The Day The Floor Gave Way
Sometimes you fall down, because there is something down there that you are supposed to find. -Anonymous
When the floor beneath us figuratively and collectively disappeared two years ago, I spent most of my time just trying to stay afloat, afoot, around.
I feel like I’ve been crawling around on the floor in the dark–hands out reaching in the unseen and unknown, feeling, not finding. Months have turned to years, waiting, wondering, worrying, wishing for a normal that has been lost forever.
My last book, Made to Move Mountains was born at the beginning of a pandemic and I find that ironic because I’ve done more hanging on for dear life while dangling off the cliff, than actual climbing or mountain moving.
As you know, playing live characters in a living history book, while its unfolding, is exhausting.
I haven’t had words for so long and I’ve wondered if I would ever find them again. I only have streams of consciousness now, a tangle of messy heart and soul.
Social media, with its influencers and irritating filters, is still trying to make everything pretty even in the wake of our mutual grief. Scrolling feeds now makes me angry and sad. We consume and maybe don’t even know we are being consumed and still feel empty after an Insta hit? I’m glad I don’t know how to grow a following anymore. I’m just trying to follow Jesus.
My youngest, now 15, said wistfully a couple of months ago, “Our best last year was 2019.” The truth of her words made me sad. We talked about finding the good even in the bad. Before I could assure her and promise everything would be okay, Russia invaded Ukraine and our friends began running for their lives as we’ve observed a painful play-by-play. I was thankful I didn’t offer platitudes that would ring hollow.
Maybe nothing will ever be okay again? I don’t know.
Fifteen years ago, I met my first Russian-speaking refugee friends and they greatly influenced the start of Mercy House Global. When mutual friends became refugees in Ukraine this month, we looked for a way to respond, a way to give, a way to come together as a community and walk in obedience.
Last Thursday, I was standing with my refugee friends preparing to raise money for Ukraine when the second story floor began to collapse under our feet. As we fell, we clung to each other, immediately prayed and slowly, carefully moved to safety.
There was no doubt this was a spiritual attack and I’ve thought of this truth by Lisa Bevere so many times since, “Obedience is the highest form of spiritual warfare.” There was also no denying we should continue moments after the collapse with our fundraising plan for Ukraine. More than $100,000 has gone to assist our thousands and thousands in Ukraine–thank you, God.
Together we’ve been walking through a storm —tossed and turned in different directions. But here’s the thing about storms: they make roots stronger.
Often when we feel buried, we discover we have actually been planted. God is in the darkness where we are growing, even when we can’t see a thing. “So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” 2 Corinthians 4:18
“Be obedient even when you do not know where obedience may lead you,” Sinclair Ferguson. We never know when the floor under our feet may fail. But it’s in the falling, we might just find our way.
I still don’t know what comes next, but I’m discovering that falling feels a lot like flying.
