Since March 2011 our family has been through some pretty significant changes and events. From our niece’s heart transplant to moving back to Alabama as my husband joined the staff of a church here, our life has been filled with ups and downs for the past 18 months.
In March of this year, we found out my husband’s brother and sister-in-law were divorcing and the aftermath of that broken marriage continues to affect all of us in ways we could never have imagined.
We had a foreign exchange student and our daughter started middle school last year … both involved increased stress and energy. In the midst of all the big changes, we’ve had the normal day-to-day chaos that seems to mark this 21st century world.
More often than not, I’ve found myself overwhelmed and frustrated. If I’m totally honest, I’ve been pouting. Life has not turned out exactly the way I’d planned. There has been more heartache and sorrow than I ever imagined possible. The dreams I’ve carried since childhood have not always been fulfilled in the ways I would have preferred.
I’ve felt forgotten, unseen, unnoticed, insignificant. And I’ve wallowed there.
One of the questions in Jennifer Rothschild’s newest Bible study, Missing Pieces, is one that has resonated in my heart lately:
God, Are You Aware?
Aware of how hard this year has been. Aware of how hard I’ve worked and how little success I’ve experienced. Aware of what I’m doing. Aware of how I’m feeling.
Aware of me????
I suspect I’m not the only one who has grappled with these questions, these fears. In fact, I imagine that if you could sit with me at my kitchen table you would share your own doubts and frustrations, your own questions and fears. We’d probably cry a little and hopefully laugh a lot.
But in the end, we’d hold hands and bow heads, offering our doubts and worries and questions to the One who already knows each one. With lumps in our throats and tears in our eyes, we’d whisper our doubts and our faith just as the man who cried, “I believe! Help my unbelief.” We’d lay our cares and burdens at the feet of the One whose eye is on the sparrow … and we’d declare our decision to trust His plan, His time, His way. And as we uttered out that final “Amen,” we’d squeeze each other’s hands and know the peace that comes when He is present.
I’m learning this lesson, slowly but surely, that though I may not feel Him, He is there. Though I may not understand, He is aware. And though I may waver and even wander, He is faithful and sure.
Have you ever found yourself wondering if God was aware of you? Leave a comment here.