What Matters Most
musings on the mundane and magnificent from a Christian perspective
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Joy Harris
Lord, I give You everything I would do differently if I could do it all over again, and I give You the fact that I can’t. I can’t do it all over again. So, I give You what is, what isn’t, and what will never be. I give You what is to come. Thank You that hope is a reality not limited by my circumstances or deterred by my choices. The hope I have in You is an anchor for my soul – sure, firm, immovable. (Hebrews 6:19)
So, I choose to move forward in hope. I choose to live for You, not an ideal set of circumstances. I choose You. And I’ll choose you again and again.
“My choice is you, God, first and only…. Now you’ve got my feet on the life path, all radiant from the shining of your face. Ever since you took my hand, I’m on the right way.” Psalm 16:5, 11 MSG
You are my hope. Thank you for the resolute, renewing, life-giving hope that is only found in You. May I overflow with hope.
“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”
Romans 15:13 NIV
My view from here is a wistful one. Through the window of my home office, I see my neighbor walk by with her toddler and her newborn in the stroller. The little girl is practically prancing down the street in her princess dress. It’s not Halloween anymore, and it doesn’t look like they’re having a birthday party. It’s just Thursday. And I guess that’s as good a reason as any to go full princess mode.
The whole thing made me smile as much as it made me cry. To see young mothers with their young daughters can’t help but grip my heart. I was never a young mother. I’ll never have a daughter. I’ll never have what I always wanted, and scenes like this are a vivid reminder of that loss.
I always wanted to be that young mother taking her kids outside for a mid-morning walk. I wanted to have a house full of kids, but I don’t. Instead, I have a household where the number of pets outweighs the number of children (two fur babies, one stepson).
But I take another look…
My view outside the home, my view inside the home – wherever I look I see evidence of God’s faithfulness, His goodness, His sovereign hand guiding me every step of the way. There’s so much I do have: a husband who loves me and is committed to me, a child in my home to love, friends, health, resources. I have things to look forward to. I have hope.
My view from home is not what I thought it would be, and I deal with the grief as it ebbs and flows. But regardless of what the view looks like, this is my home. This is my household. I choose to be thankful for all I do have and to steward it well.
So I pray…
“Regardless of what I have, regardless of what I don’t have, regardless of the circumstances and emotions, You are Lord, and You are good. You are worthy of my unwavering trust and undying devotion. I give all of me – the mess, the sadness, the things that I wish were different, the things that don’t come easily for me, the things I’m thankful for, the potential in me – I give it all freely to You. I’m Yours, Lord.
In the gap between what I always wanted and what I actually have, between hopeful expectation and bittersweet reality, I find You. And You give me the healing that is only found in You.”
That healing enables me to be surrounded by scenes of happy mothers and babies – like the one I witnessed today – but not be overcome by them. So, the next time my neighbors go for a walk, whether as princesses or fairies or superheroes, I can smile through my tears. I can rest in the knowledge that my view from home is something God sees, too. I am living my story, not somebody else’s, and He is with me as it unfolds.
As I look at my life, as I view my home, I look through the viewfinder of faith and see God, and that is enough for me.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
Psalm 34:18 NIV
Psalm 59 is such a sweet psalm to me. Admittedly, it starts out with some not-so-sweet language as David compares his enemies to a pack of hungry, angry dogs. But he eventually shifts his focus back to God. And the words that stand out to me, the sentiment that is so sweet to me, is his confident assurance in the Lord’s presence and protection, his faith even in the midst of an overwhelming situation.
When David prayed these words, he was literally trapped. In 1 Samuel 19, we read that he was trapped in his house as Saul’s men encamped around it, waiting to kill him. His enemies surrounded him, but he knew that even more so, the protection of God surrounded him. “You, O God, are my fortress, my loving God.” Psalm 59:9 NIV
We see a similar account in 2 Kings 6:15-18. The King of Aram waged war against the people of God. The prophet Elisha was instrumental in their defense strategy, resulting in their victory at every turn. So, the King of Aram made Elisha his target. Under the cover of night, his troops advanced one by one until an army surrounded Elisha’s city.
In the morning, he and his servant awoke to an onslaught. But Elisha was unmoved because that was not all he saw. He told his companion, as they took in the warriors, the horses, the chariots all lined up against them, “Don’t be afraid…Those who are with us are more than those who are with them.” 2 Kings 6:16 NIV
“And Elisha prayed, ‘O Lord, open his eyes so he may see.’ Then the Lord opened the servant’s eyes, and he looked and saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha.”
2 Kings 6:17 NIV
In the face of insurmountable odds, Elisha had a choice. He could look at the enemy’s army or he could look at what God was doing. And Elisha chose to see the big picture – the angelic protection that was there all along. He chose to see through the eyes of faith.
Lord, I thank You that the overwhelming imperfection of my circumstances can never mar the perfection of who You are. You are perfect, and I cling to You in the midst of this imperfect mess. My constant prayer is one of reliance on You.
I give my less-than-perfect situation to the One who is greater than everything. I give it all to You….
- the things I can control and the things I can’t
- what I wish was different and what will never change
- what is required of me now and what comes next
I give You all of me. I thank You that the giving over of an imperfect person to a perfect, holy God is a good thing, a freeing thing. It’s what You want. You want all of me – the mess and the mistakes, the successes and the sin, the goals, the gifts from You, the need for grace.
So, here I am, Lord. Things aren’t always perfect. I’m not perfect. But You always are. And that is what I cling to in the midst of everything else.
“My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.”
Psalm 63:8 NIV
This is going to be a tough one. Another seemingly innocuous situation that should be easy, but for me is anything but. It comes in different forms – a conversation, a moment in a TV show, a scene in a book – but it always has the same effect. Some reference to motherhood makes me flinch. The ramifications of infertility are endless.
Today, it’s in an English lesson I’m teaching online to a seven-year-old boy in China. I’m supposed to be teaching him to say, “This is my mom.” Slide after slide in the lesson shows a happy mom cuddled next to her child. Mom and daughter hugging. Toddler son kissing his mom. Mom after mom after mom.
There will never be anybody who says of me, “This is my mom.”
I do not resent the chain of events that led to this. It just is what it is. I was single throughout the years of my peak fertility. Once I finally got married, I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer, so we had to put pregnancy on hold. By the time my doctor gave us the green light to try for pregnancy, we were hardly spring chickens. My peers were posting pictures of proms and graduations of their kids – budding young adults – while I was just hoping for a baby. Just one.
We tried everything. I took medication to stimulate ovulation month after month until I hit the maximum dose. Then, we met with a fertility specialist. I read article after article. And I did all this prayerfully; I fasted, and people laid hands on me and prayed for me. We believed, and we hoped. And we waited. And then we tried again the next month. We exhausted all options including adoption, which my husband didn’t feel led to pursue because of our ages and season in life. We tried everything until there was nothing left to try.
My journey to motherhood came to an unexpected end.
I love You, Lord. You are what matters most.
I thank You that You’re Lord of all. You’re Lord of what is and what isn’t. You’re Lord of my present reality and the choices that led me here. And You’re Lord of the choices that could have gone in a different direction. On the other side of every fork in the road I face, You are there – no matter which direction I choose.
You are Lord over yesterday – over regret, disappointment, pain.
You are Lord over today – over responsibilities, pressures, circumstances.
You are Lord over tomorrow – over choices, goals, possibilities.
So, I give You all of me:
- what is
- what isn’t
- what is to come
- what will never be.
What matters most is You.
“Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you.” Psalm 73:25 NIV
“But as for me, God’s presence is all I need.” Psalm 73:28 NET