“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 animatedly read the book to my kids when they were little, complete with impressively real (if I do 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 snowstorm 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 dextrous and cheeky monkeys visit our apartment for a season, 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 my apartment complex and had left a very distinctive and smelly “mark” in its wake— i.e. a trail of garbage.
With the limited outdoor space in my apartment complex, I had to go through it. Or, at least, past it. So, 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 no side-stepping them.
All of our lives are peppered with situations that we’d rather go over or under but definitely not through: There are lab reports and diagnoses that we’d rather avoid. There are painful relationships that we’d rather just ignore. There are pressing financial burdens that we’d rather just pretend away.
But, like that garbage-strewn path on my walk, we have little choice but to say: “Oh no! We got to go through it.”
But as I walked past the trash cans, 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 trash. Maybe it was the Hillsong music on my AirPods, 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.
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. 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 at Him, the Source of our help. It’s not a one-time deal but a constant and consistent refocusing and surrender.
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 look away and pretend like our problems don’t exist. He wants our rawest, truest selves. He can handle our deepest, darkest emotions. But in that trash-strewn path that you have no choice but to walk through, God reminds you of a greater truth—that He is your help.
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 to commit to trusting 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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Photo by John Cameron on Unsplash
