crap.

This world is full of crap—and not just the I-had-a-bad-day, a-cop-pulled-me-over-and-gave-me-a-ticket crap (which happened to me the other day), but real crap. Deep hurt. Brutal pain. Hopeless agony. Utter despair.

I’ve been blessed to enjoy a rather peaceful existence. The extent of my pain has been loss of friendships and scholastic rejection. At times, I wish I suffered more. I feel like my lack of life-altering trials discredits the advice, consolation, and encouragement I offer others who are hurting. I’ve wondered if more hardships might enable me to better identify and comfort those who are struggling.

But I’ve realized my lack of struggles are in no way an indication of my inability to nurture, shepherd, and help those who are suffering. God can still use me.

So many of my friends are in dark places right now. The devil is trying to grab hold of them, isolate them, make them feel scared, warp their perception of reality. Some feel a constant presence of darkness all around them, some are confused, and some just tire of trials.

As they relate to me their problems, part of me is afraid to answer, part of me doesn’t know what to say.

I don’t want to sound like a cheesy Hallmark greeting card, reassuring them that “God’s got a plan” or that "everything will heal with time." Because while that’s true, let’s be honest: no one wants to hear that in the height of their pain.

I don’t want to sound condemning, have them think I am judging them or minimizing their pain and struggle because I have yet to undergo what they are feeling.

I have no idea what this is like. I have no idea what to say.

As I stumble for the right words to say, I ask, “Do you want to know what I think?”

After receiving any range of affirmative responses: a nod, a grunt, a “sure”, or an “OK”,

I say, “I think it’s the devil.”

Silence.

“He’s trying to isolate you, trap you, make you feel hopeless, make you feel scared and alone. There’s this battle above us between God and Satan. And Satan’s trying to get as many people as he can to be on his side. He’s trying to beat God. But God is so much stronger. His power triumphs over Satan’s. In fact, he’s so powerful, that just uttering his name will send Satan running. So there is hope: our hope is in God. We can rely on him. He’ll overpower Satan. He’ll fight for us.”

Silence.

The epic battle between good and evil is present in every scenario. God is good. Satan is evil. The pain and the agony we may feel aren’t from God. They’re from Satan. Yet he doesn’t have power over us. God is triumphant. And there’s hope in that.

I’ve felt his love, and I want them to. I believe his majesty resides in me, and I want them to. I can’t necessarily be their rock, but I can point them towards mine. But how do I take them there? How do I show them that?

I’m not sure I can. I can’t be their hope. I can't take their pain away. But I can introduce them to mine. I can take them to someone who can.

I don’t need to have walked through the fire to do that; I can help foster restoration in those who hurt without experiencing their pain.

Right now, I think I can serve as one who reminds them over and over again that they are worth something. They are something worth fighting for. They are important. They matter.

I’ve realized that a lot of personal struggle is intensified by a skewed perception of one’s self-worth. It’s sad that after all this Sunday school and Christian education, kids are still missing the point (which makes me wonder about the church's "Children's Ministry"...) that they are a child of the king, an heir of grace, a beautiful, magnificent creation. Their identity is not contingent on the inconsistency of their life and shifting circumstances, but on the unwavering constancy of our relentless God.

Someone told me recently, “Sometimes you confuse me. I don’t deserve your help.” My heart leaped at this paradoxical compliment. The beauty of God’s kingdom is confusing: it turns our world upside-down. Our world has no conception of God’s freedom, grace, and mercy: people are intent on getting what they deserve. But God, in his righteousness, has "lavished his love upon us", sent his only Son to die for us. We don’t deserve it. We haven’t done anything worthy of receiving it. But he gives it to us anyway. Freely. It doesn’t make sense.

And now, I’m told that I’m not making sense. But how cool is that? To be God’s. To follow him. To desire to reflect him. And to not make sense in this world. Because of that.

As I think about my life, my strengths, my weaknesses, and my circumstances, I feel like these might be the people I’m supposed to minister to: the ones in pain, the ones in agony, the ones stuck in a pit of hopelessness. I’ve never experienced true, deep suffering. I can’t always relate to people. I don’t always know what to say. But our God is mighty. And he can use anyone as the tool or the avenue through which he reveals his heart to one of his beloved, a lost soul, one thirsting for hope. And in that, here’s what I’ve learned:

This crap isn’t the end. There is hope. We are worth something. God’s grace is freely given. I can be a light.

And

“The LORD will fight for you; you need only be still.”

Exodus 14:14