Remember that Jacob wrestled, it’s okay that you struggle too

Though I would love the capacity to give up, turn around and stop doing what I do, it appears I cannot.  When life is down, and I’ve received bad news after bad, and my soul sinks, I cannot stop hoping, even when I do temporarily give up hope — if that makes any sense at all.  The effect is I’m broken by what I cannot reconcile.  The fact I can’t let go of hope makes wanting to feel a confounding, confusing conundrum.

Do you struggle for hope from time to time?

Moments like this we can either flip off in a rage or we melt in a puddle of tears — or a mix of both.  Often, anxiety can send us into numbness as well, and there are combinations of all these, anger, tears, numbness, among others.

I made a choice a long time ago now to FEEL the pain.  I just am unable to deny my feelings these days; though, if it’s inconvenient, like I’m helping someone, I can choose the strategic withdrawal of what’s termed a functional denial — for a time — to focus on the other person.  With what I do, I need to be able to do that.  But I don’t escape.

Those feelings must be met, encountered, rummaged through, resolved.

It’s easy to get down on ourselves when we’re ‘meant’ to “give thanks always,” knowing we aren’t always thankful.  We must remember that even Jacob (otherwise known as, Israel) wrestled.  It’s okay that we struggle too.

It’s only from the state of genuine anxiety and of feeling depressed that we recognise it’s not always possible to FEEL thankful, or to be present for that matter.

It may make sense in our head, but for some reason our heart feels forlorn, or perhaps even our thoughts are scattered.  And there the wrestle begins again — to regain that thankful spirit.

It’s instructive then to have experienced this sense of helpless hopelessness.  To have experienced it means we’re invited to become capable empathisers of those who would give anything to feel thankful, but for a plethora of reasons can’t or aren’t.

We’re capable of such empathy because we know what it feels like to be confounded.

Faith is a wrestle.  Anyone who says it isn’t just doesn’t understand the full gamut of humanity — we are FEELING creatures, and whether you divert your sadness into anger or denial matters little — you’re still being emotional.  It would be better by far to tip that anger into authenticity and feel the sadness and fear as it presents or face the feelings with courage and not cheat ourselves of reality through denial.

Feeling out of control is the pits, yet that too is instructive, because it’s only when we get to the end of ourselves that we see the door is ajar to humility.

Accept what cannot be changed and we walk right through that door.

We can only walk through one door at a time.  And that’s all each moment requires of us.

But to make matters worse, when we’re struggling, when the wrestle is real, we find we’re wrestling most with ourselves, within ourselves, and we somehow know it, and we want that wrestle to conclude with a neat resolution.

The fact that we’re even wrestling is a victory.  It seems easier for most not to go there.  But those of faith have no choice.  There’s no option but to fight, and the struggle is real.

The fact we’re wrestling reveals the fighter in us, not needing to fight with others, but needing to fight off attacks that strike inwardly; those that create dissonance for reasons unknown.

If you’re a fighter, a wrestler, a struggler, be glad.

Make the most of times you’re on top.  When you’re battling your way back up off the canvas, know it’s your nature to fight, to resist capitulation, to wrestle with how you feel, and to resolve it through acceptance.

Most importantly, resolve not to be guilted into shame for feeling weak.

Though you feel weak, strength is your ally.  Strength for feeling real.  Strength that you cannot be a coward — that when the wrestle presents, you find you must fight, even if that’s out of being floored.  Strength that even when we give up, you find the tenacity to ascend eventually.

There’s no shame in finding ourselves at that low place.  It’s from there we rise.

Photo by Robert Lukeman on Unsplash