The Beauty of Hitting Bottom

Many people in the church like to talk about the “Mountain Top Experience;” that place in their walk with Jesus where God is real and life is peachy.

God never meets me there anymore.

He used to, back when I was in High School and College. But either my faith has become dyslexic, or it’s matured to the point where God can kick me around a little and I won’t run away crying. Of course, lately, I’ve been tempted.

I’ll be losing my job in a couple months so I can stay home with my newborn son while my wife goes back to work. Of course, I’d rather have the job that supports us both, and she’d rather be the stay-at-home mommy. All hail God’s sovereign sense of humor. It just feels like everything in my life I would like to change is staying constant, and every constant I hold dear is changing. I’ve never dealt with change well, and to have my life become this tumult of chaos is dearly overloading my system. Have I mentioned I’m not really sleeping all that well?

These are the times when jokes about my sanity are no longer funny.

These are also the times where one begins to separate the truth that God will not allow us to be tempted beyond what we can bear, and the absurd belief that God will not give us more than we can handle. Anyone who believes that tripe as never read Job, or the account of Noah, or Moses, or Daniel, or Elijah, or Joshua, or… or… or… The truth is that God gets a kick out of giving us more than we can handle so that He can swoop in at just the right moment and prove He’s big enough to deal with it.

He also likes pushing us to our limits, showing us how far we can go, and what we’re capable of enduring under with when we need to. My personal perspective of God, for the time being, is set in a boxing ring. God the Father is in the stands cheering me on. The Holy Spirit is standing in my corner shouting encouragements and counsel. Jesus is in the ring with me, and He’s kicking my ass. He’s not doing this to be mean, He’s simply working out my salvation. (Philippians 2:12-13) He’s changing me, molding me, pummeling flab, toning muscle, building endurance.

Of course, there are points in the process when I can no longer stand, and I’m feeling myself heading towards the mat. Not the mountain top with lush green slopes and a breath taking view, but the dried up riverbed in the lowest point of a desert valley. I’ve made this trip before, and last time Jesus was there at the bottom waiting for me.

He was there the time before that too.

He’s there this time; I can see Him waiting patiently as I finish tumbling down the rocky ridge.

When I finally land, I won’t hit the ground.

The trip down is like a visit to breath-takingly beautiful Yellowstone National Park, particularly from Denver. The memory of the eight hours you just spent driving through Nada, Wyoming, is quickly swept away by the view. In the same way, landing in the arms of Jesus is worth the bumps and bruises I collected on the decent. Even when it’s just catch and release. Even when it’s just a momentary reminder that He is still with me.

I hit bottom.

Jesus was waiting, right where He promised He’d be.

Catch and release.

Even Yellowstone doesn’t compare to this.