Nothing Is Lost

Sep. 29, 2022 Vol. 4

My life is a giant mish-mash of good and bad. Here I sit comfortably in my blue velvet chair, my belly is full, and my body is clothed. The closet beside me has more than enough, later I will shower with water that comes out warm simply by the turning of my tap, and my desk is piled with books and other luxuries that I bought simply because I wanted them. Equally as true is my cracked voice just beginning to come back after a brutal sickness, the thoughts of my son who I left crying at school today, and an argument I had with my husband last night. My life is both broken and beautiful and I think perhaps there is something holy about this. I’m not saying that I delight in the painful things that happen in my life but only that if one has the ability to reframe, even the bad is all shot full of light. It’s one of life’s mysteries, one of the things that the skeptic can’t explain away. And perhaps that is why it’s one of the things I get the most satisfaction from.

Throw me a curve ball, throw me a dozen but somehow I will still rise to bless this day. I grin mirthfully, for of course I do not always rise to bless the day. Many times I am unable or unwilling to reframe the ashes and cursing arises from my heart instead of blessing. But oh, the irony, for even these moments might be lifted up, redeemed. Nay, these might be the very moments that startlingly bring about my redemption. It really is too good to be true.

Surely the Holy Three chuckle to themselves over the joy of it. Surely their eyes must twinkle amongst each other with a certain delight as they watch us flailing and faltering, stumbling through our days and our near-sighted vision. I’m not talking about a twinkle of delight in our pain for the heart of the Lover can feel no delight in the pain of the Beloved. I am talking about the twinkle of — what shall we call it — the twinkle of knowing? For they most certainly know how this dear trial here and that dark pit over there and the next heavy burden up there (that I shall soon find myself under) are only little blips on the journey and that not only will they not last, but their darkness will somehow lead to my salvation. And by salvation I mean wholeness.

There are moments in time when the veil slips and I see all this clearly. And then it comes crashing back down and my trial goes on feeling like the only truth there is. Perhaps as I grow older — not in body but in wisdom — I come to see without the veil a little more often and then a little more often. Perhaps. But if not it doesn’t matter so much because in the end nothing is lost. I cannot think of anything more hopeful than that.

A phrase often runs through my mind. All must mean all. It comes from something Amy Carmichael wrote.

All the paths of the Lord are loving and faithful. (Psalm 25:10) I have pondered this verse lately, and have found that it feeds my spirit. All does not mean "all - except the paths I am walking in now," or "nearly all - except this especially difficult and painful path." All must mean all. So, your path with its unexplained sorrow or turmoil, and mine with its sharp flints and briers - and both our paths, with their unexplained perplexity, their sheer mystery - they are His paths, on which he will show himself loving and faithful. Nothing else; nothing less.

All must mean all.