Problems, Problems, Problems

Lesson: Being Real Enough to Cry Out to God for Help

I hate San Bernardino. With a passion. I hate it with a purple passion. I don’t even know what that means, but older black people (with Southern roots) used to say it all the time. Whatever it means, that’s how much I hate this city.

This city represents every negative thing that’s ever happened in my life. I starve here, I am flabbergasted at the “ratchetry” here, I feel homeless here, I’m broke here, I feel too drained to be productive here, my car has costly troubles here, I can go on forever.

Fighting the Pressure

I try not to be bitter. I try not to wish my life was someone else’s. I try to be grateful for the life I have because there is truly beauty in the pain, in the misery, in the brokenness. I’ve never been bitter about not having what others have. Yes, I grew up poor, so I’d always notice that everyone else had things I didn’t. I’d wish I was a little more well-to-do. But it wouldn’t bother me too much. My hope was always to set myself up for a better future.

I can say that is happening, but it’s not as easy as I’d hoped. There always seems to be some sort of stifling going on to ruin things. I save my money year-round so I don’t have to be financially stressed, I can pay my bills over summer when my income is lessened, and I can enjoy life from time to time (something poor people don’t get to do often). This summer, however, I had to pay for much more than I’d planned to pay for, and now I seem to be broke not long after payday. On top of that, my credit score went down a couple months ago, and I still haven’t found out why (I never keep a balance, and I’m really good about managing credit wisely).

I paid to have my car fixed at the beginning of the summer. It’s up and running, but the check engine light came on. I paid to fix that problem this weekend, but it came back on yesterday. The “luxury” of having an older, used car is that there is always bound to be some form of maintenance to pay for.

And I just want to apologize
For all the times
I wished my life was someone else’s
I realize
It’s not up to me to understand the seasons
But I will trust you through it all
I’m at the threshold of faith
– Christian Sanders | “At the Threshold of Faith”

Running Away From the Pain

To keep you reading (if anyone decided to toil through my negativity), I’ll end the “problems section” here.

One thing that I’m constantly reminded of each day is my need for God. I can’t do this. I want to lose my mind. I want to give up daily. My doctor said these circumstances are messing with the normal functionality of my brain, and my health is being challenged. I can’t get anything done–nothing important, so I escape as much as I can. I work as much as I can. I volunteer at church as much as I can. I hate this city. (In case you didn’t get that by now.)

I’m on the phone with my mom– the most amazing and uplifting woman the world could ever offer. I feel bad tuning out half of what she’s saying as I write this. I got a D in my summer class, which won’t transfer. After years of seeing different doctors and finally finding one who takes time to look into what’s going on with me, I don’t think I’m stupid. I don’t think I’m a failure. But it sucks having to watch my life fall to pieces as God picks me up right at the brink of destruction. I take 18 units every semester, plus summer classes. With my double major, I have to if I want to graduate within five years. My mom said she feels like this won’t set me back. I rolled my eyes when she said that, but she’s always right. I don’t know how she can hear God the way she does. Her prayers and visions feel like the sole reason I’m still afloat, pressing on with what little strength I have left.

Downright, Utter Desperation

What I know is that I have no other choice but to cry out to God for help. I feel like Peter after many of the disciples left Jesus upset at the cost of following him. Jesus asked the remaining 12, “‘Do you want to go away as well?’ Simon Peter answered him, ‘Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life'” (John 6:67-68).

I feel like the woman with the issue of blood who had tried everything and spent all she had in pursuit of healing, but made a beautiful, staunch effort to seek Jesus as she left her doorstep (risking imprisonment), pushed through the crowds in desperation, and likely crawled through the street on her knees to reach with all the strength she had to interrupt Christ’s ministry with Jairus and tug just the hem of his garment, finally finding the healing she had been seeking for 12 years. (Luke 8:43-48)

I feel like the lady who poured everything she had on Jesus–oil worth THREE YEAR’S WAGES–to anoint him in preparation for his burial, as if to say: “Who you are and the work you’re doing is worth everything I have and more” (Mark 14:3-9).

The Aim of My Plea

“‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ … For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:9-10).

I cannot truthfully make the apostle Paul’s words here my own. Not yet. But I will get there. The truth is: I feel hopeless, but Christ is still my hope. My everything. And I’ll cry out in anguish to him until I find healing–physical or mental–because I know I need him. Desperately.