The Intentional Search

 

Several towering pine trees can be seen through the left side of our bedroom windows. Since we moved to this house about four years ago they’ve become one of my favorite views. They aren’t super glamorous. I’m sure most people would find them forgettable, but because the peaks of the light green prickly trees make up most of the scenery from my side of the bed, I’ve spent a fair share of time admiring them. The pine needles on the trees are extremely delicate so they are often at the mercy of our Midwest winds. I enjoy watching the invisible force that comes in sporadic waves pushing the featherweight needles and long branches this way and that. 

 

The giant trees’ movements are most often like watching a buoy gently bouncing in a lake, but at other times, they are wild and unpredictable. 

 

And yet on one tough day, when I looked outside to find solace in the blowing branches, I found them to be completely still. Knowing the flexibility at which the needles can bend I tried to comprehend how it was possible for them not to move, at all. I squinted my eyes and focused intently on the most vulnerable parts of the tree, straining to see the slightest quiver. Surely air made up of particles and debris too small for the eye to see were all around it. So why couldn’t I see any evidence of it? 

 

I didn’t realize how strong my preference was to see the breeze until I witnessed its absence. That day, my window frame presented an eerie staleness to the outside world. It was the opposite of comforting; it actually started to creep me out. The internal unsettling I felt over this seemingly small human experience was strange. I began wondering about what was stirring within me.

 

While I searched for answers, I found a strong relation between the stagnant wind to God’s unseen presence in my circumstances. I yearned to be assured by the invisible wind’s existence, just as I desired to find assurance from an invisible God. 

 

I wanted to see how something unseeable could powerfully bend, pull, and move the physical matter around it in any way it wished. 

 

My humanity longed for something human; some tangible material that my eyes could feast on so that I could say, “Aha! I knew it! The wind is there.” And if the wind is a reason to believe in the unseen then maybe there was still a reason for me to have faith that God was doing something on my behalf; that He wasn’t just sitting there apathetic to the trials of my life. Or too busy helping someone else who is more important. 

 

Sometimes, or maybe more accurately, many times, it is hard to persevere in our faith when God’s work seems to be hiding behind a curtain to the physical realm. A season when His plan provides nothing to touch, nothing to document, nothing to see causing us to say, “Aha! I knew it! God is here.” 

 

This is when the rubber meets the road. When one’s faith is tested, sometimes to its breaking point. It’s when our patience is stretched as far as we could possibly imagine and our eyes are desperate for a win.

 

I recently heard of the term ‘micro-win’ for the first time in episode 82 of the Good Hard Story Podcast. Guest speaker Lysa Terkurst explains how important it is to acknowledge the smallest victories in the midst of serious trials, also known as a micro-win. It is true that in the deepest parts of our valley, we are blessed and even spared from certain sorrows and pain. Being vigilant for small seeds of hope can encourage the heart.

 

This was an interesting phenomenon for me to experience. As we trudged through our hardship with church, unemployment, and estrangement from family and friends, there was a sprinkling of answered prayers and unexpected gifts from God. 

 

Nevertheless, it can be a real struggle to fully appreciate the highlights of life while we are in the thick of a trial. That’s why Lysa emphasizes the need to diligently look for the positives, no matter how small. It’s important to remember that while God will allow times of suffering, He has not removed every good thing from our lives. 

 

Last fall, I took part in a 6-week writing class hosted by The Baton Pass. The ministry exists to get women sharing and writing their stories so that they in turn can provide hope to other women experiencing similar hardships. Towards the beginning of the class, they gave us a few writing exercises and prompts to get us started. I decided to try their “Peaks and Valleys” challenge. It consisted of chronologically noting the high and low points of our most recent circumstance.

 

I drew a line down the middle of a sheet of paper and began reflecting on the events and memories that needed to be plotted. I covered an 18-month time span and was surprised to find that although the valley points outweighed the peak points, some pretty incredible things had happened. The process of documenting the good amongst the ugly was just what my human eyes thirsted for. They were examples of God’s goodness in the physical form that He had graciously provided to me. 

 

I remembered the ‘micro-wins’ like the walks my husband and I would take, sometimes multiple times a day, which helped to regulate our nervous systems. I also recalled the ‘macro-wins'(pretty sure that’s not a term yet), like the gift of watching our older children embrace and care for a new sibling.

 

It’s now a bit funny to think about how my soul longed for a bustling plant to be soothed when I had received reminders of His love in a dozen other ways. I think the point is, that if we’re not careful we can miss the silver lining and the large-scale blessings when we are suffering.

 

When we experience something difficult, let’s intentionally search for the big and little proof of God’s goodness to us. 

 

How about you? Can you look back at a hard time you’ve experienced and see any glimmers of grace? Were you able to recognize it then or did it take time? Is it easier to see the ‘macro-wins’ or the ‘micro-wins’?