Derailed.

Some weeks we mosey into church, smiling and greeting others. Some weeks we tumble in, barely having our whole family clean, dressed and fed. Other weeks we go in soul thirsty, with purpose, seeking a word from the King. The latter was my heart this past Sunday.  And in his faithfulness, God spoke.

That whisper in your soul that can only be the Holy Spirit: Fix your eyes on Jesus.

As my week has unfolded, the meaning of this word has become more clear to me. I’ve been charging forward in this whole writing gig, trying to minister to others and share God’s truth with those who are reading, charging forward in writing for the youth at my church. Last week I kind of found myself looking around apprehensively for the enemy. Because usually when we’re doing something right, working for the kingdom, all he wants to do is derail us. But things have been going rather smoothly around here.

And then the trichotillomania reared it’s ugly head (no pun intended). And I was completely derailed.

Maybe that sounds shallow to you. Ok. It is just hair. But for some reason, it is utterly heartbreaking to me. I know others whose children suffer the same affliction, and they agree that it is heart wrenching to watch.

Sophie sporting her new short haircut.

If you’re getting depressed by this post, please keep reading. This is not a pity party for Catherine and Sophia. Not at all.

For the past three days now, I’ve been so far away from my metaphorical train track that I didn’t even know how to find my way back. And I’ve shed so many tears. I realize in moments like this that while some parts of me are doing very well at accepting the life that the Lord has for Sophie on this earth, there are other parts of me that are still totally angry and sad and just bummed out. Hair-pulling is a major bummer. I’m sure ten years down the road I will look back and wonder why I stressed out so much about whether or not Sophie had any hair at the moment. At least I hope so. Still, living with it is tough.

But way out here in my metaphorical field, far off from my train track, that word resonated in my soul: Fix your eyes on Jesus. It’s a choice, a resolution. I may allow myself to be sad about this, and I may allow myself to grieve (yes, for hair, and for what it represents, more importantly), and I may even allow myself to be angry. But I refuse to allow myself to be derailed any longer from the purposes and plans God has for me. Three days is long enough to sit in a fog of confusion and anger and fear and sadness in this metaphorical field of mine. It’s time to get back on the track. It’s time to press in, to move towards what God has for me. If I stay over here in this foggy field, then the enemy has won. He has effectively distracted me from what God has me doing. And I refuse to allow that to be the truth.

So I will fix my eyes on Jesus. I will dare to look past my circumstances to the one who loved me enough to lay his life down for me. And I will keep moving forward. I may shed tears along the way, but I will not allow the brokenness of this world to derail me. It will not, cannot, capture my gaze to immobilize me. My eyes are on Jesus and I’m moving towards him.