I’m worn down.
Early on, this isolation felt like a reprieve from our formerly busy schedules. No meetings, no pastoral visits that kept my husband away from home in the evenings, no ball practices or tutoring. No hurried school drop-offs or pick-ups. No cooking a meal for Sunday afternoon potlucks while scrambling to get ready for church on Sunday mornings. The emptied calendar was a welcome respite. I welcomed the quietness of a long, unhurried day that would be replicated again and again.
But a month into this, and I’m beat.
The longer this isolation continues, the more readily my sin rises to the surface. The longer we’re all here huddled in one house with one long, same reality, the more I see the parts of myself that I ordinarily coat with relationships and shopping and coffee shop visits and work and traveling and conversations. When it’s all stripped away, the girl in the mirror doesn’t fare well under pressure. I don’t sleep well; my emotions are constantly frayed at the edges with irritation. Every morning, I read my Bible and then lace up my shoes and walk out the front door. I run the streets of my neighborhood with one reverberating prayer in my heart: “Lord, help me to be different when I get home.”
But I’m not different when I get home. I’m still tetchy and snippy and exhausted of the same walls and the same chores and the same bad attitude. I’m forced to stand face-to-face with the layer of self that’s been hiding beneath a million pleasant distractions. I don’t like her. She doesn’t look like I thought she did.
All this stripping away—I know it’s not for nothing. God is always doing a million things at once, but surely one of the things He’s doing is propping open my eyelids and helping me see what I cover with busyness during “normal” times. He’s helping me see my selfishness. It’s hard and painful. Remove the periphery from your line of vision and you see what’s what in your heart. All this stripping away is a sorting of my affections.
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I took a rest day from running today. My back aches after I pushed out an extra mile yesterday and prayed to come home changed. I rested a little longer in the book of Hebrews this morning, comforted by the fact that the stripping away is actually grace. The removal of the distractions and activities is grace. I can see my sin for what it is, and it is grace to see it, really see it. Once you see your sin, you can make war against it. The author of Hebrews talks about the Lord’s discipline, and not in negative terms, as we might expect. God disciplines us for our good because we are His beloved children. He doesn’t want us to continue in sin. His goal is our sanctification (1 Thess. 4:3), and if He reveals our sins to us, it is for the purpose of repentance. “My son, do not regard lightly the discipline of the Lord, nor be weary when reproved by Him. For the Lord disciplines the one He loves…God is treating you as sons” (Heb. 12:5-7). It’s a kindness to see our sin up close. The crushing weight of it was nailed to the cross of Christ, so why are we chaining ourselves to that from which we’ve been freed? Why are we covering it with busyness and distractions?
I could happily go along without seeing new layers of my selfishness. I’d love to not know about it. And yet, the removal of my ignorance is a gift from the Lord who is using a quarantine to scrape away my sin so I can look more like Jesus. When all the things we lean on for rest and comfort and approval are pulled from our daily dependence, what’s left is a silence that begs the question, “Is Jesus enough for you?”
I sit with my thoughts more than I did a month ago. Though all the streaming services are still available, I find that they ring hollow and don’t quite cover the raw realizations like they used to. That’s good. There’s always been too much noise, and I find it easier than ever to turn it off. My heart is a garden with newly turned corners of quiet. I can hear the words of the Lord turn themselves over and over: “He disciplines us for our good, that we may share in His holiness. For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it” (Heb. 12:10-11). The Lord is helping me see that even in this stripped-down version of life, He is still here and He is still enough. He’s enough for the scraping away of sin and rough edges. He’s enough for the loneliness. He’s enough for the endless cooking and cleaning and out-of-my-depths schooling I’m plunged into. He’s enough in the sameness of replicated days. He’s enough to wipe away the ugliness seeping from my heart. He’s enough to forgive, uphold, and satisfy.
Who knew that the Lord could use a quarantine to sanctify His children?
Who knew that the Lord could use a quarantine to sanctify His children? All this stripping away is a sorting of my affections. Share on X“When everything that matters to us seems to be slipping away, when we have to tamp down fear with the Word every day, when the outcome of our circumstances does not seem favorable, we can know without a shadow of a doubt that God is with us in our suffering. In small, slow breaths, we can learn to say with the psalmist, ‘It was good for me to be afflicted so that I could learn Your statutes.’ (Ps. 119:71).
–The Promise is His Presence, p. 156.
Photo by Tim Marshall on Unsplash
Glenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.
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