A Blip in Time

Four years ago this fall, my phone buzzed with a text from my brother-in-law. Honestly, it feels as though an entire decade has passed in that time. I had forgotten about the text. It popped up again this week as I was searching for something in my phone. It reads:

“I know that you are in a whirlwind right now. To the point where it likely seems like almost more than you can bare. Only you can define that but give yourself the credit that you deserve and put everything else on a shelf to tend to later. Focus only on what’s right in front of you. Compartmentalize what you can deal with today and what needs to get addressed tomorrow. If you need help ask for it, whether it’s from family or a complete stranger. I have no idea why God has allowed you to shoulder all of this at once but I’m pretty positive that it’s probably for your testimony to someone you haven’t even met yet.

I know this has to be hard but it truly is a blip in time. Think about all that you’ve gone through or have done in earlier years and how little fragments of memory pop up out of nowhere for you to recall. And those memories seem like so long ago and yet seem like only yesterday. Right now will be the exact same way in a very short amount of time even though it feels like it’s lasting an eternity.”

At the time, my life felt almost impossible to hold.

After more than a year of trauma and my life being turned inside out, I went through a divorce followed almost immediately by a car accident that totaled my car. At the same time, an unrelated hip injury grew more painful with every step until surgery became unavoidable. Four weeks in a wheelchair followed, leaving me almost completely dependent on others to help care for me, my home, and my children. Those children were adolescents trying to make sense of their own world being turned upside down. One just beginning high school and the other with Level 2 Autism who thrives on a routine that doesn't change and who also feeds off of Mom's energy. Also, nightly panic attacks had become my normal. I hadn’t slept through the night in well over a year, and exhaustion magnified everything. My nervous system simply couldn’t settle.

Each event would have been enough on its own. Together, they created the kind of whirlwind where I stopped asking, “What’s next?” because I was simply trying to survive what was already here. Before long, I wasn’t just reacting to what had happened, I was bracing myself for what I was sure would happen next. Paranoia was at an all-time high.

When I read the words I wasn’t ready to believe, I clung onto them as a bit of a mantra:

“Right now will be the exact same way in a very short amount of time even though it feels like it’s lasting an eternity.”

He was right. In His infinite wisdom, God uses time as one of His instruments of healing. The scars remain, but suffering slowly becomes both memory and teacher.

This past Sunday’s Gospel begins with Jesus saying, “Do not be afraid.”

I’ve always found that command a little curious and challenging for my anxious brain. Jesus doesn’t say it after everything has settled down. He says it while sending the disciples into difficulty. Jeremiah sings God’s praises while his enemies are still surrounding him. The promise isn’t that life will become easy. The promise is that God remains faithful in the middle of it.

Looking back, I realize that God rarely showed me the whole road. He simply gave me enough grace for the next step.

The next doctor’s appointment.

The next conversation.

The next morning.

Sometimes it’s just the next hour in the dark night.

That was and is enough.

My challenge to you today is this: lean into His grace to survive your next step.

Another sentence from that old text catches me differently now:

“It’s probably for your testimony to someone you haven’t even met yet.”

When I first read those words, I wanted relief more than purpose. At that point, I wasn’t looking for a mission. I was simply trying to survive. Today I understand that God often gives both relief and purpose, but not at the same time. Sometimes He carries us first and meaning comes later.

Perhaps that’s one of the hallmarks of Christian hope: we don’t pretend suffering is good, but we simply trust that nothing placed into Christ’s hands is ever wasted.

Perhaps that’s why I feel called to write. Four years ago, my brother-in-law wondered whether this suffering might become a testimony for someone I hadn’t yet met. Today, I know he was right. Maybe this is that testimony. Maybe you’re the person he was talking about. I'm not encouraging you to rush healing or to rush into the "mission" portion of this part of your life. My pain will not be wasted, and I want you to know that neither will yours.

What once felt endless becomes, as my brother-in-law said, a blip in time. The pain was not small, but God’s faithfulness turned out to be so much larger.

Whatever blip in time you find yourself living right now, remember this: it will not always feel the way it feels today. One day, you’ll look back and realize that God was faithful in every step you thought you couldn’t take. He is faithful still.