I went for a walk along the banks of a small river on New Year’s Eve Day. It was snowing, and the forest was absolutely beautiful. It brought new life to my soul, and everywhere the path turned I found new inspiration and wonder. I returned to the same place a couple weeks later, on a bitterly cold, grey day, and it was dull, predictable and covered in treacherous ice. The snow was old, the way was rough, and I had to look harder for beautiful details. I didn’t stay very long.

On that initial walk, I lingered long, and resolved to come back on a daily basis. But reality set in: the early setting sun restricted my time, the bitter cold and icy paths made a long walk less inviting, and the fact of the matter is that I only visited that place twice this winter.

Today I’m thinking about resolutions and how we so eagerly begin things, and how quickly reality dampens our brightest hopes and reminds us that it’s cold and dreary February, and springtime is a long way off. There comes a time in winter when hibernation seems like the most sensible coping mechanism; but, unfortunately, that isn’t an option, and life must go on.

Why do we do new things?

It’s worthwhile to concentrate our energy and focus; it’s good to have goals and see them accomplished; it’s encouraging to have a fresh start and a blank page. New things are good, but new things cannot always remain new. What do we do with them once they have lost their newness and we are left with yet another thing to do?

Proverbs 24:16 says that a righteous man may fall seven times and yet rise again; is this merely a matter of dogged perseverance? Partially, some people are gifted with a natural tenacity and stubbornness, while others must simply resolve to keep going. Sometimes we give more weight to the feeling of the experience than the doing of it (a lovely, snowy path versus a treacherous, icy path, for example). But I think this matter goes deeper than a person’s willingness to bite the proverbial bullet and just do the thing.

Sustainability is something I’ve been seeking to cultivate in my own life in the past few years. This means I cannot commit to every new idea or opportunity that comes my way. Theoretically, I acknowledge that I cannot do everything, but only over the process of time am I learning to live my life in a way that includes fewer shocking changes and more thoughtful and faithful continuances. That’s what I like about the righteous man in Proverbs 24. He continues. He goes forward. He finds the path again. He keeps going.

As I seek wisdom in choosing a sustainable way of life, the idea of Sabbath continues to arise. Rest and margin in my life are necessary if I’m going to “run with endurance the race set before me.” This involves laying aside unnecessary burdens (a cause for consideration) and looking unto Jesus (let’s not miss the Person we’re running toward). [See Hebrews 12:1-2] The thing I love about Sabbath is that it’s not about getting every last bit of work done and then allowing oneself to rest. It’s inserting rest into the rhythms of our lives and regularly looking back to acknowledge what has been done, and that God is still good.

It can be a burden to see no end in sight of our responsibilities and resolutions; maybe not at first while the snow is still falling, but surely once the path is covered in ice and progress is slow, we begin to wonder if it’s really worth it. So, here are some things which help me insert a Sabbath mentality into my life and to sustainably keep going in the things that matter.

1. Appreciate what has been done.

Our globalized society is progressing so rapidly that it’s fairly common to feel left behind. There remains so much possibility ahead that we forget to pause and look back to appreciate how far we have come. This incorporates the Sabbath into our lives: the work will never be done, but we are set free to rejoice in life as it is. This applies to one another’s lives as well: I have found great joy in telling others that I notice and appreciate when they are doing something well. “Good job,” helps. So does, “Ta-da!”

2. Choose resolutions sustainably.

“Saying yes to one thing means saying no to many others, including the rest you may need,” some friends counseled me recently. It feels so good to have a long list of exciting new things; it feels less good when we find ourselves drowning in commitments we do not have the energy to keep. I believe saying yes is important and vital. We cannot always say no. Keeping an ongoing conversation in prayer with God about our present and potential commitments is a practice in both wisdom and humility. Once we’ve chosen to say yes, let’s ask Him for the grace to complete it well.

3. Be on the lookout for beauty and goodness.

In the midst of dreary February and settling routines, it’s more difficult to find the feeling of new inspiration. This is the time to put on our “goodness glasses” and begin looking for the goodness of the Lord all around us. For me, that means walks outside every day, looking for springtime, enjoying the sunshine when it appears, noticing the days growing a bit longer, keeping a fresh flower in my house at all times. They need not be expensive or extravagant things, but a bit of fresh goodness can bring beauty and inspiration into a normal routine. Open eyes are able to enjoy.

4. The routine is not our enemy.

While I am a massive fan of newness, I also get a bit anxious when life is in upheaval due to travel, change, holidays, etc. I have lately come to love and crave a consistent routine. With constant change comes constant decision making; I find exciting seasons to be fun but not sustainable long term, as my energies are used in the moment and not in long term progress. Boundaries on our time and schedules create healthy confines in which we can find stability and make daily progress in the right direction.

5. Peace and thankfulness.

The Bible exhorts us to “let the peace of God rule in our hearts, to which we were also called in one body, and be thankful” (Colossians 3:15). Letting God’s peace rule in my heart has practical implications in my life: taking a deep breath in between tasks, getting sufficient sleep and nutrition, recognizing my own limitations (a 12-hour workday is not sustainable on a regular basis for me), not multitasking, being present in the moment and situation where I find myself, caring about the person in front of me, etc. It’s accepting that a day’s work has been sufficiently done and trusting the Lord and going to sleep. It’s also the process of giving thanks: especially at the end of the day, when I find myself unsure if I have made any progress at all, I am helped by making a concrete list of what has been accomplished or begun or continued, and also what beauty I’ve noticed.

Life keeps moving forward, and so shall we. The social experiment known as New Year’s Resolutions has taught us, at the very least, that it is desirable to begin new things, yet difficult to sustain them. Now is a great season to reevaluate our commitments, look for the beauty in the normal routine and look unto Jesus as we keep on walking. It’s a good time of year to rejoice. It’s a good time of year to look back and see what God has already done and to take a deep breath and enjoy exactly where we are, and having done so, to go on.

Lately I’ve been finding that lack is good. I live in a foreign country, in the capital city of a people with a different culture and beautifully complex language. I often don’t understand. I’m always guessing, based on people’s hand gestures, my basic vocabulary and the general context. Sometimes I get what they mean. Other times, I drastically misunderstand. That can be hilarious or humiliating, depending on the day.

Living in a foreign context brings out a lot of insecurities. I never feel totally equipped for anything. Things that in my home context would require no thought or attention can be painstaking tasks here. Paying bills is still a complex mystery to me. Singing songs at church requires concentrated effort, plus oftentimes a lot of homework on the side. I don’t like having to try so hard to do simple things, but it’s reality.

It’s a struggle to exist in a context where easy things are now difficult.

It’s frustrating to be slow at things that are mindless for me elsewhere. Don’t we all love to understand and be understood? It’s like a hug for the soul when people understand us. It’s like a cold, dark alley when they don’t. But maybe my lack of understanding is actually for a purpose. This discomfort and difficulty is exactly where God’s grace must be strong for me.
The apostle Paul wrote to the Corinthians that he was in weakness, fear and much trembling when he spoke with them. Paul, one of the smartest guys alive, admitted that his words weren’t persuasive on a human level, and that he looked like a mess. That had to be rough. Everybody used to admire and respect him as an esteemed and very holy Pharisee. He met Jesus, got saved and went on missionary journeys which brought him to pagan cities where they really weren’t impressed by him. And he says that’s exactly the point.
Paul was trembling, weak and afraid, and simultaneously, his words and example demonstrated the Holy Spirit and power. Weakness demonstrated power! Humiliating circumstances made way for the Holy Spirit to work. Paul learned to rely on the Spirit while still outwardly trembling. Paul didn’t try to impress them. Paul couldn’t communicate very well in that context (can I get an amen?), but he focused his efforts on loving them with the message of grace. He determined to know nothing among them but Jesus Christ and Him crucified, so that their faith would be in the power of God and not the wisdom of men. Paul submitted his weakness to God and proved the Gospel of grace to be true.

People like to be impressed. People like to be impressive. But God didn’t call us to be impressive, successful or to look like we aren’t failures. He called us to walk in the reality of grace, wherever we find ourselves.

People like to be impressed. People like to be impressive. But God didn’t call us to be impressive, successful or to look like we aren’t failures. He called us to walk in the reality of grace, wherever we find ourselves.

Grace cannot exist where there is no lack.

If we don’t have need, how can we experience grace? What need do we have for forgiveness if we have no sin? What need do we have for strength if we have no weakness? What need do we have for wisdom if we find ourselves not understanding? Jesus Christ became for us wisdom from God. It just doesn’t look like worldly wisdom.
It’s tempting to be conformed to the world, to try to look like everyone else who understands. But that isn’t the point. We are in this world, but we aren’t expected to become more like it. We’re being transformed, and it’s by the grace of God. He’s making us something different altogether.
A life lived in grace probably won’t look impressive. It definitely won’t feel impressive on a daily basis. It will feel like being weak, despised, base and foolish in the eyes of the world. But those things are exactly what God has chosen. He didn’t call many wise, mighty or noble. God doesn’t look for the impressive parts of our resume. Sure, there will be times that we get to walk in our strengths, and it’s glorious. But the point of grace — of God doing it on our behalf — is that He is proven glorious. We’re chosen to be vessels of His grace.
Paul wrote to those same Corinthians, “By the grace of God I am what I am” (1 Corinthians 15:10). The complex being of Paul could fit within God’s grace. Human strengths counted as nothing; grace counted for everything. By the grace of God Paul could look weak, foolish, trembling and afraid. By God’s grace he knew his true lack and sought no longer to be humanly impressive. And God’s strength was mighty in him.

Grace is for every day, every need, every lack.

In every way, grace does what we cannot do. Jean Sophia Pigott wrote, “My need and Thy great fullness meet, and I have all in Thee.” An ocean of my endless need, and endless oceans of God’s fullness. Paul knew his own lack and let grace be strong on his behalf.
Paul walked in the power of God’s grace. “And His grace toward me was not in vain; but I labored more abundantly than they all, yet not I, but the grace of God which was with me.” Grace didn’t just make him feel better. Grace motivated him to keep doing things that would require additional grace. He confessed his lack and received the power of God. He was strengthened in grace to do things that didn’t naturally come easy.
In our longing to be impressive, understood and fulfilled, we tend to forget God’s grace. We expend a lot of energy trying to deal with, fix or hide things. Grace makes us sufficient to embrace our present situation and work wholeheartedly, trusting God with the results.
Friends, rejoice that our lacks are on purpose. They press us into the grace of God, which we’ll find to be necessary and available for even the smallest things. Be encouraged that God can use what we despise in ourselves (looking foolish, weak, afraid or insufficient) to be a platform for His grace. People don’t need to be impressed by us. Let’s gladly confess our lack. Let’s embrace the uncomfortable things that make us need grace. Let’s stand firm and apply ourselves where we are by the grace of Jesus Christ, so that God’s power and wisdom can be made visible through the lens of our lives. That’s the Gospel. People see Jesus when His great fullness meets our need. Let’s be all to the glory of His grace.

God likes creativity. It’s possible to think He is merely a strict taskmaster in the sky, begrudging us any sort of enjoyment in life. But He is the Creator God, and we are made in His image and likeness. That situation holds plenty of implications for us. God made us to enjoy relationship with Himself and with other people. He made us for fellowship, expression and sharing. He gave us the ability to respond to His love and share it with others. He talks a lot about joy. Expression is personal response. It’s worthwhile to express.

1. Creative Expression Is Incarnational

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth… And of His fullness we have all received, and grace for grace” (John 1:14,16)
Jesus is the ultimate expression of God: the Word, the image of the invisible God, put on flesh and became a Man not just so we could see or hear about His grace and truth, but that we could behold His fullness in real life. Simply by knowing Jesus and believing in Him, we receive the fullness of His grace. If expression could have no other topic, wouldn’t grace be sufficient? It’s real; it’s messy. It’s unbelievable; it’s lovely. It’s free; it’s heart wrenching: characteristics which typify all the best art.

If our lives, art and expression are known for the grace of God at work within us (in all the various forms it manifests), then our art has become incarnational: We have let the Word of God put on our flesh because we’ve received fullness of grace. (Plus, receiving full grace means being humbly enabled to give it; nobody likes a know-it-all, but everyone likes a fellow learner.) Art is humble and honest and raw and helps people interpret life. Let’s interpret through the lens of the Gospel and the love of God.

2. If The Word Is In Us, We’re Able To Express

“Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom, teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord” (Colossians 3:16).

This Biblical command is quite simple: Let the Word dwell in our hearts richly. Let the Word in, and we will have the grace to praise the Lord and encourage others. It will make us wise, so we aren’t just venting our feelings or proclaiming something other than the Gospel. Furthermore, obedience to this command actually enables every person in the church to write “worship songs” — and it doesn’t require musical talent. We can teach and help one another by the songs of praise (musical or otherwise) that we share because of the Word in us.
Maybe by dwelling on a passage during a particularly hard season, we will find a treasured promise, which becomes the “new song” in our mouths until we are brought out of the pit, like David sings about in Psalm 40:1-3. When we simply let the Word say what it says, it changes our perspective, and God changes us. Please note that expression is a God-given gift to all people, not just the ones who think they’re creative. This is for all of the church, to the glory of Jesus. It’s not self-glorification; it’s practically and humbly relating with God and others. Let’s communicate from the position of learners and listeners, with a well-watered garden of the Word of God in our hearts.

3. There Is No Secular Or Sacred

“And whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him” (Colossians 3:17).
“Whatever” is a pretty big word. It isn’t constricted to church services or worship leading or mission trips or Bible studies at a coffee shop. We don’t have to divide things into Christian or otherwise. It’s whatever. Anything. If we’re living in the reality of the Gospel, the Bible and the Holy Spirit will be showing us what doesn’t glorify God, and all the other things become fair game for glorifying Jesus. It’s words and deeds; not just one or the other. Every act and word of our lives can express our thanks to God. We do this through Jesus, whose blood paid to redeem every part of our lives for His glory. A.W. Tozer wrote about this in his book, The Pursuit of God:
“The sacred-secular antithesis has no foundation in the New Testament…The Lord Jesus Christ Himself is our perfect example, and He knew no divided life…By one act of consecration of our total selves to God we can make every subsequent act express that consecration.”

Let’s engage in every aspect of our lives, creatively and wholeheartedly, out of freedom and thankfulness and love to God.

4. Expression Is A Catalyst for Joy And Fellowship

“That which we have seen and heard we declare to you, that you also may have fellowship with us; and truly our fellowship is with the Father and with His Son Jesus Christ. And these things we write to you that your joy may be full” (I John 1:3-4).
Life is about fellowship. The Godhead enjoyed fellowship together, and then God created man to enjoy fellowship with Him as well. Jesus died to restore the fellowship, which our sins had broken, and by faith in Him, we also receive the Holy Spirit in our hearts, enabling communion with God and people. As people, we all see things a little differently. We all know God personally. And God saw fit to make us all into the Body of Christ (the Church). To put it plainly, we need each other’s perspective to know God most fully. When we share our lives and God’s goodness in plain sight of one another, we love God and one another more fully.

We don’t need to know it all to be able to express: We just need to open our mouths and share what we have seen and heard. Sometimes this will correct us when we’ve thought wrong; other times it will strengthen a weary soul in season (see Isaiah 50:4). …And more, there are many other Scriptures which encourage me to bravely share what God is teaching me in my life and to eagerly listen when others share from their perspective.
Life is exciting, and Jesus invited anyone with ears to hear. As we listen to the Word and live in light of the Gospel, we’ll find creative inspiration everywhere. And when we do, let’s fill our own creative outlets with grace and thanksgiving and joy — not with burdens, but with freshness and life. Let’s serve one another through the honest expression of our lives. We’ve been loved by Love Himself, the original Creator. I think He’s pretty pleased when we attempt to express like Him.

Sometimes I feel trapped by the all the things I think I ought to do. I ought to do more; I ought to sin less. I ought to feel better; I ought to become stronger. But somehow these oughts remain, and I’m still lacking. You see, oughts, no matter how many I pile up, have never been able to change me much. Ought is just not a strong enough appeal. And even if it was compelling enough to want to do something about it, I don’t find in myself the strength to accomplish much lasting improvement.
I find this very problematic. I can’t really do what I think I ought to do, and even if I can do it for a while, I lose interest after the novelty of it fades. I give up if results don’t happen or feel like I’m wasting my time. So, I transfer my attention to all the other things I ought to do. It’s a great recipe for feeling like a total failure all the time. Added to this inability to perform on an elite level in every area of my life (I am a recovering perfectionist), let’s throw in the curve ball of, say, chronic illness. So even if I ought to do something; I want to try it, and I do the best I can with what I’ve got, I still come up short because my body will decide that it just can’t get out of bed the next day after I’ve gone too hard and done too much. Seriously? It feels like I can’t win. The game is rigged. I’m doomed to failure.

Lately, I have felt that there are so many oughts demanding my attention that I can’t choose which one to do.

I’m not just talking about things on the calendar; it’s everything else that would also be “good to do.” And yet, the all-knowing Creator God has entrusted to me blessed limitations. They don’t feel blessed. They feel uncomfortably constricting. But they are for my good. Many times in my life, I have felt the struggle between what I think I ought to do, even what I think I would really love to do, and the finiteness of my own frame. “…He remembers that we are dust” (Psalm 103:14b). Does that mean God set us up for failure? Or could it mean that our high and lofty expectations for ourselves are a bit man-made, and that His thoughts, which are higher than ours, might expect something different of us altogether? “For My burden is easy and My yoke is light” (Matthew 11:30).
I don’t think God deals much in oughts. It doesn’t seem to be His character to make deals with us: “Ok, if you do this thing you ought to do, THEN life will be great. Perfect. Go ahead; I’ll wait.” He doesn’t tell us to fix ourselves and get our act together and get stronger and be better and sin less and be magically unflawed in order to get to Him. No. Jesus says, “Come.” He requires no fixing as a prerequisite to coming to Him. (And, dear Christian, I am not only speaking of salvation here; I am speaking of the daily walk of a believer!) He doesn’t hang the heavy cloud of guilt-ridden oughts over our head and wait until we check every last one off the list before we can move on to the next level with Him. No. That’s the law. Remember? And if we keep the whole law, but fail at one point, we’re guilty of all.

Jesus didn’t come for that. Jesus doesn’t guilt-trip us.

I think it’s possible that we guilt-trip ourselves. Now, a healthy dose of “I’m going to die to my flesh and do the right thing” is absolutely appropriate. But I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the condemnation in our minds that says, “Now that you’re saved, you are required to perform perfectly all the time henceforth and forever, and failing to do so will disappoint God and everybody else.” Whoa. Did God ever say that to us? What about righteousness that is not of my own doing, received through faith, by grace? What about what Paul wrote in Philippians 3:9: “And being found in Christ, not having my own righteousness, which is from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ, the righteousness which is from God by faith”?
Receiving the gift of Jesus’ righteousness imputed on my behalf does not look like me striving to perform better all the time. It looks like me saying, “You and I both know I can’t behave on a spiritual level in my own strength, Lord. This has got to be You.” And it’s not a linear progression towards perfection, either. I’m still as much of a sinner as ever; I just realize it more now. I’m worse than I thought I was. I need more grace than I ever could have fathomed I’d need.

Praise God that being in a relationship with Jesus is not about what I ought to do.

I think it’s funny and frustrating all at once when God shows us that He knows our frame is only dust. He’ll “close a door” in our face. He’ll let the chronic illness flare. He’ll cancel all our plans. He’ll, in His mercy, let us “do all the right things” and still not get the desired effect out of it. He doesn’t deal in oughts. Grace isn’t ought. Jesus didn’t die for us because He figured He ought to. He didn’t have to. But He did it because He loved us, and He chose to. And if “His ways are higher” means that He’d do something that selfless in order to restore my relationship with Him, I think I can receive the frustrations of life as His love to me, too.

So, all oughts aside, how do we move forward?

Come. Realize He loves us. Receive His grace. Come freely to Him and enjoy the relationship. His love and acceptance are exactly the satisfaction our oughts fail to achieve. He does not despise our weakness like we do. Jesus demands nothing of us; He just says come. The only guilt that should compel us towards God is the fact that we’re unable to fix ourselves. He’s fully able to heal and restore us; that’s not our job. He can; He’s willing. He loves us. Love isn’t ought. Love is response. We love because He loved us first. Sometimes love means limits and hard things; He knows that better than any of us. His love availed strongly for us, so we don’t need to ought anymore. We get to receive and respond and be loved.
So, I’m learning to not let the oughts dictate my performance. Be loved by God; the oughts don’t need a throne. Jesus, the infinite and loving Jesus, just says come, be and be loved. In the face of all our oughts, let’s draw boldly near to God, knowing this best not-ought: “The greatest of these is love.”

I like to think I am an enjoyer of good things. A sunset of brilliant colors, a cup of coffee that tastes of good quality, a flower that smells of good sweetness, a book that makes me recognize new (or old) goodness. Good is good.

Sometimes goodness comes in the form of newness. New mercies — unbelievably good. New ideas — helpful and inspirational. New information — aha! It all makes sense now. New socks — it cannot be denied. Fresh air or fresh vegetables or clean sheets. Good stuff.

Sometimes goodness comes from understanding. An idea, long mulled over, suddenly crystallizing in glorious golden light. The Gospel realized afresh in my heart; the knowingness of like-minded fellowship, sincere friendship or clarified expression; the blessed figuring-out of something.

Sometimes goodness is even stored up in expectations. A new year — this will be the best one yet. A new book — it’s off to a great start. A new person or ideology or season or flavor spectrum or a freshly sharpened number two pencil with which who-knows-what-goodness can be written. Expectations are delicious. But somehow they don’t last, and reality seems to crush them into less-than-palatable crusts.

Somehow that love of goodness, of newness, of expectation within me shrivels because I just can’t handle reality.

Reality is not what I have hitherto expected. I expected goodness! I had hopes! I had hoped… and now I just don’t understand. It can make me a bit cynical about goodness. All that pent-up disappointment silently pleads that, This cannot be goodness. I expected, but not this. I tried to understand, but it doesn’t add up. I looked to new mercies, and they seem neither merciful nor new.

Something within me, due to this life of reality-induced disillusionment, has developed a bit of frustration and understandably so. My expectation for myself, as a walker-by-faith, is that I’d keep up buoyant hopes, and that I’d trust – you know, be good at it. My “truster” within generally wants, knows, wills and endeavors to trust. But there’s a “doubter” within me as well that begs a hard question, and I’ve come to believe it isn’t there without purpose.

Frustration with “Reality-as-it-Seems” is more pervasive in human souls than we probably let ourselves admit. Goodness is good, and I wanted this to be good; but THIS is not very good. So I want to give up trusting, and I feel terrible, condemned and guilty for even slightly supposing that “this” isn’t quite good enough. Because, oughtn’t it be?

I’ve become more honest with God in the past few years. He imparted to me a “truster” within, and I find myself equally entrusted with a “doubter.” The goodness-seeker within me cries out, Don’t ever doubt! It isn’t good!
But what if a little, well-used doubt here and there actually is good?

What if God allows me to be disappointed, disillusioned, and at times even despondent for a while, when goodness just doesn’t seem to be good or enduring enough? For goodness is part of God’s character: He is Good.

He is also eternal. Goodness, therefore, I presume, is meant to be eternal. But the type of goodness I’m accustomed to seeing just doesn’t stick around, if it materializes at all. Anybody with me? The most glorious sunsets, coffees, books, ideas and pencils all have an end, alas! Understood-ness in personal relationships does not remain static, for as living beings, we are continually growing and changing and learning and becoming (which, as a side note, is a good thing); but what was cannot last.

So if my idea of goodness doesn’t stick around much past the momentary, my “doubter” leads me inquire about the nature of goodness. If even the best (most good) thing I see cannot last, then what, in fact, IS good? What is goodness? I ask because my search for it (as a liker of good) seems endless and unsatisfactory at this point in my process.

I think David, the Psalmist, felt this love of good and likewise this un-good disappointment. He wrote that he himself (the man after God’s own heart!) was capable of and even prone to losing heart. Losing heart, the lifelong certainty; goodness indeed! But, ironically enough, he used that fact to point exactly to goodness.

“I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. So wait on the Lord; be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart. Wait, I say, on the Lord” (Psalm 27:13-14).

So I was right in the first place! Goodness ought to make me not want to lose heart! (Even though mine usually does!) David felt that too, but he knew how to “strengthen his heart in the Lord his God” even in times of distress (1 Samuel 30:6). This implies that my loss of heart is profitable in me, pointing me toward The One Who Is Good, seeking until I find His goodness. I find it further comforting that such goodness can be found in present “land of living” circumstances.

Beholding satisfying goodness in reality is possible.

My firm belief in seeing goodness here is restored, but my methods of finding may need to change, my rush-to-apprehend calm down. Maybe all these constantly swirling changes ARE the goodness of the Lord for me here, and I can relax and let them swirl. I can look for and enjoy the fading good things today by receiving them as gifts from God.

We are made to rejoice in goodness. Don’t forget to rejoice, soul. When disillusionments resurface, I can put my expectations of goodness on the Lord-Who-IS-Goodness, and though goodness may tarry, wait for it. He will strengthen my heart. I can slowly come to know enduring goodness, even through enduring.
There is goodness eternal to be found today too. I can entrust my frustrated, doubting, not yet-goods to the Giver of all good things. It is not against His character to use hard things to get me to look at Him afresh, and in Him, to find hitherto unseen facets of His goodness. I can expect newness and understanding as I allow Him into my reality. It may be slow, but it will be true and lasting — just like a jewel, dug, chiseled, refined and dazzlingly beheld. I think that’s the best kind of good.