Jaded Expectations

In a conversation with my daughter and son-in-law around their dining table, I tried to explain how the years of hard news and disappointments affected my outlook. As sorrowful events piled one on top of the other—like so many crushed, stacked cars in a junkyard—I eventually became accustomed to the brokenness. I still believed God could do anything, anything. Just not for me.

In the middle of our conversation, my daughter raised her hand. “It’s a spiritual bruise,” she announced.

A what?

Josh and Summer had just returned from a conference where Beth Guckenberger, one of the speakers, had used the phrase spiritual bruise. My best explanation is this: spiritual bruises are hard, disappointing things that happen to us, and we know God could have prevented them if he wanted to, but apparently he didn’t want to. And so we assign the ‘neglect’ to apathy or unkindness or disinterest on God’s part.

In her book, Start with Amen, which I read later, Beth Guckenberger wrote that the way God healed her spiritual bruise was through acknowledging to him:

“You are not made in my image. You are not a genie in a bottle I can rub and out you pop and you’re going to grant me three wishes if I’m good enough. Instead, I am made in your image, and you write the very best stories and if this is how you write this story, you have a reason for it. And I, at the end of the day, will surrender to it.”

I can’t even begin to explain how helpful it was to be able to name my mess. Naming it helped manage it. I knew all along this was not correct theology, I knew this for sure. But my heart felt otherwise.

What is it we believe about God and his character that is a distortion of the truth? My “afraid-of-good-things” mentality amounted to a lack of trust. It’s the opposite of what God invites us to. He beckons us to live open-heartedly. He wants us to believe not only that he can do the very large and impossible, but also that he wants to do the very large and impossible for us, through us.

And so I let go of the hurt I had assigned to God, the hurt I didn’t realize I still carried, the slightest bruise that came from not feeling well cared for. Which opened my heart to new freedom.

There’s an ancient proverb that goes like this:

“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.” – Proverbs 4:23

Guard. Natsar. It’s Hebrew (not that I speak Hebrew, but there are Bible apps). It means “to protect, to guard, maintain, preserve from dangers.”

There’s a difference between guarding our hearts from danger and guarding our hearts from love and people and life experiences. Back during those widow years, I truly wanted to let go of my tendency toward protecting my heart against more disappointment. I wanted to let God help himself to my heart.

There will surely be more sorrow up ahead because the world we live in is damaged. But just as surely, there will be goodness ahead. And I don’t want to be suspicious of it. I want my natural reaction to always be accepting of all the hard and holy things that come from a Father of love.

Before my three grandkids arrived in town for their grandfather’s Celebration of Life service, I chose something that was his, or something that would remind them of him, and wrapped each gift with care. For six-year-old Lydia, I crafted a small bulletin board crisscrossed in pink ribbon and decorative thumbtacks. I tucked several photos of her and her grandpa into the ribbons. She tore the wrapping paper off and immediately exclaimed, “I love it!” She accepted the gift with so much delight, and it warmed my heart like the flickering fire on that snowy day.

I think our Father delights in giving good gifts to his children, a thousand million times more delighted than we are when we give a gift. I’m pretty sure the “not-expecting-good-things” mentality saddens his heart. And that he grieves a little when we believe he can do anything, but we doubt he wants to do good things for us.

I’m also pretty sure his heart bursts with gladness every time he wraps a gift with us in mind and we tear the paper off and exclaim with delight, “I love it!”