I wonder about the movies that impacted you as a child. The ones you watched repeatedly, curled in your grandmother’s homemade quilt. Alone with your dreams and imagination. What far off places they took you. How they tugged and pulled on your heart.
Mine, for years, was Anne of Green Gables. Anne with an “e”. Something about her resiliency in the face of trials imprinted itself on my memory. Her independence and stubborn disposition resonated from the top of my head through to the tips of my toes. I was attracted to her story of redemption. From orphanage to adoption, into Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert’s family. The story was woven with hope.
One scene, amongst many, stuck with me. During an emotionally charged discussion about the possibility of being sent back to the orphanage due to an unfortunate mistake, the young ginger haired heroine exclaims her sadness and disappointment:
Marilla: You’re not eating anything.
Anne: I can’t, I’m in the depths of despair. Can you eat when you are in the depths of despair?
Marilla: I’ve never been in the depths of despair, so I can’t say.
Anne: Weren’t you? Well did you even try to imagine you were in the depths of despair?
Marilla: No, I cannot. To despair is to turn your back on God.
I don’t know about you, but I have a few areas in my life that are breeding grounds for despair. For years, like chains around my neck, I’ve carried them. Dragging them. Back aching. Head turned down, away from God. Assuming that he wanted me to put up with them. Or that he just didn't care.
But, I’m learning that my despair pains him. To see me like a prisoner, chains clanging. Shuffle step. Shuffle step. He sees me walking towards my cell. Heavy iron door banging shut. Adjusting myself to the enclosed space. Sitting in a fog of resignation.
Despair can be defined as “to lose all hope: despaired of reaching shore safely”; “to be overcome by a sense of futility or defeat”. Turning your back on God. Believing he can't handle it. Believing you're not worth it. Believing he no longer cares.
Today, I’m thinking about the harbor you’re trying to reach. The one you’ve given up on. Resigned yourself to. I’m wondering if you’ve anchored your boat or are drifting at sea. I’m wondering if you are chugging bootlegged ale in the bottom of your ship. I’m guessing you too may be locked in your cell. Iron links digging into your skin. Sitting and breathing in your defeat. In your desolate, dark, sweaty encasement of existence.
But, you know that window you see above you with the light sometimes shining through? Even, but for a minute, you soak in the warmth and heat before the shadows close in again? What if I was to tell you that he really can and does release you from your prisons? That he longs to unlock your chains. That he promises to bring you peace for despair. That the light can be experienced and bathed in daily. That he longs to set you free.
He’s working through your chains. I know it, because he's worked on mine. I've had large, heavy ones lifted from around my neck. Shackles that I always thought would be there. One's I didn't know he could take away. I still have some he's working on. Unlocking. But today, I'll trust and persevere that they too will one day be released.
He’s active. He will lift yours one by one from around your aching neck. Refining and perfecting you through him. Bringing you peace for despair. What an awesome God we have.
"I waited patiently for the Lord to help me, and he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out of the mud and the mire. He set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as I walked along."~Psalm 140:1-2
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