Chase Oaks Church

Out of the snow and into the dark, underground garage, I parked the car in our designated spot.  I gathered my books and headed for the apartment building’s elevator.  This was always a creepy walk, but it was more so that day because I walked it alone.  My sister had stayed home sick that day, and I missed her. The move to Pennsylvania had been a huge adjustment for two Texas girls.  Accustomed to living in a large house, our accommodations felt cramped.  But we’d learned to navigate the most critical functions of our new home.  We’d become masters at baking chocolate chip cookies in the tiny galley kitchen and doing laundry in our mini-washer and dryer.
 
Alone on the dark elevator, I heard the bell ring and stepped out into the hallway I’d walked a hundred times before.  The ornate patterns in the carpet repeated over and over as I worked my way down the corridor.  I reached out and turned the handle on the apartment door, and found it unlocked.  In a single motion, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
 
It felt like the breath was suddenly sucked from my lungs. The apartment was entirely bare.  Wires hung from the walls and clumps of dust filled the corners.  The only light was from the sliding glass door to the balcony.  I don’t know how long I stood there in a panic, feeling something awful had happened to my family.   I stepped back and looked at the number on the door.  I took in a fresh breath, realizing I had gotten off the elevator one floor early.  I had opened the door to the vacant apartment directly below ours.  I exhaled.
 
I scooted as fast as I could to the elevator, hoping no one had seen my embarrassing mistake.  Reaching our apartment, I opened the door to a familiar scene with way too much furniture and three days worth of newspapers scattered everywhere.  It felt warm.  It felt familiar.  It felt comfortable.
 
I don’t know if I’ve ever told anyone that story before.  A few weeks ago, as I listened to Jeff’s sermon about suffering, this incident came to mind (“No Wasted Hurts“ 9/27/09).  Unexpected events can land us in a terrifying place—one where we find no comfort or safety.  Trials can abruptly suck the breath from our lungs and leave us wondering, “What just happened?”  We look around and see the world is not as we thought it was.  We are lost; we are alone.
 
We might be confronted with the tragic loss of a loved one, or a betrayal by someone we thought we could trust.  We could be walking through illness or financial hardship.  Is anyone reading this enduring all of the above?  How do we find a familiar and comfortable place amid the turmoil?
 
For me, I have often found that comfortable place in the Psalms.  While going through a series of challenges this past year, a friend gave me a small book filled with breathtaking photos of God’s creation with Psalms on each page.  Even when I find I’m too upset to study the Bible or even pray, I can read the Psalms and connect to my compassionate and loving God.  Particularly comforting to me has been Psalm 73:26, “My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”
 
The empty rooms I’ve entered this year have at times overwhelmed me.  I haven’t entered them willingly.  But I take with me the comfort of the Almighty God—what Jeff referred to as “His Comforting Presence.”  And I expect “A Redemptive Outcome” in line with the Scripture Jeff shared:
 
“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God.” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4)