Don't Give Up

When God Speaks to a Weary Heart

The reactions I get are pretty consistent. From mild shock ("Whoa, wow...") or empathy ("Oh man, I'm sorry...") to equally tepid commitments to pray for me or to keep an eye out for opportunities, when people learn that I've been out of work for 16 months – yes, 1 year and four months, no typo – I can feel their own sense of helplessness, sometimes mixed with relief that I'm the one facing this and not them. Sometimes, it can even seem like they look at me as a bit of a leper, as if they'll catch what I've got if they get too close. In the rare case, I can sense a subtle judgment, as if somehow this is all my doing – that if I'd just tried harder, surely I'd have a steady job by now. As a result, this whole process of unemployment/job search/open to work can end up feeling quite lonely.

Add to this that I spend the majority of my days alone. Sure, my wife is working (thankfully) upstairs in our study. But my reality is that I'm no longer in consistent contact with beloved colleagues or trusted teammates. I'm no longer collaborating with people I respect and admire on projects with purpose or meaning. And, let's get really real for a second, I'm no longer able to afford to do recreational things with people who know me, love me, or who can be a safe place for processing what I'm thinking or feeling, or just forgetting where I'm at for a while. The truth is that solitude, which can so often be good for the soul, can also be quite soul-crushing. After all, as the Bible says, we weren't made to be alone.

On top of all that, add a job search process where ghosting seems to be the norm not the exception – even when you've already established meaningful dialogue and apparent alignment with top leaders in an organization. The repeated cycle of hope and rejection, often inexplicable and without any feedback loop, further punctuates the idea that you are alone here. Worse, you're left to wonder what you lacked or maybe what you did wrong. Dwell there long enough, and you may even start to wonder what you did to deserve all of this.

I think it's why I find myself no longer wanting to talk about my situation, or even bring it up. My ongoing optimism, a core part of who I am, has certainly taken a beating and been tested severely by this long drought. At this point, it can too often (to me, at least) sound quite shallow or pie-in-the-sky. On the other hand, while my faith in God hasn't really wavered (well, not for longer than a day) and I'm generally quick to sing His praises to others for His provision, faithfulness, and goodness, I do find myself increasingly letting Him know what I think or how I feel, and calling on Him to just do something, anything (“Can't you see what's going on down here?!"). And sometimes, when I'm really weary, I just avoid Him altogether, even though I know better. Even though I know deep down that He alone is my hope and what I truly need in this season (as clichéd as that admittedly sounds).

Even so, God has a funny way of showing up when you least expect it, or in ways you didn't anticipate.

This happened to me again yesterday morning, as I sat in my front room watching a sermon on my phone. Earlier in the weekend, I had journaled a single-word prayer I typically turn to when I feel I’m past the end of my rope and losing my grip: Help. Or more accurately, “Help. Help! H.E.L.P. HELP!” When I wrote that in my journal, I was battling clouds of sadness and feeling quite down. Now, on Sunday morning a day later, I was about to have a meeting with God Himself.

In that online sermon, the preacher (a bit of an old school, southern pentecostal type) took us to 1 Kings 19, a passage God has repeatedly brought to my attention over these last 16 months. My interest piqued, I was almost immediately hit with a spiritual two-by-four when this pastor highlighted something I’d completely missed up until now. To paraphrase its message, “I know how you got here, but what I want to know is what are you doing here now?” That may not seem like a lot to you, but it spoke volumes to me as I’d already felt a kinship with the discouraged prophet Elijah, who God was speaking to here. The pastor went on to talk about how God was encouraging the dejected prophet not to give up in his discouragement, but to keep his eyes focused forward on how this will all end up. To keep his eyes on the prize, so to speak. To keep his eyes on God. And to trust that more was going on than meets the eye.

It’s the message to not give up that really got to me, causing tears of gratitude and joy to fall. That’s because, though spoken months ago by a pastor at a church half a continent away, it felt incredibly personal – a direct word from God to me – as it’s a message He’s repeatedly spoken to me throughout the years. And one I can see He’s been highlighting over the last 16 months. Don’t give up, My son, don’t give up. Whatever it looks like now, this will all turn out better than you could hope. In response to my simple prayer – my admission of weakness, discouragement, and need – God was showing up to not only draw me forward step-by-feeble-step but also to let me know that He hears me, and is with me, no matter where I find myself. Knowing this, I can lift my head. Knowing this, I can go on. Knowing this, I can wait on Him and His timing.

Waking up today, I find myself with more energy. More hope. And more intention. Nothing outwardly has changed. And almost fittingly the cold skies outside Chicago continue to be dull and grey. But inwardly, I’m finding the revitalization that a follower of Jesus named Paul so famously wrote about over 2000 years ago:

”So we’re not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace. These hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us. There’s far more here than meets the eye. The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow. But the things we can’t see now will last forever.”
(1 Corinthians 4:17-18)

This, I’m learning, makes all the difference.

And that, my friends, is enough.

_RT