What We Become
We moved to Houston seven and a half years ago. Joy and I were both 37 at the time. Our boys were still somewhat young—3rd and 6th grade. We wanted to remember the move and commemorate the moment, so a friend of ours took some family pictures. They were fun and silly. We still have those pictures in frames in our house.
I took one of those pictures and decided to use it as my profile photo for all of my accounts on the Internet: Facebook, Twitter, etc. I also used it as my Zoom profile photo so that if I turned off my camera, people would see that young, hopeful face staring back at them.
A lot has happened in the last seven and a half years. Most notably, Houston was ravaged by the floodwaters of Hurricane Harvey in August 2017. That event—coupled with the two-plus years of recovery that followed—are among the most difficult seasons I’ve ever endured. I use the word “endured” intentionally. There were stretches of days where the only thing to do was to focus on the next task at hand. I held on for dear life at times, white-knuckling through the curves of life.
As the roller coaster ride continued, my body began to reflect the stress. My hair grayed. My skin leathered. My face aged.
About two years after Harvey, I was on a Zoom call with some of best friends. They are my brothers in the faith. For some reason, I had to turn my video feed off for a few seconds, and that old profile picture popped up. My friends immediately howled with laughter. “Who is THAT?” one of them said. They were joking, of course. They knew it was me. But they were right. I didn’t look like that picture any more.
There are things in this life that change us—not necessarily for the better or the worse. They simply change us. Life comes in waves, and if you live long enough, eventually one of those waves will be so large that it will pick you up and carry you to a place you did not expect. It will carry you long enough and far enough that when it finally puts you down you are different. These are the sorts of waves that wash away ideals and sentimentality. These are not the waves you enjoy like a day at the beach. Theses are tsunamis, bringing crushing weight, moving at breakneck speeds. These are white waters.
The emotions I’ve experienced in the last three years are unlike any other time period in my life. I’ve doubted my calling. I’ve thought about quitting more times than I can remember. I’ve experienced some of the lowest lows I’ve ever known.
My faith has changed, too. It’s more rooted than ever. As the waves came crashing, many of the platitudes I had long held close couldn't withstand the weight. Several of the simple answers I have often clung to in a storm were nowhere to be found. I had to go deeper, to read the Bible with fresh eyes, to see the God that comes alongside of me—the God who can calm the waves, but the God who also sometimes naps in the front of the boat while the waves are rough. I now see why some walk away in these moments. It’s hard enough to hold on, much less press in.
Pressing in, however, is what I did. And pressing in is what saved me. As I write, another hurricane is approaching. Political division is scorching the country. A pandemic continues to create confusion and anger. Election narratives are rampant.
I see these things differently now—more clearly, I think. I see them—mostly—as expressions of a broken world. And I see the Kingdom of Jesus as something far more sustaining, far more glorious than anything this world has to offer. The waves aged me, to be sure, but they helped me see the beauty and glory of Jesus more clearly than ever. Maybe that is the way it has to work. Maybe only when we are being crushed will we look up with true need. Maybe only when we are helpless will we see the true nature of Help.
For the last year or so, each time I was on one of my Internet accounts, I paid attention to my profile picture. I knew it needed to be updated. I looked older and grayer, yes. But I was also different.
I updated my pictures this week.
I would like to tell you that I can hardly wait for another wave like that, to ride again to discover more about who God is. But I can’t. I’m not there yet. But I know when the next wave comes, no matter how hard the crushing or how fast the carrying, I’ll find even more Glory in the depths.