How completely satisfying to turn from our limitations to a God who has none.

A.W. Tozer

When I was in college, it was a big trend on campus to wear MudLove bracelets. If you didn’t attend a small Christian college in the Midwest like I did, think popular–like the W.W.J.D. bracelets, but with elasticity and a word or phrase instead of an acronym. Last week in need of encouragement, I dug out two of many MudLove bracelets that read:

I’d been searching for a mantra to carry with me through COVID-19 and was reminded of the word of the year I had chosen for 2020. It was thrive. There was a part of me that thought two words or phrases would be overdoing it. I thought about just picking one bracelet to wear. But no, I needed–I need–both messages. So without overthinking, I’ve been wearing both bracelets, just like this.

While everyone has something they’re dealing with or going through, I have been learning to break up with myself. This isolation period has made me realize that I’m not exempt from selfishness or comparison or pride just because life looks a little different. I am fully responsible for my attitiude, my joy, and my effort in light of my circumstances.

Quite honestly, everything in me wants to push back and argue reasons why my life isn’t fair. I was supposed to get an uninterrupted maternity leave. My mom was supposed to be able to come help with the baby. In my perfect world, my husband wasn’t going to get the flu during all of this, nor was he going to walk through other health challenges we’ve never experienced to this degree before. My firstborn son was still going to be in daycare twice a week so that I could have more breathing room. Work wasn’t going to need me for 8 weeks at least, and I definitely, definitely wasn’t going to spend my Spring like I spent all winter: kept inside.

As I’m saying this, I’m sure you you have your own list of how life hasn’t been fair to you over the last six weeks. You had expectations for how March, April, and beyond was all going to go and you had to cancel just about all of it. We all have validated reasoning for experiencing the grief we are walking through and I for one, know that I am not alone in what seems like the seven stages of this. So I don’t want to pretend like I’m on my own island or that so. many. people are going through severely worse trials.

And while that is a valuable conversation for another time, somehow Jesus has continued to meet me in all of my selfishness. I have found him at the end of every egocentric thought. I have come back to his voice after every outspoken, misplaced frustration I’ve put on my family. Jesus never fails to remind me of his truth when I’m fighting back feelings of sadness, fatigue, and unmet expectations.

For the first half of Sheltering in Place, I’d like to think I was doing alright in terms of my attitude and how I dealt with the disappointment of “life” being cancelled indefinitely. I’d like to think that I rose to a lot of my challenges: caring for my kids in the midst of unstructured days, walking alongside my husband in the unknown as best as I could, and stewarding my mind and body well after delivering Nolan. But let me tell you, that has not been true lately.

I, so often, have truly felt like I’m losing my mind. If I could use a personal day to have time away from being a wife or being a mom, or seriously, living with myself–oh, I would. Because don’t we all just need a reset sometimes? But in the rare stillness I feel in our apartment this week, it was like Jesus whispered a thought to me: keep giving your very best.

My very best. My very best? “I tried that, God. It hasn’t paid off. Anxiety, frustration, exhaustion still blanket the atmosphere of my home. I have nothing left to give,” I answered back with tears. Within seconds, a forgotten movie scene came to mind. My fingers scrambled to YouTube and soon I found the movie clip of a scene I was searching for.

In Facing the Giants, Coach Taylor has the ultimate task of motivating a careless football team after continuous losing seasons. During practice, he calls out Brock, one of his most influential players for being an apathetic, discouraging leader on the team. He challenges Brock to do the dreaded death crawl across the field with his teammate on his back. While Brock asks his coach if he wants him to get to the 30 yard line, Coach Taylor declares he thinks Brock can make it to the 50. Before getting down on the turf, Coach looks into Brock’s eyes and says, “Just promise me you’ll give me your very best.”

What unfolds in the moments to follow seems inixplicable of the human will. As a blindfolded Brock struggles to crawl with his teammate on his back, ready to quit, Coach Taylor drops to all fours alongside his player. He reminds Brock that he promised to give his very best. With each stride, Coach exclaims that Brock can give him more, that he can keep going–that he can give his very best.

“Don’t quit!
I know it hurts.
You keep going!
It’s all heart from here.
You promised me your best!
Keep going!
You can!
You can!”

I don’t know if you have felt like me this week:
Ready to throw in the towel with the circumstances surrounding you.
At the end of your rope, after a long day of trying to figure out your new-for-now-normal. You may be working through devestating news about your job or your future. Maybe a relationship you have is going sideways and you don’t know where to go from here. Or maybe it’s incredibly exhausting raising kids who don’t know how to wrestle with being home all of the time. And news flash, neither do you, really. I have no idea what your day-to-day looks like right now, but I’m praying that you will sense Jesus whispering the same thing to you:

Don’t lose heart. Keep going.

Our challenges may not get less challenging. I know for a fact that when I wake up tomorrow, my toddler is still going to be a toddler who doesn’t like being told no to anything. I will probably find the cleanliness status of my apartment disheartening and my stress levels fluctating every hour. But I’m still accountable for how I steward my thoughts and feelings and I am the only person responsible for how I respond to the matters of my day. Jesus knows it’s hard, but he also knows that when we walk with him, we always have more to give. So don’t quit. Thrive. And let’s ask Jesus to help us give our very best.

Take care & take heart,