“We can’t go over it,

We can’t go under it,

Oh no!

We got to go through it.”

 

You may recognize those words from the beloved children’s book, We’re Going on a Bear Hunt.

I remember animatedly reading the book to my kids when they were little, complete with impressive (if I say so myself) sound effects. In the book, the narrator talks about different scenarios the children and he encounter as they make their way through grassy fields and squelchy mud and dark forests and whirling snowstorms and gloomy caves till they meet the much-anticipated bear.

As I went on my walk this morning, I recalled the words of this book. No, thank heavens, there are no grizzlies in my neighborhood (We did have some particularly cheeky monkeys visit our apartment building once, but that’s a whole other story). Anyway, smack dab in the middle of my walking path was not fields or forests—but garbage. Lots of it. The recycling truck had rummaged through the trash cans in our apartment complex and had left a trail of garbage in its wake. If you live in the West, you may not have seen this rather peculiar situation. But in India, often garbage trucks have some “creative license” with their tasks.

With the limited outdoor space within my apartment premises, I couldn’t go over it, I couldn’t go under it, I had to go through it. Or, at least, past it. So, I tried not to breathe and quickened my pace through that stretch of spilled garbage.

That’s a fairly accurate picture of our lives, wouldn’t you agree? There are some squelchy, smelly spots we’d rather avoid—but there’s simply no side-stepping them.

All our lives are peppered with situations that we’d rather go over or under but definitely not through: There are lab reports and diagnoses we’d rather avoid. There are painful relationships we’d rather ignore. There are pressing financial burdens we’d rather pretend away.

But, like the narrator in the children’s book, we have little choice but to say: “Oh no! We got to go through it.”

As I walked past the trash cans and dispersed garbage, though, I noticed something else.

The soft morning sunlight danced through the branches of the trees above the path. A buttery golden shaft of light shone on that mucky path of plastic bags and discarded packaging. Maybe it was the Hillsong music on my Air Pods, but the moment felt worshipful, sacred.

I had to choose whether to keep focussing on the yuck that I had to walk through—or up at the magical dappled sunlight. (Well, practically speaking, I had to look down so I didn’t step into anything too gross, but I’m speaking more of the posture of my heart.)

In Psalm 121, David says: “I lift up my eyes to the hills.”

Those words imply that David intentionally looks away from his circumstances that were far from perfect so he has the opportunity to look up to God.

Look away. Look up.

Maybe that sounds simplistic. And, in some ways, it is. Because God’s ways are never formulaic. They can’t be reduced to a magical mantra. As frail human beings, our thoughts tend to swerve back to things that weigh us down. God doesn’t expect us to hypnotically switch gears and shift into “happy” mode.

But, He ever so gently urges us to look up to Him, the Source of our help.

In Psalm 121, David goes on to declare: “My help comes from God, the Maker of heaven and earth.”

In looking away and looking up, David recognizes that the mighty God of all creation is his help.

Without a doubt, God doesn’t want us to pretend like our problems don’t exist. He definitely wants our rawest, truest selves. But in that trash-strewn path that you have no choice but to walk through, God reminds you that He is your help.

Maybe that’s a truth we ought to rehearse in our minds as we walk through those “uugh” spots (or maybe even seasons) of our lives.

Today, would you take a quiet moment to read through Psalm 121 again?

Would you take a moment to pause on the truth that God is your infallible, always-present help in every situation?

Would you take a moment in prayer committing to trust and depend on Him even when you don’t understand?

You and I may have to “go through it”—but we don’t ever have to go through it alone.

 

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