A Bruised Reed

A week ago, I sat across the table from a good friend over plates of takeout Chinese food (steamed rice, with Mongolian Beef and General Tso’s chicken). We talked about a lot of things: sports, England, the troubles of managing the supply chain of a boat manufacturing company approaching the off-season. As you do! Also on the menu was a personal issue of my own making that I’d been trying to fix for some time. It was good to talk things out, to vent, to share with someone who cares, and at one point I found myself lamenting my own decisions - saying something along the lines of “I feel like it’s easier to trust God’s sovereignty when other people do things to you, but what about things you do to other people? I’m asking ‘God, why would you let me do that?’” Weird way to put it, I know, but it’s honest. It’s where my heart is.

This personal problem has brought on sharp feelings of anxiety and grief, spaces I’ve become somewhat familiar with over the last few years. I recently took an inventory and found that over the past five years, I’ve encountered five different seasons where I found myself backpacking through the Valley of the Shadow. A perfect 5-5 - batting a thousand! Some of these were common, like Covid and the accompanying thoughts of “will life ever go back to normal?” Some are personal, like moving to Tennessee from California, leaving my beloved home state and loving community behind. The start of a new job, consummated by my first ever “panic attack”, something I had heard the teens I’ve ministered to talk about for years, but had never experienced myself. And most recently, the loss of a relationship, the hopes and dreams that had formed around it, and potentially the loss of a sweet friendship along with it. All of these have left me with pain in my chest, loss of appetite, and a sleep deficit.

I’ve heard every response to these seasons. “Do you not trust the Lord?”, “You just need to give that to God”, “All things work for the good…” and so on. All well-intentioned, all true, but all untimely, and unfortunately more hurtful than helpful. I, in no way, am suggesting that my problems stack higher than anyone else - if anything, I’ve had it easy. I still have the majority of my health, my parents are still alive, there are people out there who know me and still love me - all of these things are great gifts. I will say, however, that the Christian life is lived in the valley. It is very normal for us to go from pain to pain, and every time we do, we have an opportunity. An opportunity to grow deeper in Christ, to bond stronger with our fellow “lifers”, and to minister to others who encounter the same or worse. How do we do this?

I’ve been blessed and encouraged lately by the meditations of Jonny Ardavanis. Jonny is the founder of Dial In Ministries, Teaching Pastor at Stonebridge Bible Church in Franklin, TN, former high school camp director at Hume Lake (had the brief privilege of meeting Jonny in the summer of 2019), and author of Consider the Lilies (2024). Between his podcast and recent writings, I’ve been reminded that it is the very character of God and his approach to our pain and angst that bolsters our ships on the stormy seas. Whether it’s J.I. Packer reminding us that to be a Christian is to know God as a loving Father (Knowing God, 1993) or A.W. Tozer’s ruminations on Samuel Rutherford praising God “for the hammer, the file, and the furnace” for they are all tools in the hands of the Workman.

What is it about the way God loves us that enables us to traverse the valley? For one, He knows our frame (Psalm 103:14, ESV). He remembers that we are made of dust, not steel - sometimes I wish I had a stamp on me that says “Fragile, made of dust, do not store upside down.” God knows this, and promises that a bruised reed, he will not break, and a faintly burning wick he will not quench (Isaiah 42:3, ESV). Oh, how often I faintly burn. He is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit (Psalm 34:18). Do you believe this? It’s at this point where we need to talk about the difference between believing in God, and believing God.

It is one thing to believe in God, to believe he exists, or that there is a creator. It is another thing to take him at his Word, that he loves his children and provides shelter for the fearful. When the disciples fear the storm, Jesus calls out the littleness (not total lack) of their faith, as they failed to remember who controls the wind and waves (Matthew 8). In his exhortation to not be anxious about anything, Jesus tells us to remember birds and lilies - God cares deeply for them, how much more us? You may believe in God, but do you believe God when he says he cares about you?

This can all be culminated in God’s interacting with Elijah in 1 Kings 19 as Elijah had run 20 miles to flee for his life from Jezebel. Tired and on the run, he sits down under a tree, and asks God to take his life. The troubles of being God’s messenger had brought Elijah to a suicidal disposition, and as he lays down in the wilderness what does he find? A baked cake, water, and sleep - or as Ardavanis puts it: “a nap and a snack”, and it was only upon Elijah’s waking, that God put him back in the game.

There are plenty of reasons to fear in this world - if you find yourself among the waves, on the run, or in the valley, the Lord is with you and ready to give you what you need. Turn to him to find rest (and sometimes cake), and be restored, for though the journey is long, He goes with us.