It's Okay Not to Be Okay: Moving Forward One Day at a Time

by Sheila Walsh

I’d tell her this will not be the life she imagined. I’d tell her that she will disappoint people and they will disappoint her, but she’ll learn from it. I’d let her know that she’ll fall down over and over again, but rather than understanding the love of God less she’ll get it more. I’d let her know her heart is going to break, but she’ll survive and it will change how she sees people, not as causes to be saved but as people to be loved. I’d let her know that sometimes the night will get very dark, but she will never be alone even when she’s absolutely convinced she is. I’d let her know that she’s loved. I’d tell her to get rid of her punishing list of things she thinks she needs to get right.

I don’t know what your internal list looks like, but

if it’s anything like mine it usually serves to let us know where we’ve failed.

When we assume that God’s love is based on our behavior we’ve set ourselves up for a devastating fall.

I want you to know that these words were fought for. They could sound like the waving of a white flag, six words of surrender, but they’re not. For me they are words of victory!

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your

life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly. (Matt. 11:28–30 Message)

What a lovely place to start again, side by side with Jesus, learning to live freely and lightly. I read an old Chinese proverb that said, “The best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago. The second-best time is now.” I like that. Those are hope-filled words. They say that we get to start again and again and again. No matter what’s true in your life at this moment, I...

Life rarely offers quick fixes; it’s a process, and God is in it with us, all the way. He doesn’t look for perfection in us; He sees that in Christ. You don’t need to be okay because Jesus has made you all right. He’s paid the bill in full. He’s covered our “not okay-ness.” Okay doesn’t live here, but Jesus does. All He looks for in us is a willingness to take the next step.

I think what discouraged me the most was the feeling of being back in the same place—again.

This is the way things were always meant to be. There were no barriers between them and God. They were naked in their emotions. No shame. No fear. No guilt. No questioning. No comparing. No sickness. Then everything changed. When they rebelled against God’s instruction to eat from any tree in the garden apart from the Tree of Knowledge of Good

Shame. Fear. Covering up. Hiding.

and we’ve been doing it ever since.

I believe (and this is my belief alone) that something of the DNA of Eden runs deep in us. We know things should be different. We know we should be better. We know life should be fair. We know that death is wrong. We know that something is wrong with everything and we try to fix it. The truth is, we can’t. That’s why Christ, the second Adam, came. When Christ came, He didn’t come to return earth to Eden

at His birth. He came to pay the price for our rebellion and sin and make it possible for you and me, through faith in Christ, to spend eternity with Him. Then everything that was lost will be restored.

That will be a day like no other. No more death or suffering. No more cancer or disease. No more broken relationships and broken hearts. All these things will be gone forever. Hallelujah!

It’s okay not to be okay because we’re not home yet. It’s okay not to be enough because God doesn’t ask us to be. What He wants is to move in—to move into our hearts and our homes, our minds and our struggles. Jesus is not a hashtag to add on to your life. He wants to be your everything.

Three different times I begged the Lord to take it away. Each time he said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” (2 Cor. 12:8–9)

My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.

The word skolops used in this passage can be translated as “thorn” but just as likely as “stake.” The image of a stake is one of something driven straight into the heart. Whatever it was, it cost Paul dearly.

Yet here he opened his heart to us and let us know, I’m not okay, I’m not enough. God’s answer to Paul is His answer to us. My grace is sufficient; it’s enough for you. My strength works best in weakness.

Grace is a gift unique to those in relationship with God. No other religion offers grace.

If poor people take the little they have and give it to the temple priests, they might be reincarnated in a better situation next time. They call it karma. No mercy, no grace, no hope.

When I was in seminary in London, I used to visit All Soul’s Church and listen to John Stott teach. This is how he described grace: “Grace is love that cares

and stoops and rescues.” Grace is the opposite of karma. We get what we don’t deserve: the love, mercy, forgiveness of God. Grace is unmerited favor. Grace is here for you right now, in the middle of what is hard or not working. The writer to the Hebrews described it this way: “Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of g...

God says His grace is enough for you, but the text goes on: “for My strength is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9 NKJV). It doesn’t say, “If you’re a little short of your own strength some days, Paul, I can make up the difference.” No. It makes it clear that we are never supposed to be strong on our own. It’s only w...

So, I let God have it. I told Him I was afraid and angry and tired and sad and lonely and confused and everything else I could think of. I didn’t edit myself. I just let it all out. I believe my final words were, “I can’t do this anymore.” Rather than feeling rejected by my broken outburst, I felt as if God bent down and said, “I know. I’ve been waiting.”

O my people, trust in him at all times. Pour out your heart to him, for God is our refuge. (Ps. 62:8)

You matter! Starting anything in life is hard. The first step is the toughest. It’s a choice, a commitment to change. Even if that first step is a baby step you will be further along than when you began. Ask God to help you. Invite the Holy Spirit to guide you.

Even when David was exhausted, soul weary, he called out to God.

You may have given up on God and yourself, but He has not given up on you. You may be afraid to hope again, but hope begins like a tiny drop of rain. My prayer for you is that as you keep moving forward with the tiniest of steps you will find yourself soaked to the skin.

For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So, we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. —2 Corinthians 4:17–18 NIV

When things fall apart, the broken pieces allow all sorts of things to enter, and one of them is the presence of God.

How could you lose a child and not cry out, “Why?” How can a God of love allow such things to happen? When we’re afraid to ask those kinds of questions, to rail at God, we’re left alone in our pain. I think that’s one of the hardest things about those door-slamming experiences; you feel alone.

Life moves on for them but not for you. You are stuck in the hallway. If you don’t have anyone close to you, the night is even darker. I’ve often wondered if some of the epidemic levels of depression and anxiety in our culture stem not simply from a lack of chemicals in the brain but from a lack of connection in our lives.

Having a smartphone in the hallway doesn’t meet our real human flesh-and-blood needs.

I discovered that burying feelings didn’t make them go away; rather, it led to anger, fear, and depression. I thought I’d moved on, but I was carrying the baggage from those unexpressed raw emotions with me. It might feel more “Christian” not to bring our anger, pain, or disappointment to God, but I believe it’s actually the antithesis of a real relationship with Christ. We become a little less authentic with every experience we bury.

I think the church is full of disappointed Christians who don’t know how to admit it. So, what’s the alternative? Where do we take that pain, those questions when life feels brutal and unfair? How do we pour our hearts out to God when we feel as if He is the one who has let us down?

When I feel let down, I turn to the Word of God. I don’t know what place, if any, God’s Word occupies in your life, but in my life it is water and air; it’s my lifeblood. When I feel alone and adrift, I open the pages to find myself again. The Bible is not a Pinterest app of happy thoughts and motivational quotes; it is full of the honest, heartbroken cries of those who loved God but felt the painful slam of a door in their face.

Why is it so hard for us to be our authentic, raw selves with God? I believe that one of the underlying issues we struggle with as Christians is reconciling two basic fundamental beliefs:

God is love. God is powerful.

I would love to say that I have an answer for you here, but I don’t. As Paul wrote to the church in Corinth, “For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face” (1 Cor. 13:12 ESV). There are things that happen every day that make no sense at all. That is when I choose, by faith, to remember these things: We are living in plan B.

Christ is the Redeemer in plan B. We’re not home yet, and Christ has gone to prepare a place for us. Even when the hallway is dark, we are never alone. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. (Ps. 34:18 ESV)

“When things fall apart, the broken pieces allow all sorts of things to enter, and one of them is the presence of God.”

As I brought each very real fear to my heavenly Father, the answer was the same: I’ll be there. I’ll be there. I’ll be there.

As I poured out my fears, I felt held. I felt no judgment, just overwhelming compassion.

I saw how I had defined the quality of my life by what I was able to accomplish. I’d placed so much value on what I do rather than on who I am. God’s love for me had nothing to do with whether I ever stood on another stage or wrote another book or traveled another mile. I also saw how at times my understanding of God’s love for me was based on how things were unfolding in my life. When things were going well...

It shook loose

things that were cultural beliefs, not scriptural truths. It shook the belief that I had surrendered everything to Christ when I still felt so entitled to the life I wanted for myself. It shook the belief that I was living by faith when I was actually living by what made sense to me. I also discovered that God meets us in the shaking when we look for Him there.

For God has said, “I will never fail you. I will never abandon you.” (Heb. 13:5) I made a beautiful discovery. God not only lives in the wide-open spaces of our lives, God lives in the hallway, and His presence can be most keenly felt when the door has been slammed in our face.