When I survey the landscape of my life, a handful of losses loom large. Mountain peaks of divorce, abuse, and illness obscure the sun. Focusing on the losses proves as easy as beholding a mountain and as rewarding as shivering in a shadow. Only this type of mountain air fails to heal a fragmented family.
One day, as my divorce neared finality, I cried out to God. My cry fell somewhere on the spectrum of a self-pity party and righteous lament: “Lord, what am I going to do?” God gave the exact guidance I needed in the once-read-but-soon-forgotten words of Revelation 3:2. The Spirit brought them to mind and fiercely encouraged me to “strengthen what remains.”
For me, one precious thing that remained was faith—faith that had ears to hear what the Spirit said. Faith allowed me to hold on to three words written in Revelation and whispered by the Spirit. Faith shifted my focus. What else remained? My living, bouncy, floppy-haired six-year-old son remained. I remained. We both needed strengthening.
Soon after, the Fourth of July drew near, and my son casually mentioned that he had never seen fireworks. How had I never taken him to see delightful bursts of sound and light? I let joy, awe, wonder, and fun lie dormant. I kept him in the dark. And for what? An earlier bedtime? Now it was time to make amends, time to watch the fireworks.
A friend lived by a golf course, and we set up lawn chairs on her driveway. We slurped cherry popsicles and swatted at mosquitoes while we waited for the sky to light up. We stayed out super late and had fun. The beauty, light, and fellowship strengthened us.
In your dark times, strengthen what remains.
Lauren Lukefahr is a writer.