I Rarely Get Discouraged

This week slowed me down.

Not by choice. By necessity.

And in that slowing down, I saw something I might have missed if everything had gone according to plan.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”
— Matthew 5:4

I rarely get discouraged.

But this week was a struggle - physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

It started with an infected tooth that required oral surgery. Then bronchitis followed with an annoying cough that caught me off guard, because I don’t often get sick. My sleep was interrupted. My energy dropped quickly.

What surprised me most wasn’t the physical pain.

It was how quickly my spiritual focus became more difficult as my body weakened.

When energy is low, it’s harder to feel spiritually alive. When sleep is interrupted and the body is fighting infection, the headlines feel heavier than they should. Add to that the constant barrage of war, division, and confusing news, and I could feel my emotional well being slipping.

There was no real crisis in my immediate life. But internally, I felt unsettled. An inner sadness. A heaviness that didn’t fully make sense. 

And as life would have it, this was the week my four teenage grandsons were visiting. This was a gathering we had been planning for months, a birthday gift for all of them.

I had looked forward to it all winter. But I’ll be honest, the timing didn’t feel ideal. I was tired. Not at my best.

Yet they did arrive and watching them together lit something up in me.

I saw life moving forward. I saw strength, humor, the bond of lifelong cousins and friends. I saw these young men stepping into their own rhythm. And I felt that familiar bittersweet tug (well known to parents and grandparents), the awareness that they no longer need me in the same way they once did.

I thought about those four little boys sitting on my bench years ago, juice boxes in hand. And now here they were, driving themselves around, walking ahead of me, laughing as they stepped into their own independent lives. 

It wasn’t a dramatic spiritual revelation.

But it was a holy moment.

Joy mixed with pride. Love mixed with awe.

Even when we feel weak, and the world feels unstable. Even when we are mourning something we can’t fully name.

Life is still unfolding in glorious ways. 

There are always God moments, if we are willing to look for them.

This week I had to choose where to focus. On the headlines? On my discomfort? Or on the blessing in front of me?

I chose to celebrate the joy of life. 

I rejoiced in their independence. I humbly thanked God for the legacy I could see alive in them, the next generation of Clark men.  And I allowed myself to rest, to let my body heal and my spirit settle.

Sometimes faith isn’t about having answers.

It’s about remembering where to look.

Where in your life right now are you physically, spiritually, or emotionally struggling; and where might God already be offering you comfort?

One of the greatest comforts this week was remembering that the body knows how to heal.

After surgery, I slept for sixteen hours. I only woke long enough to take an Advil and drifted right back to sleep. When I finally stood up the next day, I could already feel that significant healing had taken place.

It felt almost miraculous.

We forget how intelligently designed we are. The human body is not random. It restores itself when we allow it to rest.

Those who trust God and seek His wisdom learn when to push and when to lie down.

Sometimes the most spiritual act is sleep.

Sometimes faith looks like surrendering your schedule and letting your body do what God designed it to do.

Rest is not weakness.

It is cooperation with Divine life at work within us.

“Blessed are those who mourn.”

In the book, Sermon on the Mount, Emmett Fox writes that mourning is not only grief over loss, but the experience of trouble and suffering that shakes our assumptions. It is often through discomfort that we discover what is actually true.

This week, my mourning wasn’t dramatic. It was subtle. A recognition that I cannot control my health, the news cycle, or the pace of my grandchildren growing up.

But in that small suffering, I was reminded of something freeing.

God is not absent in weakness.

Trouble, when turned toward Him, reveals truth.

It reveals that Divine life is active within us.
That healing flows from a Source deeper than medicine alone.
That peace does not depend on global stability.

When we seek God in the middle of trouble, we gain understanding. And that understanding sets us free from panic.

The world may remain uncertain.

But comfort is real.

And sometimes comfort comes disguised as rest, as laughter around a table, as teenage boys walking out the door while you quietly whisper a prayer behind them.

Mourning does not cancel blessing.

It sharpens our awareness of it.

With peace,
Janet

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