WHEN THE STRUGGLE IS REAL

365 Days of Thanksliving — Day 159

It’s 8:59 as I begin to type this, as in 20:59—super late, I know. We literally just drove into the garage about ten minutes ago. Weekly shopping trip and all.

You don’t need tonight’s play-by-play; it was fairly uneventful. That is, except for the late-40s blonde driving her husband's SUV (it had fishing logos all over the back) who cut us off coming out of Walmart and nearly caused an accident. Oof, that was a long run-on sentence. I hope none of y’all are English teachers.

Funny, but not so funny, I probably almost caused her to have a nervous breakdown. We literally tailed her practically the whole way home, all the way from Mankato to about Darfur (about 50 miles for all y’all out-of-staters). The whole way, we were never more than a mile behind her, until the last few minutes when she floored it to about 69 MPH in a 60 zone. Maybe she thought we were stalking her… Ah, serves her right for driving erratically out of Sam Walton’s parking lot and staring at her cell phone while passing us. Ironically, I think she lives here in our town. I’m gonna leave it at that.

Anywho… none of that has anything to do with the title. The title has everything to do with how my day began. See, our Emma called this morning—evening for her. She and her friends had just gotten back from watching “The Devil Wears Prada 2. (Emma said it was good, but maybe wait for it to come out on streaming????)

While she called to chit-chat with her mom, she was really calling to talk with her dad. And everyone says, “Awwww…” She and mom gave me a few minutes to get myself in order, then I said to her, “Gimme two minutes to get upstairs and settled.”

Right on cue, ‘cause she’s a chip off the old block, my KakaoTalk app chirped. While Emma and I can talk about anything, she didn’t just want to talk with her dad; she wanted some advice from “Pastor Dad.”

Emma is coming alive in her faith in ways that her mom and I prayed for years to happen. Her story is as long as ours; needless to say, the “bad break-up” at St. Paul’s in Maumee left a bad taste in her mouth. She had a rough go for a while, and all we could do was give her space and encourage her as she worked out her faith struggles.

I don’t know if I’ve ever told her this—she’s probably reading this now—but I admire her for pressing through her struggles. They’re real, and people who stay in the fight come out stronger in the end. I’m pretty sure the Apostles talked about that—about having spiritual endurance and all. To the Romans, the Apostle Paul wrote:

“And not only that, but we also boast in our afflictions, because we know that affliction produces endurance, endurance produces proven character, and proven character produces hope. This hope will not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured out in our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.” (Romans 5:3–5, CSB).

See, even just miles from the DMZ, our girl has been faithfully attending church most weekends. Her boss invited her, and she’s gladly been attending. But lately, she’s been finding both the worship and message shallow—like it’s fitting for young kids but not for adults. When I asked how long the sermons were, she said, “Maybe ten minutes?”

“Huh, really?” I said. “Even Roman Catholic Priests orate for longer than that,” I quipped.

Together, we talked through her struggles, until she finally asked, “Dad, can you start recording your sermons again and posting them to YouTube? I need some substance again, and I even miss the old hymns.”

“You betcha,” I answered back.

I don’t know why I got out of the habit; maybe I looked at the metrics and saw only a few were tuning in. Perhaps I should be thankful for even the handful of people who did; they were pressing into their faith, after all, and I guess I deprived them (including my Emmie) of doing just that. This weekend, that will be rectified.

The struggle can be real for all of us. I think at some point, we all have struggles in our lives, whether they be with our faith, relationships, work, or anything else. But when we press into those, well, it’s like they say: “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.” I applaud anybody who presses in like my daughter’s been doing and even asks for help. That’s a sign of maturity in my book.

Anyway, tonight I’m grateful my daughter reached out to talk with Dad, but more importantly, Pastor Dad—one of just a handful of people she feels safe enough to say, “I’m struggling. Can you help?”

Thank you, Father, for my daughter and for putting your Holy Spirit in her. Thank you for helping her press through and having an eternal hope in You. Give her, and all like her, the endurance to keep on keeping on—growing them in their faith. Amen.