looking through me

Tag: expectations


As my thoughts wander through concerns and unknowns—as I pray for people I love and people I don’t even know—I slump under the weight of weariness.

There’s so much to worry about, to be discouraged by or overwhelmed with in this troubled world. Yet in the midst of my woefulness, hope whispers into the bleakness:

God never wearies.
God never worries.
God is inexhaustible.

It stops me in my mental tracks. God can never be exhausted—neither used up nor worn out. What rests heavily on my heart does not tire Him, does not cause Him to fret, does not fatigue His sovereignty. That’s not to say He is unmoved by it. He cares more deeply than I do, but He is not anxious about it. He is not limited by it.

He is strong enough, gracious enough, loving enough, just enough to carry me through this without being depleted of an ounce of His God-ness.

I look again at what troubles me and I am awestruck—He is not wearied by my questions and not worried by my what ifs. His peace is bigger than my fear.

I will never wear out or reach the end of His love for me. He was and is and always will be utterly inexhaustible.


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I bite on expectation’s illusion, but often the flavor of my days doesn’t pan out as I assumed it would.

Like Monday . . .

Grandpa’s surgery was delayed several hours and then took much longer than the doctors anticipated.

As I waited for updates, an email landed in my inbox saying a friend’s grammy slipped away while her daughters held her hands—and no amount of expectation makes it easier to witness the fabric of a family forever altered.

My heart ached under the heaviness of the unexpected. I prayed over and over, “God . . . please . . . I trust you . . . help my unbelief . . . hold us when we can’t hold on . . . please . . . God.”

Later in the day, when my friend called to talk through the details of how to best mourn with her family—wear black to the funeral, but don’t send flowers—where was I? In the grocery store. I listened to one heart grapple with the unwieldy weight of grief as I collected ingredients to serve to other weary hearts.

Because in the swirl of unexpected, sometimes food is the best love I can offer.

So I plucked mint leaves, squeezed a lemon and grated parmesan for mint-pea pesto. I sliced mozzarella, pitted plums, toasted pine nuts and reduced vinegar for a salad. And all the while I begged for God’s mercy to envelop and nourish those I love.

In days filled with the souring of expectations, I can call my people to the table and feed them . . . and sometimes, that is sweet enough.


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