His Presence, His Perspective

On a cold evening in late February, after a long day of teaching, I opened a letter from our son’s school. I assumed it would be another routine letter about this or that school event or meeting. What I found instead was a truancy letter.

Our family doesn’t get truancy letters! Except we just had. The embarrassment crept up my neck and flushed my cheeks red. How could we let this happen? The letter indicated that we would be expected to attend a meeting to come up with an “attendance plan,” and if we failed to cooperate, there could be legal implications.

My embarrassment gave way to irritation. Didn’t they know my son had a documented health condition that had required multiple hospitalizations? Why were they wasting my time with this? Didn’t they know I’d simply forgotten to send in the appropriate parent excuses?

Like most families, we’re juggling a lot of different balls in order to keep life moving forward: my husband’s ministry job, my full-time teaching load, three kids (one of whom has significant special needs), social commitments, financial responsibilities—all of it wrapped around days that start at 6 a.m. and rarely end before midnight.

Anger erupted in my heart and spilled out of my mouth. “I don’t have time for this!” I yelled in the general direction of my husband. I tossed the letter across the counter and stomped outside because the walls of our house felt too small to hold my emotions. I sat on the cold steps, shivering as the currents of anger rippled up and down my spine. That letter represented the proverbial last straw.

A seemingly small issue with a surprisingly simple fix (just send in the needed parent notes), but in that moment, I felt powerless. Powerless to make life work and run smoothly. Powerless to show others that I’m a good mom who doesn’t let stuff like this happen. Powerless against my behemoth emotions, which had me yelling and stomping around like a toddler who’s not getting her way.

My friend Lauren, a seasoned counselor, helped me see that the anger I felt that night was a front for the powerlessness that felt too vulnerable and weak to put on center stage. Anger felt empowering when life was not cooperating with me. While anger can be a valid and appropriate response, far too often, anger robs me of the fullness of grace welcomes my weakness and vulnerability as an opportunity to rest in Christ.

In moments of greater clarity, I might have remembered Jesus’ words: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Matt. 11: 28-29 NIV). I’ve even written about rest before, but again and again, I find myself in need of this reminder:

In Jesus there is no yoke of the American dream, perfect parenthood, or completely sorted out emotions. In Jesus there is gentleness, a humble spirit, and rest. An easy, light yoke. His yoke comes in the form of his presence within us.

Too often, I find myself more like Elijah in the Old Testament, fleeing the wrath of Jezebel into the desert, worn out from the life God has called him to. Clearly maddened by what’s happened, Elijah’s response when God asks him what he’s doing out there in the middle of nowhere is essentially, “I’ve done what’s right, I’ve honored you, and now people are trying to kill me.”

His response is reminiscent of my own response to the truancy letter: I’m doing all I know to do, all I can with what I’ve been given, and now this? God, where are you?

God tells Elijah to “Go out and stand on the mountain in [my] presence” (1 Kings 19:11 NIV).

In this well-known passage, Elijah finds God’s presence in a gentle whisper, which starkly contrasts the violence of the shattering wind, toppling earthquake, and blazing fire. Scripture doesn’t tell us how Elijah emotionally responded to God’s presence, but when he’s asked again, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” he responds with the exact same complaint as the first time: “Your people are acting godless, and now I’m being hunted down.”

Because of his repeated complaint, we might surmise that Elijah was unmoved, unchanged by his mountain-top experience in God’s presence, stuck in his own narrative about his overwhelming situation.

Like Elijah, I far too often get stuck in my own narrative instead of responding to God’s call to come into his presence.

As I continued to ruminate in my anger that cool February night, I imagined God responding with a stern reproof. Afterall, isn’t that how you parent a toddler who is melting down? But instead, God met Elijah in a gentle whisper and with a reminder that Elijah didn’t have the whole picture in view. Elijah, who has now twice said “I am the only one left” (vv. 10, 14), stands corrected by God: “Yet I reserve seven thousand in Israel” (v. 18). Elijah’s weariness was skewing his perspective, even though God had got the whole picture in view.

Like Elijah, our perspectives are always limited by our circumstances and humanity. That’s why God invites us into his presence. Not because he will resolve all the frustrations and burdens we have, but because in his presence is fullness of rest, a gentle reminder that he has the whole world in his hands, and that’s why we don’t need to.

[Tweet “We don’t have to go up on a mountain to experience the presence of God because his presence is within us.”]

God is inviting us into his presence, where he offers gentle rest and a new perspective, his perspective. Unlike Elijah, we don’t have to go up on a mountain to experience the presence of God because his presence is within us. Our challenge is to find the slowdown and the quiet space to hear his gentle whisper. May you find your rest in him today.

Allison Byxbe is a writer and teacher who lives with her family in South Carolina. When she’s not pondering words, she enjoys hiking, learning about natural health, and drinking the perfect latte. Allison loves to connect with others about family, special needs parenting, mental health, grief, and faith. Her writing has been featured on The Mighty and Her View from Home, and you can find more of it on her blog, Writing Is Cheaper Than Therapy.

Photograph © Debby Hudson, used with permission