March began with a strange, heavenly tinkering in our backyards. God, in His sovereignty, allowed a particle shaped like a crown of the sun to come from a foreign land.
I wasn’t ready for this virus. Sickness and death ensued. I watched as the supermarket added tape to the floor and plexiglass protectant to its cash register stations. Masks covered smiles and then became in short supply. Schools closed. We separated ourselves from our loved ones.
As a Christian, I am sensitive to the groan of a world in turmoil. The fleshy part of me wants to spin the top of anxious toil. Another part clings to Jesus, wishing for him to come back.
I have trouble understanding the masterful plan behind the tinkering. And He isn’t just orchestrating every funeral story, He is tending to the orchestra in my soul: He knows what sound he wants.
It’s difficult to remember that, as Christians, we are in a sanctification process to become more like Christ.
I don’t want process. I want completion—like now. Why? Because the process often means pain.
If we want to become more like Christ, we must endure the testing of our flesh. And this surely appears to be a test.
We want people to stop dying. And selfishly, we want our creature comforts back.
But here we are.
When the Israelites spent 40 years wandering in the wilderness, they had to learn how to trust and obey God.
We must trust that God holds this particle in his hands, and we must obey the leaders who have been granted dominion over us.
What does this require?
Something we have been fighting since the garden: humility.
After 75 days in the wilderness, the Israelites were hungry, but they had to trust that God’s provision was coming, and He was teaching them trust and obedience in the waiting (Exodus 16:1-3).
This disease is brushing up against our fences and threatening to push open the back door to our homes. But our Papa is in the shed out back turning jagged wood in his lathe. He is near, and His work is good.