Faith In The Fog

Hello Bravehearted Beauties. I felt a welling up of words in my heart this morning and thought I’d sit down and see what spills over onto this screen. But it’s been so long since I’ve written, and there’s so much I want to say, and so much I don’t know how to say, that I just feel overwhelmed all of a sudden. My brain feels all foggy. Just like the farm on so many early mornings last month.

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So why even try to write? Why battle the fog? Why not wait for my head to clear? Because I’ve tried that before. I tried that for all of November. It didn’t work. And that’s okay. I feel no shame, guilt or obligation to write. I just know writing can be a way forward for me. Sometimes you just have to move forward by faith, not by feeling, and trust there’s light on the other side of the fog.

Let’s talk about fog for a moment. How do you feel about it? When you see a thick blanket of moisture obscuring the view, what’s your first thought? Is it beautiful or burdensome? Cozy or confining? Mysterious or disorienting? Do you want it to lift or linger? What are you tempted to believe in the fog? Do you feel hopeful or despondent?

I’ve been all over the map on fog. When I’m at home in my introverted little bubble, the fog can feel cozy…an excuse to stay home. But if I’m on my dad’s boat off the coast of Maine, the fog feels eerie.

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As I look over the side of the boat, I feel the fear rising up. I feel it even now as I write these words years later. I know there should be a line out there…a line that separates the sea from the sky. A line that keeps you from feeling disoriented and seasick. I find myself wanting to raise that thick curtain of fog so I can see that line and fix my eyes on it. In a moment like this, I realize how dependent I am on seeing things to feel secure.

“Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.” {Hebrews 11:1}

Oh, God. Really? In this fog where I can’t see a thing, can’t even find the horizon line, you want me to risk believing that things are secure? Please let me see something! I just need to see one little thing.

Just as I feel like I want to jump ship, a vague shape of something familiar comes into view. And that’s when it hits me: everything is still there in its place, every bit as much as it ever was. The fog doesn’t change the placement of things, the coming of things, the movement of things, the goodness of things. It just obscures my view.

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The fog doesn’t mean the sun isn’t shining. Somewhere on the other side of this veiled view, light is breaking through…maybe just a little bit at first.

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Soon you’ll see that horizon line again under crisp, clear blue skies. Soon you’ll see things in all of their glory and goodness. And just in case you’ve forgotten: that beautiful place of light and life isn’t just meant for a lucky few who know how to navigate their way through the fog. It’s meant for you. 

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I still prefer the sunshine to the fog. I still prefer seeing glory to believing it’s coming. But I’m thankful for what the fog has revealed about the default of my heart. The truth is, when I can’t see a thing, faith isn’t my default. Fear is. But that doesn’t mean I have to stay with fear. I can choose faith. And faith doesn’t mean I’ll see the horizon line; it means I have a hand to hold when I can’t see a thing.

 “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.” {Hebrews 6:19}

My hope in the fog is God himself. He’s a God who draws near. Christmas reminds us that He is God with us. The crazy way He came still astounds me, but I know this: He still comes today. He comes right into the middle of the fog, takes our hand when we can’t see His face and can’t see a thing and says, “Do not fear. I am with you.” {God says this more times in the Bible than I can reference.}

And like my dad with his high-tech GPS navigation system, my God knows how to move through the fog. No matter how murky the past, how messy the present or how muddled the future appears, God sees what we cannot see. And it is good.

One more photo for you, taken here on the farm during a brief moment when the sun broke through the storm clouds during a very gray November.

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The sun didn’t stay long. And it’s still not shining today. But on the other side of this gray, I know there is light. By faith, I believe what I cannot see.

With a brave heart,

 

 

P.S. For some, the entire holiday season feels like a fog. My heart goes out to you. I get it. But know this: the greatest light this world has ever seen has come for you. “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light.” {Isaiah 9:2} And this light is coming again. All you have to do is come as you are, It’s not up to you to bring your own light into your darkness. God will do that. I’m believing that with you and for you. You are so brave, beautiful ones.