessary to improve my health.  I feel a confirmation in my head and heart of what next medical steps are and He stirs unexpected thankfulness within me.  These moments of feeling debilitated, of feeling utterly discouraged and overcome by my symptoms are showing me what my body needs.  They are confirming to me that work changes are needed and that my body is lacking what it needs.  It gives me a push in a direction, when I felt confusing waves of uncertainty as highly-trained medical professionals differ in their opinions and I am left to pick what to do. 

And in that moment, the Spirit speaks again to my heart. Without things being this difficult, I would not know what I need.  Without an experience of utter brokeness, I would not know what I need to be made whole.

The grace of God is at work in this things that stop me short.  He is not just working in spite of them, but He is working in the very nitty-gritty details of them.  The Gospel is at work in my physical brokeness.  Without a knowledge of my deep need of Him, I would not know I need Him to make me whole.

And it’s speaking insight into that desolate place and those hunger rumblings.  As Jesus led the disciples into rest, the point was not the rest itself or what it would look like, but their knowledge of their need of Him.  He knew what they needed, and He showed them that.  He invited them into a trusting ride across the water.  And in the same way, he saw what the crowds needed, and He invited the disciples into meeting that need.

I find myself wondering about that boat ride.  I wonder how long it was and what it was like.  And it strikes me that even this brief moment or long trek was one in which the disciples were reprieved and retreated with their Lord.  He provided rest, just perhaps not in the way they expected.

Those expectations, the hinging of all of this struggle.

I am convicted as I read this story of my own expectations for this rest the Lord has invited me into.  He’s clearly led me to pursue health and find things out about my body and seek to give it what it needs.  And my expected result is that at the end of the season of rest, my health will have made great bounds.  I expect to be able to accomplish balanced rest, to be guaranteed the rest that I think I need, to be filled up and at peace.  Isn’t that what He has invited me into?

He reminds me that the rest is not the point, that I am a disciple, walking with Him where He has led, having my eyes opened to my need in the process and learning to trust Him.  The rest or lack of rest is not the point.  Knowing Him and my deep need of Him is the point.

And again and again, the words the Lord spoke to my heart for 2019 are coming to mind: “open eyes, open hands.”

Eyes to see what He is doing.  Hands that do not grasp on to what I think that will look like.  This is the very essence of demolished expectation idolatry, a heart that looks with expectation for His working, but hopes in the only One who can fulfill expectation, not the specifics of where He might lead.

And He is continuing to open my eyes and pry back my fingers.  Deep relationship and the hope of limited time apart pulse strong within my heart.  Timelines for departure and returning are uncertain and we wait to find out answers.  Word comes back, and it sounds hopeful.  2-3 months.  I can do this.  My expectation begins to solidify. 

But uncertainty enters back in as we hear that rules and procedures are in place that have rare exceptions.  Timelines become uncertain and processes could take 3 weeks or 6 months.  The possibility of a change of direction, of the Lord leading into longer time apart becomes a possibility and that gnawing in my heart begins again. 

I am afraid.

I tell my dear sister-friend where my heart is at:

“I want to know what to expect, so that I won’t be disappointed.  But that is not the point.  The point is that I can be disappointed and not be shattered because He does not disappoint.”

I find that as I consider my fear, it is not so much the time-line that I am afraid of, it is the not knowing.  It is the not knowing what to expect and not knowing when answers come if I can expect what I hear to happen.  I ponder that fear and feel that bitterness start to rise again, as the heart that cried out against Jesus’ change of direction with the disciples feels threatened by the potential change of direction He might bring in my life.  Past experiences make me more afraid of this.  I’ve seen His leading and His change of direction and felt like I’ve been let down.

But as I feel this resentment, there is this sweetness that is pulling my heart against it.  His Spirit is reminding my heart of the knowledge of who He is, of what He has done and who He has shown Himself to be.  There is this knowing of His grace, how tender it is of Him to reveal my need and my sin and draw me to Himself and away from my prideful expectation idolatry. 

He doesn’t leave my fingers there to slowly grasp and tighten and steel against the letting go.  He shakes the object of my grasp, so that I cannot help but loosen my hold.

And I am overwhelmed by His grace. Overwhelmed by the grace that He does not leave me to my idolatry and holding on.  And overwhelmed that in the midst of fleshly bitterness and distrust He stirs trust within my heart that cannot be from me.

I am reminded of little Much Afraid and of Psalm 112.

I feel the thorn of love that has been planted within my heart, that cuts deep and pains me often, but that simultaneously feels me with joy and trust.  The little terrified one that the Good Shepherd is transforming finds her heart growing in trust through the hard paths in which she is led.  The established heart spoken of the righteous in Psalm 112:7 that does not fear bad news resonates deeply within me.   That establishing, that steadying is being formed.  I feel the process, feel the pull of old heart distrust and new heart trust tugging back and forth.

What grace that He uses the unfulfillment of expectations to move my heart from fear to trust and shaken to established.

He knows what I need.

And the end of the story in Mark says it all:

Jesus uses the loaves and fish and feeds the thousands.  And there are 12 baskets left.

The love and compassion of Jesus, overflowing from one object to another, and back again, being not just enough, but more than enough.  More than enough for the crowds, leftovers present if they’re not yet full.  More than enough for the disciples, one basket for each of them, more than they could each eat.

Their expectations for rest and food are completely changed and then He provides in a way they did not expect.

And that is the point.  The deep trust that comes from walking with Him because we know that He will give us all we truly need.  That the only thing we really need is Him.  That He is the great expected one who alone can fulfill all our expectations.

And so, may we welcome the shattering of all other expectations and the things that free our cramping hands from their tight grasp.  

May our expectation rest firmly on Him.