Recently, a meeting at work got strangely contentious. I don’t know why. We were discussing article ideas, and since many of our texts center on amazing animals, quirky places, and kids doing remarkable things, it’s generally a pretty genial experience. Except this day, it wasn’t. People seemed more on edge. They were cranky. And instead of embracing possibility, there were more “this won’t work” moments. I blame the zeitgeist. And the fact that it was late afternoon. I don’t know about anyone else, but my patience and creativity tend to wane after about 2 PM. Much like an EV, our brains can only go so far before they need a recharge.

Unfortunately, finding a recharge at the moment is a bit tough. There’s too much noise. From social media posts to news stories and hushed conversations between colleagues and friends, the mood seems more than grim–it’s kind of like everyone, everywhere is running around in circles screaming while the alien spaceship’s doors are opening and the cosmic ray is slowly brightening. We’re not thinking, we’re just reacting, and we’re not even reacting wisely.

To complicate matters even more, the definition of Christian has been thrown into the mix, with sides being taken and insults being lobbed across the void, which is the exact opposite of what Jesus wanted his people to do. Don’t get me wrong, the world is a mess. And I am deeply troubled by the actions leaders are taking against their people (and people in general) throughout the world. Most everything about how governments work (or don’t) run contrary to the teachings of Jesus, but Jesus didn’t come to set up an earthly government. He came to establish God’s kingdom which transcends it all anyway.

In considering all of this, I found myself longing for a face-face conversation with Jesus this week. “Just 10 minutes!” I begged God. “Just send him into my kitchen for 10 minutes so I can ask my questions and get some answers about what it means to truly be a Christian in the midst of this mess we’ve made!” I wanted to make sure I had it right.

Apparently, Jesus was busy. Or rather, God didn’t seem to think he needed to hang out in my kitchen in bodily form. Instead, he spoke to me in his usual ethereal manner–little wisps of understanding that swirl and coalesce into a feeling of conviction. And what was God’s response?

Do the work I’ve placed on your heart and leave the rest to me.

This has been a recurring theme between God and I over the years. I’m a big picture person, and so I want to see the end result. But God has shown me time and again, from career changes to personal conflicts and even my concerns for the world at large that my job–my only job–is to do the work he has placed on my heart for today and to let him figure out the big picture.

I can’t end hunger. I can’t stop bombs from falling. I can’t cure cancer. I can’t stop grief. I can’t make people do the right thing. So, what can I do?

This morning, it occurred to me that I can live joyfully. Instead of propagating hate and vitriolic discourse, I can simply choose to embrace the gift of a new day and live in gratitude for what is before me right now.

Paul tells the Philippians, who were living in their own grim moment, to rejoice always. God had called the people there to engage in his work–to proclaim the Gospel and to do good. Do that, Paul says. And do it joyfully. God will take care of the rest.

That’s not to say that we don’t engage with the world–that we bury our heads or adopt the practice of toxic positivity. But I think, as people of Jesus, we can engage with the problems of this world in a much more constructive way. We can do what Jesus did. We can go out into our communities. We can see others. And we can do what we can to make their lives better. We can look on others with love and tenderness. We can show compassion. We put down the stones that we carry and offer an outstretched hand. And most of all, we can have faith in the fact that God is NOT done yet!

So, where is God calling you to work today? What story is he writing on your heart? Focus on that. Give thanks. And trust. The darkness might feel deep, but dawn will come.

Blessings and Peace,

Sara