by Chris Klausen
Earlier this week, a Facebook memory surfaced in my timeline along with a picture I took back in 2016: my husband in his grey herringbone hoodie and our labradoodle, Anja, peacefully dozing on our living room couch. At first glance, the memory seems benign enough – sweet even. It seems to epitomize the ordinary – an image of a lazy afternoon nap.
But the memory isn’t benign, nor ordinary, and it is tinged with sadness. The week prior, my husband had been assaulted while at work. As a clinical psychologist, his workplace hazards are usually pretty minimal. He had sat in a thousand-plus therapy sessions without incident. However, eight years ago, during an inpatient group therapy session, a patient became violent when another employee asked her to leave the group. Though not even directed at him, my husband found himself in the path of the incensed patient.
A chance accident.
I remember the moment vividly: parked in the elementary school lot waiting for our daughter to come out of school. He hedged on the phone and first assured me he was alright before telling me about the surprise events of his morning. He was diagnosed with a concussion and told he would need quiet and rest. My experience with concussions up to that point was nonexistent. It didn’t seem like that big of a deal.
I underestimated the gravity of that day and how it would change our lives.
He spent weeks in our darkened bedroom. Noise and light caused him pain. As time progressed, although his symptoms did improve, he continued to experience times of debilitating headaches, heightened sensitivity to sound and light, and brain fog. We both gradually realized that this was more than a mere inconvenience. As the weeks turned into months and into years, frustrations grew. It was hard to find the care he needed, and the added trauma caused by trying to fight for the treatment he needed with a resistant workman’s compensation company, only heightened the frustration of it all. We knew God was with us – but we still felt vulnerable, helpless, scared, and confused.
Such a stupid, chance event changed so much.
What have you experienced that has stopped you in your tracks and sucker-punched you with fear and a sense of powerlessness?
A diagnosis?
A chance accident?
The sudden loss of a loved one?
Broken relationships?
Church hurt?
Recently, I came across Dallas Willard’s version of Psalm 23, written in his book Life Without Lack. I’ll just come out and say it. I love Dallas Willard. He was my first real introduction to living into kingdom life now, though I had been in the church my entire life. For me, he was a spiritual father with wisdom and knowledge whose real life seemed to match what he taught.
Dallas Willard’s Psalm 23 Prayer
The Lord is my Shepherd, I have life without lack.
In his green pastures I’ve eaten my fill so I lie down.
At his still waters my thirst is satisfied.
He heals and reintegrates my broken depths in his eternal life
so I can walk in paths of righteousness on his behalf.
Even though I go through loss, hunger, disease, aging, and death I will fear no evil because you Jesus are with me.
Your strong rod and protective staff put me at liberty.
Your abundant provision is a feast for me so I’m happy to share with my enemies.
You give me hot showers and warm fluffy towels, joyful experiences and deep relationships, to make me feel clean, special, and powerful.
My cup runs over so I can be generous without ever running out.
Surely this world is a perfectly safe place for me to be
Because I dwell and abide with God in the fullness of his life in the Kingdom of the Heavens forever.
That’s life without lack!
How do you respond to this version of the Psalm?
Personally, I am struck by the tension I feel. It feels like my body is holding the deep inner “yes” of the rightness of this passage mixed with the life experience that says, “Yes, but…” Both of these reactions are very present.
I walk through very real shadows and valleys…I have life without lack.
I go through loss, disease, and aging…this world is a perfectly safe place for me to be in God.
Real people have deeply hurt me …God provides joyful experiences and deep relationships.
We don’t live in a black-and-white world. And although some try to describe life with God in those terms, we live in the very real mystery of a sovereign God who restores, guides, encourages, and protects, and a sinful, broken world that knocks us down and that feels anything but safe. There are so many spaces in life where we want God to protect us from hard things and we are faced with the question: What am I trusting God for? In life’s everyday ebb and flow, our faith in God has to mean something here and now – not just for eternity. Jesus promised that he would be with us always. What does that mean for life right now? If we aren’t honest about that longing and question, it is easy to move into lingering doubt and disillusionment.
As a spiritual director, this is a common tension ministry leaders bring into our spiritual direction sessions. Ministry leaders feel it, though they don’t always have this language for it. Besides their own life experiences, they are in the muddy trenches, walking alongside people who long for God’s provision and goodness and experience pain and loss. In spiritual direction sessions, we often enter into these spaces of tension and mystery:
Knowing God’s love; being riddled with guilt and shame.
Affirming the beauty of marriage; mourning the detachment of a spouse.
Rejoicing in grandchildren’s birth; mourning a parent’s fading body and memory.
Forging bonds with a vibrant community; grappling with the ache of conflict.
Witnessing the blessings and yield of ministry; wrestling with burnout, anxiety, and profound weariness.
How do you hold this tension today?
Where do you experience God’s sheltering and provision?
Where are you experiencing tiredness, anxiety, or pain?
Last year, I sat in a hotel conference room with a hundred other people, listening to James Finley, a clinical psychologist and student of Thomas Merton. Finley grew up in an extremely abusive home with an alcoholic father and was sexually abused as a young adult. He said something that captivated me, yet was difficult to hear:
“God is the presence that spares us from nothing, even as God unexplainably sustains us in all things.”
For months, I struggled with that statement. The Enneagram 6 in me, longing for guarantees of security, wanted to reject it. I hated it. I believe in the power of God and prayer. And yet, somehow looking at the human condition it rang true.
Perhaps it’s a beautiful and mysterious truth that assures me of safety in God’s presence, even as I recognize the uncertainty of life events. I am both secure in God and aware that each breath is not guaranteed.
Has that been field-tested in your life?
When have you been aware of God’s sustaining presence during a difficult circumstance?
What was the fruit of that experience?
Navigating these mysteries is no simple task, and I don’t have easy answers. There is no nice, neat bow to tie this up in. However, I firmly believe in the promise Jesus made to never leave us or forsake us, which makes a real difference in our lives today. The way each of us understands and processes this promise will be unique and deeply personal. Having a trustworthy companion who is familiar with this spiritual journey can be invaluable. A spiritual director is trained in understanding the landscape of spiritual formation and can walk alongside people through the tensions and questions we face in our relationship with God, providing a calm and steady presence. This companionship can be a true gift from God, offering support and guidance.
So what are you trusting God for today?
Is God enough? How does your soul honestly come to that question today?
What difference does God’s presence in this situation make to your experience of it?
Perhaps you’d like to consider how a spiritual director might be a trusted guide who could accompany you on your journey of faith. If you’d like to have a conversation with us to explore what this might look like, please contact us and we will follow up with you.
Chris is a spiritual director with Gracebridge Alliance, Operations Administrator and Content Developer for Soul of the Shepherd, and a founding member of our Council of Contributors. Learn more about Chris here.
