Most days are relatively uncomplicated. A little drama here or there, perhaps, but for the most part, the journey across the seas of life are smooth sailing. I find this to be ever more true as I age. It’s not that the frequency of the storms have changed; it’s just that I panic less these days at every little storm because I know that God is in the boat with me. I can see from the vantage point of time that each time I have emerged on the other side of the storm safe and secure.
Having said that, however, I can admit that I still have a tendency to feel overwhelmed when the storm clouds gather. Yesterday was one of those days. I’m not sure 
what the catalyst was, but I woke with an underlying sense of anxiety that I was unable to completely shake off. Even now, I can’t always identify the specific source of such inner tensions; in a way, experiencing general anxiety is much like sensing an approaching thunderstorm while the skies are still blue and cloudless. You just know, though you don’t know exactly how.
I used to call these my “chocolate days” because it seemed that the only tangible alleviations to my internal suffering, besides relentless prayer, was coffee and chocolate. I don’t know what chemical reactions happen within them to calm my restless spirit, but they always seemed to help somewhat. Mostly, though, when I feel like a washing machine spun horribly out of balance, I just hold on with everything I have, knowing that this, too, shall pass.
I had almost made it through the day, too, when I was waylaid by an unexpected encounter while picking up Noah from school. I wish that I could spill out my heart here to process the emotions that swept over me during those few fleeting moments, but I am silenced by too many boundaries. Someday this heartache will finally find expression in a story, or a novel, but for the moment, it is a quiet, private grief.
For the rest of the day, all the old unresolved sorrow, still lacking a closure I may never find, rolled and surged within me, and for the first time in a long time, I felt as though I may drown within those cold waters. I am blessed, though, to have a wife who understands and shares the burden of that nameless grief, as well as friends who have a gift to say the right words at the right time.
It would be too easy to fall back upon my old coping mechanisms, plastering on a phony smile and projecting a false sense of “all is well” to those who inquire, while my heart breaks afresh. Thankfully, though we are instructed to “rejoice always”, we can also take comfort in knowing that Jesus Christ was described as a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.
In fact, it is written, “we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are – yet was without sin. Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.”
I’m always glad to remember that God is not going to reject me for my flaws and moments of weakness; rather, that He has unrelenting compassion on me, even when I least deserve it, as frequently as that seems to be.
So, after a good night’s sleep, and a hot cup of coffee, I feel much better today, and once again, hoist my sails to press forward through these uncharted waters.
And, if you’ve made it this far through this post, thanks for being along for the ride.
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