Not long ago on a Sunday, like a lot of Sundays, I was at the Well. The first woman I met with was a regular, and we know each other well. She has been unemployed for a very long time, and it seems her request is always the same - always, we pray for her to find a job. So that particular day she presented me with the same request, the same problem, and I felt so frustrated for her. I felt frustrated for all of us, for the things we struggle with for so long and the problems that, in spite of what seem to be our best efforts, never let up. Few things in this life irk me more than that kind of redundancy. I felt mad and discouraged, and I reflected that to her. But she looked at me, almost surprised, and said she was fine. Things were good. She really couldn't complain, because, she said to me, there's not one single part of my whole life that Jesus doesn't fill.
I want to have that cross-stitched on a pillow or tattooed on my forehead or something. Because I complain a lot. I'd like very much not to struggle with the same things week after week, day after day. There are a lot of things about my life I think could be better and many I wish would just go away entirely. I get discouraged and frustrated and even a little bitter, sometimes. And maybe thats fair, to an extent. But this delightful lady, who lives in the same broken world I do, struggles just like me, I think she has it right. We will always be in need, in some way or another. We will always struggle. Some of us with the same things for a long time, apparently, and I can't believe I'm saying this, but thank goodness for it. Because if nothing else it will keep pointing us back to this:
There's not one single part of my whole life that Jesus doesn't fill. And it's enough. Plenty, even.