A few days ago, I got my first full-blown case of food poisoning, Africa style. I’ll spare the gory details, but the physical misery, combined with being thousands of miles away from my mom and being confined to a thin mat on a concrete floor made it one of the worst experiences of my life. That may sound a little melodramatic, but there’s something about being sick that casts a veil of hopelessness over everything. As I laid in my bed, I focused 75% of my energy on not throwing up again, and the other 25% wondering why in the world I had thought coming to Africa was a good idea in the first place. At that point, finishing the Race seemed impossible, but I had neither the energy nor the cash to get my butt on a plane home, so I decided to wait it out.
Our wonderful host family would come and visit and pray for me. “God is able,” Papa Peter would tell me. “He will heal you.” I offered a small nod in agreement but in my mind, I sardonically replied that the only thing healing me was the fact that I had just rid my body of everything I had eaten within the past 3 days. I was pissed, discouraged, miserable, and over it all.
This ordeal happened two days ago, and today I decided I could muster up the energy to go out with my team, even though I still felt a little sick. I didn’t know what was on the schedule for the day until we walked out the door. We were going to visit a village where survivors of the Rwandan genocide lived. My self-pity shifted into guilt. How could I allow myself to feel so pitiful when these people had endured so much?
I flipped this question over in my head as we walked to the village. It was unusually hot for the morning and I became fatigued quickly. My EMT instincts told me I was dehydrated, but it was too late to turn back. Instead, I kept walking, angry and bitter at God for allowing me to feel so awful when I was just trying to “do His will.” I put on my sunglasses to hide my tears of nausea and weakness from my teammates. I reminded myself of a quote that my teammate, Alexa, had said to me the other day: “Grace says it’s okay to not be okay.”
After an hour of walking, we arrived at the village. We were welcomed into the home of our translator’s friend. Her name was Grace. After some brief introduction and small talk, Grace surprised me by standing up in the front of her small living room, wanting to encourage us. She told us to read Isaiah 41:11-13.
“All who rage against you will surely be ashamed and disgraced;those who oppose you will be as nothing and perish. Though you search for your enemies, you will not find them. Those who wage war against you will be as nothing at all. For I am the Lord, your God, who takes hold of your right hand And says to you, ‘Do not fear; I will help you.’”
Grace talked to us about the genocide. She tearfully told us how awful it was, but that even when the killers were mutilating her arms with machetes, God was holding her right hand. She lost her husband and children, but told us that light had come out of that darkness. She was not numb to the pain that had happened to her, but she was so confident that God was still good.
My frame of mind shifted, and I realized in my bitterness I had been holding God to promises that he never made. God never promised me that this year, or this life, would be easy. He never promised me joy all the time. He never promised an absence of pain or sickness, at least not in this world. But he did promise me himself. He promised me hope. He promised to carry me through the big picture when I was hung up on the minute details.
Grace realized this and embraced it. Grace told me that it was okay to not be okay, but that God was still God, and he was still good.
Romans 5:3-4 says, “We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.”
I think some people (myself included) expect hope to extinguish suffering altogether. We expect there to be some troubles, but to joyfully endure them because we have an abundance of hope. But that is not the case. The development of hope is a process, and sometimes there is a disconnect between suffering and the understanding that there is purpose in it. Our only responsibility is to not drown in the disconnect. To trust and have faith that the process of suffering will progress, and that God’s promises are true even when we don’t feel them. Grace says that we don’t have to be strong, but that God will be our strength. He will carry us through.
Grace says it’s okay to not be okay.
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