It Is the Hard That Makes it Rich

Two of my favorite childhood memories of my dad were the sound of his feet on the gravel outside our tent in the morning on a family camping trip, and the sight of his morning ritual of praying and reading the Bible over his breakfast cereal at our house.

One of my favorite things about my husband is his own habit of listening to a Ravi Zacharias talk in the morning.  I can hear the opening music in my head right now.  Chris and I have the same Bible app on our phones, and we both like listening to Ravi's talks on that app.  I loved his autobiography, Walking from East to West, where he talks about growing up in India, his attempted suicide, meeting God on his death bed, and what has happened since then.  In fact, listening to this bicultural Christian speaker has made me more curious about his home country.  An Indian woman came in to Starbucks yesterday and I think I may have been glowing just a bit as she told me in her beautiful accent where she was from! 

I like walking.  (To all you chick flick lovers out there, taking a walk makes me feel like Elizabeth Bennet.  I can hear Matthew Macfadyen and Keira Knightley saying, "I'm very fond of walking."  "Yes!")  A couple of days ago, I took a walk along the Arkansas River and a new favorite Tulsa trail while listening to Ravi's intellectual thoughts about Christian spirituality and life on my headphones.  It was so energizing, a real body, mind, and spirit pick-me-up.  It also didn't hurt that I was wearing the spiffy new lululemon pants that Chris bought me for our anniversary...

Somewhere along the tree-lined path, I was struck by a part of Ravi's talk entitled "Why Hope?" where he quotes the late British writer, media personality, and former spy, Malcolm Muggeridge:

"Contrary to what might be expected, I look back on experiences that, at the time, seemed especially desolating and painful with particular satisfaction.  Indeed, I can say with complete truthfulness that everything I have learned in my 75 years in this world, everything that has truly enhanced and enlightened my existence has been through affliction and not through happiness, whether pursued or attained.  In other words, if it were ever to be possible to eliminate affliction from our earthly existence by means of some drug or other medical mumbo jumbo, the result would not be to make life delectable, but to make it too banal and trivial to be endurable.  This, of course, is what the cross of Jesus Christ signifies, and it is the cross of Christ more than anything else that has called me inexorably to Christ."

Muggeridge's words acted like salve to my own wounded heart and mind.  I felt relieved hearing them.  Sometimes it feels like there is this expectation to be happy all the time, this idea that if I'm not happy, I have let other people down, am bringing them down, or have failed to meet some standard.  It's this subtle but oppressive message that I think exists out there in our culture.  I can sometimes get irked just by being asked, "How are you?" in a situation where I know that full disclosure would be socially inappropriate.

"Fine."

Really?  I mean sometimes, maybe most of the time, I am fine or good even.  But sometimes, the most comforting thing I can be reminded of is that it is okay that I'm having a hard time.  It is okay to feel not okay.  Because in those times, God is working in me in a special way.  I love the part of Hebrews 12 where it says,

"Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as his children.  No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful.  Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it."

It helps me so much to remember that there is meaning even in my pain.  I am not forgotten!  He has not taken his eyes off of me.  He is still El Roi.  In fact, through my pain, God is loving me dearly, deeply, and purposefully.

As a freshman at Texas A&M, I used to go to Sunday night Christian services at All Faiths Chapel with my good friend, Leslie.  There was this one preacher who was especially eclectic, and I liked his sermons a lot.  I, sadly, do not remember his name or even what he looked like, but I will never forget something important he said one Sunday night as he spoke wisely about how hard life can be:

"It is the hard that makes it rich."