I Am Not Okay

“Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing; heal me, O Lord, for my bones are troubled. My soul also is greatly troubled. But you, O Lord,- how long?” Psalms 6: 2-3

            In a nutshell, this is how I’ve been feeling. We’re in a season of waiting, patience, testing, and preparing. I think the hardest and most humbling part of this season is that we may never see God’s promise on this side of Heaven. What we’ve prayed for, what we’ve been waiting on, what we’ve hoped for, may never come in this lifetime.

            And that’s okay.

            I would rather live this life without any promises of material possessions answered and live with the Ultimate Promise of eternity with my Lord and Savior than to live with the riches and notoriety of this world and not be able to enter the presence of Jesus. As much as I know that and I’m okay with that, what I don’t think enough people talk about is grieving the hopes and dreams for your life. Surrendering to God’s will and His promise isn’t easy, it isn’t supposed to be. We have to be strong enough to allow the strength of the Holy Spirit to work within us to lay down our plans at the feet of Jesus. And sometimes that sucks.

            And that’s okay.

            It’s okay to grieve.

            It’s okay to not be okay.

            It is the anti-thesis of Jesus to shield our emotions, to hide away, to put on a mask.

            In the hours before His crucifixion, Jesus grieved.

            He was anxious.

            He was not okay.

            But He did what many don’t. He was honest. He asked to not have to go through with it. He prayed. And He surrendered.

            I am not okay.

            I’ve been struggling emotionally, physically, and mentally. Questions like “What does it all mean?” “What’s my purpose?” “Lord, what do I do with my life?” “Lord, why have I not done anything of importance with my life this far?” “Lord, why do I feel like a failure?”

            That’s not even the brunt of it.

            Last night, I read the first chapter of “When God Weeps” by Steven Estes and Joni Eareckson Tada and immediately I was hit with guilt and shame for what I felt. Joni is a quadriplegic and had been since she was fourteen due to a diving accident. As I was reading, all I could think about was how selfish I’ve been for feeling this way when this profound woman found God’s goodness while being confined to a wheelchair for the majority of her life. If her story wasn’t bad, she detailed a mission trip that she went on, while still confined to a wheelchair, on the streets of Ghana. There they met with a Pastor who frequented a part of town that was riddled with disabled, homeless citizens. Citizens whose limbs were either missing or mangled. Joni’s company traveled to Ghana to deliver medical equipment to these citizens who had been suffering for God knows how long.

            Joni, herself, even questioned about God’s presence when she witnessed the conditions that these people lived in but was humbled when these people openly praised His name, with big toothy grins, and humble hearts. A quote from her book has stuck with me, one of the residents that she spoke to said, “I don’t get it, westerners. You want what you do not have, and you do not want what you do have.”         

            Immediately, I felt sick to my stomach. Shameful. Guilty. Here I am, able-bodied, cognizant, three beautiful healthy children, and a loving, dutiful and God-fearing husband yet I’m crying because my ego and pride have taken a hit because my family had to move back in with my parents and I gained a pound after I had been intensely dieting for the last couple of weeks. My world was rocked.

            I don’t care what anyone says, there is privilege in this world, and much of the western world has it. We cry and moan if the smallest bit of discomfort enters our lives, like we refuse to remember what the disciples went through, how often they were writing from prison, or had just endured a beating.

            However, those feelings weren’t from God, because they weren’t convicting. I couldn’t see reason; I condemned my own feelings because someone had it worse than me. Here’s the thing, someone is always going to have it worse, but should that take away from our own version of sufferings? No. Just in the same way, that someone always has it better. That shouldn’t mean we give less glory to God because our blessing looks different.

            There’s no winning in this world, but there is in the name of Jesus Christ. While my suffering may seem trivial to some, it isn’t to me. I’m feeling the emotions of anxiety, despair, hopelessness, and depression…. And that’s okay.

            What’s not okay is to stay in the pit. What’s not okay is to deny God’s hand when He reaches in to pick me up and pull me out. No matter what our suffering looks like, it’s okay to feel whatever negative feelings come along with it because that’s where God needs us to be to prove that He is greater than the troubling season that we are in. However, even when we are in the trenches, we can look to our brothers and sisters in Christ, who are suffering worse than us and finding joy in their chaos to help us find joy in our own.

            Suffering isn’t a competition, it’s a place where God can meet you. A place of comfort, of joy, of resolution, of God’s glory, and His majesty. A song that I appreciate, that reminds me of many of King David’s psalms about his grief and turmoil is “I am Not Okay” by Jelly Roll. Honestly, Jelly Roll is an artist that I appreciate because of the raw vulnerability that he presents in his songs.

            “I am not okay, but it’s all going to be alright.”

            I am not okay, and that’s okay, but with Him, it’s all going to be alright.