BEYOND COPING STRATEGIES AND QUICK FIXES: WHY TRUSTING THE LORD IS BETTER (AND HARDER)
*This post originally appeared on the HTC Blog
I love the fall. I love leaves changing color. I love playoff baseball. I love pumpkin anything, but most of all, I love the marking of a new season. Working with college students for 18 years and in the local church for the last 5, Labor Day has always heralded the beginning of a new year. It’s the closing of the slower-paced summer season with its unhurried time, and the start of new routines, brimming with opportunities and new friends I’m eager to meet. Except not this year. Not Fall 2020. No, Fall 2020 is shaping up to look an awful lot like Summer 2020, which looked a lot like Spring 2020. Every day is Groundhog's Day on a never-ending Zoom call trapped within the same four walls that serve as my bedroom, my office, and my church. In a moment of clarity last week, it occurred to me that this fall is not going to usher in a brand new season with the fresh winds of change that I want, no, need it to. And suddenly all of my coping strategies and go-to distractions that have helped me survive this pandemic, seemed to be crumbling all around and threatening to plunge me into a pit of despair. I was left wondering in what, or in whom, have I actually been placing my trust?
As I reflect over the last 5 months, I realize that I have been telling myself that I was managing okay. At the beginning of the pandemic and quarantining, I experienced a lot of grief, and I was recognizing losses; I was crying out to the Lord—I was learning to lament. And then things just began to normalize. The weather got nicer and the longer hours of daylight lifted our collective mood. I got used to masking-up for the grocery store run, I learned about my need to take daily walks, and I started initiating socially distanced meetups with friends. “Okay, we’re doing this,” I thought. “I can manage the spring like this. Oh, and the summer too? Okay, the summer too.”
But as the weeks have turned into months and the months are steamrolling into seasons, I am over it. Without realizing it, I had been waiting for the fall, determined that kids going back to school and the smell of bonfires in the air was what I needed to feel better and make all of this go away. In my mind, Labor Day was the unspoken marker for using my flight credits to take postponed Florida vacation, for having work meetings in person, for taking the “L” downtown, for fill-in-the-blank—everything was going to be possible again come September! But the ever-increasing cases of COVID-19, and the lag in testing and vaccines, and the disruption to the start of the school year, all seem to scream at me: this isn’t going to be over any time soon! The weight of all of it, on top of the political turmoil and racial injustice boiling over in our country these last months, is enough to crush even the most optimistic among us.
In a recent podcast, former First Lady Michelle Obama described her experience with what she called “low-grade depression.” She’s not alone. More than 30% of adults report symptoms consistent with anxiety or depression since the coronavirus pandemic began according to a Kaiser Family Foundation study. Symptoms include loss of sleep, feelings of helplessness, low energy, lack of enthusiasm for things that are normally interesting—yes, I can relate. As it turns out, I’m not actually “managing okay,” as I tried to tell myself. I am simply surviving, exhausted, mildly depressed, and biding my time until this is over. When it finally caught up to me that the long-awaited 3-day weekend in September was not going to bring the change in circumstances and the relief I longed for, I was ready to admit that my coping mechanisms and self pep talks were not going to be enough to move beyond survival. Perhaps it was time to reset my focus.
How many times have I been here before? That moment I realize that I’ve reached the end of myself. The moment the curtain is pulled back, and I can see the myriad of things and strategies I’ve turned to apart from the Lord. It is so easy to seek out a set of circumstances that I think will take my pain away. Things will get better as soon as school starts, as soon as this task is over, as soon as that event happens. I want a quick fix—a date on the calendar, retail therapy, a friend, a coworker, someone, anyone—to ease my anxiety, to relieve my fears, to make me happy again.
The truth is that it’s often easier to set my heart on these things than it is to turn to the Lord. The “things” are tangible. The date on the calendar will come, the new shirt will make me happy for at least a few hours. But, the Lord, He is mysterious. I don’t know what He is doing. It’s hard to hear His voice or see His hand in times like this. And so I decide to just take care of myself, to muster up some positivity, to distract myself with Netflix, to gut it out until... Until it doesn’t work anymore. The “things” only satisfy for a little while, the event comes and goes, and I’m always left wanting more.
This is the part where I’d like to write about the magic solution. If you just do XYZ, you too can restore your joy and satisfaction in the Lord and feel all better. But you probably wouldn't believe me. And if I’m actually going to Scripture to understand the bigger story that I am a part of, and if I’m seeking to follow the path of our crucified Savior, then I wouldn't believe me either. The cosmic, eternal, mysterious, unfolding purposes of God and our hidden life in Christ are not quick fixes or coping strategies.
In my sin and in my weakness, I am always looking for other things to quiet the anxieties, to still the fears, to ease the pain. It’s not just the pandemic or the lack of changing circumstances that cause me to want an easy way out. It’s buried deeper inside of me. It’s the curse of sin and the pride of self-sufficiency. When Jesus confronted the Jews with the message that life can only be found in Him and not the comforts of this world, even many of his disciples left him. They grumbled and said it was just too hard. But when Jesus asked the twelve if they want to leave also, Simon Peter offers the words that rumble around in my heart in seasons like this. He says, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God” (John 6:68–69).
I’m realizing that beyond the coping strategies and quick fixes for my anxiety and fears, there is a much deeper balm for my weary soul. The decades spent getting to know the Lord and believe His words have shown me that there is truly nowhere else to go. No one else has an answer for the problem of my sin, and no coping mechanism can offer the words of eternal life. There is no easy path to a pain-free life, but there is simple trust in the One who suffered and died for me. My flesh grasps and strains toward lesser things, toward easy outs, but my heart is caught up in the bigger story. Ultimately, I come to the end of myself, knowing that my coping strategies will fail and my hope in a changing calendar will disappoint, but the Lord never will.
So what are we to do if there is no magic formula or quick fix? How do we trust the Lord and not look to other things? Honestly, the only thing I know how to do is take it one day, sometimes one minute, at a time. Breath prayers, or short, in-the-moment cries to the Lord, snap my attention back to what is true. The Lord of all Creation is ready and waiting to hear my cry to Him about whatever I am facing. When things feel out of control, responding in prayer, as an act of faith, helps to quiet my racing mind. As well, coming to God’s Word to situate my life, and this present painful moment, in His bigger story helps me stay connected to what is eternally true. This trial, this pain, will not last forever, and I can endure it now as I am united with Christ and filled with the Holy Spirit. And ultimately, I have to seek to live out this story in a community of people who are trying to do the same. I have to surround myself with men and women who are also sensitive to the temptation to trust in lesser things and who also talk about the gospel as if it is our only hope. Sometimes all I can do is lean on their faith when mine is weak. These things are far harder than buying a new pair of earrings or turning on Netflix, but they are ultimately far more satisfying, and the only way I know how to cultivate hope that endures beyond the changing seasons.
As I locate myself in God’s story, it shouldn’t surprise me that Scripture echoes the deepest cries of my heart. Thousands of years ago the psalmist, Asaph, wrote these words that give utterance to my prayers today:
When my soul was embittered,
when I was pricked in heart,
I was brutish and ignorant;
I was like a beast toward you.Nevertheless, I am continually with you;
you hold my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel,
and afterward you will receive me to glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever”Psalm 73:21-26