The sun shone yesterday, but inside of me confusion, anxiety, and desperation roiled. Sunday. Church. Mother’s Day. And all I can think of is me. I try not to. I beg God to stop my mind from obsessing over every piece of my life. Good, bad, not yet come to pass, it doesn’t seem to matter lately. I have no idea what is going on and I’m almost sure I’m screwing it up anyway.

My heart has been unsettled, so restless for so long, and I feel… abandoned. Abandoned by a God I know will never abandon me, so it must be me. And I’m back to a whirlwind of self. Usually, when I lose track of which way is up, I look to the natural world as my earthly anchor. Do you ever wonder how the tallest trees bring water to their leaves without pumps or muscles? Or how it’s possible that lightning is hotter than the surface of the sun? Let me tell you, as someone with a science degree, knowing the details only magnifies the wonder. This is the day, Lord, this is the world that you have made. But it’s broken, so broken, and sometimes I forget to rejoice.

The beginning of Philippians chapter 3 holds a strong emotional punch for me. Thirteen years ago, I was a newly graduated physician, living a bright, exciting life in vibrant New York City. I hope you’ll hear my next words as the you hear Paul in Philippians 3:4-6 – turning a worldly boast on its head. I had it all. I was smart, beautiful, athletic, and educated. Whatever I did, I did well. I don’t think it took Paul very long to toss aside the identity he’d been cultivating for most of his life. It took me years. In fact, when I think about that time, I still use words like “taken away” and “lost.”

I do believe God both took away certain parts of my life and character, as well as allowed others to crumble. He stripped away ever layer of worldliness with which I’d carefully assembled my identity. If you’ve read The Chronicles of Narnia, just picture Eustace having his dragon skin removed. It hurt and I fought tooth and nail for every bit of me that let me walk comfortably through this world. But in the darkness, there was a thread. And I knew that I could either hold on or let go, but that the decision had to be made. Only the stripping away of everything I held dear allowed me to see this reality with such clarity. But again – did you catch it? Took away. Crumbled. Removed. Stripped.

Over the last several years, I have seen God “giving back” some of the things that fell away before I decided to grasp that thread. I know that all good gifts are from the Lord. I know that God is good and longs to give me, his child, good gifts. I see this in my life. But now… what happens when something I thought was his gift to me is again taken away? Taken, taken. How do I know? It’s easy to say, Lord, the earth and everything in it are yours, I ask only for my daily bread. It’s not even that hard to mean it. So why do I feel like all I can hear are the echoes of my own calls for help? What am I supposed to feel? What am I supposed to do?

Inspiration to write has not entered my heart in a while and I assure you, my uninspired prose is, as my high school English teacher put it, “formulaic.” Driving home yesterday, the events of the day bumped around in my head. I’d gotten ready for church, skipped it, and then shown up halfway through. I worked hard at my flute playing even though I can’t tell what God wants me to do with the physical problems hindering it. I celebrated my mom with my stepdad and did what we do everday – loved each other as best as we can.

I had put together a new playlist right before I left for my parents’ house, but had forgotten what was on it. It was a happy surprise when CityAlight’s newest song, This is the Day, began playing. I ended up listening to it on repeat the whole 20 minutes home. Familiar words, good music. Many times, God has used that exact combination to get my attention, to wake me up to the truth of what so many simple, repetitive hymns say.

This is the day that the Lord has made – many of us learned it as children from Psalm 118. It’s a deceptively profound statement for a believer to make. When I sing that this is the day the Lord has made, I am declaring my place in it. I am the created. I live in his reality, the reality. He made each day, and it is through his constant guidance that water keeps flowing up trees and clouds release built-up energy with the light of the stars. Who am I that he is mindful of me? And yet he has gently taught me…

I’m still confused. My life is both wonderful and a jumbled mess all at once. On some days, every second is filled with music. On others… on others, it’s an effort to get out of bed. I don’t know what I’m supposed to think and feel about the things I see passing in and out of my life. I don’t know. I’m still struggling. Even so, I know that every person, animal, plant, and bacterium is not just created by God, but is living in the day he made for us.

I don’t understand anything better now than before my encounter with this song, but it ended up pointing me to something better, something never moved by the turbulence of life – my anchor. The storms of my feelings and thoughts often seem impossible to navigate, but no matter how violent and inscrutable the winds of change are, my heart and soul will not be moved. As we sang in church yesterday…