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“It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.” 

That was how Charles Dickens described the time leading up to the French Revolution in “The Tale of Two Cities.” A time with a mixture of devastating lows and inspiring highs. All depending, I suppose, on which side of the guillotine you found yourself on that day.

That’s probably a fair assessment of most years. They are marked with moments of gloom and moments of joy, sometimes heavier handed on one side than the other.

When you look back at 2022, where do you fall on the spectrum? Did it lean more in one direction? 

Even if it was awful, full of heartbreak and disappointment, 2022 can still be considered a blessed year.

That’s a loaded statement. I can hear the objections already. “But, AJ, you don’t know the year I have had…”

Let me explain what I mean by the statement.

The Blessed Year

I started a habit 5 years ago of scrolling through my photos of the past year. They ignite my memories from January on, many I had already forgotten. It grants me a macro perspective of what my year was like.

This year’s photos contained my first meeting with my third nephew, who took his first plane ride to come steal everyone’s attention and affection. It also showcased photos of me getting the chance to meet several of my preaching heroes proving I am as big of a nerd as everyone claims.

I had pictures of new friends I met this year, the faces of constant supports who are always nearby, and reunions with favorite people far away.

All confirming, 2022 was a great year.

But not for everyone. Many in my social circles suffered a devastating year. A year which took more from them than it gave, where pictures bring the sting of reality instead of joy. An agonizing year they are happy to say good-bye to.

I’ve had years like that. Years whose memory scarred my heart. Times I have no desire to walk through ever again.

The Soul-Ripping Years

2000 was that kind of year. Anticipations ran high December 31, 1999. The dawn of a new millennia which promised fresh beginnings which, instead, brought mostly abrupt endings.

It didn’t take the new year long to plummet into anxiety. While waiting for the train to take me back to my second semester of college, Mom complained of numbness in her hand and arm. The numbness continued to progress and, by March, a CAT scan revealed a brain tumor was the cause of the numbness.

I spent the remainder of the spring and summer watching, helplessly, as my mother fought against the cancer determined to take her life. Even though I prayed so fervently for her to be healed, Cancer had its way, and I lost her to it.

After she passed, I left behind a place I had called home and moved in with my aunt and family. My brothers and I were strangers in a new state, calling a foreign place home. I spent the remainder of the year trying to repair broken and confused relationships with friends from Pennsylvania who did not understand why I had left.

2008 was not any better, and, like 2000, it did not take long for it to turn sour. The same aunt who had taken in my brothers and I, died from brain cancer just as my mom had.

Not even a decade had passed, and I found myself cast in a similar script. I watched from states away this time, as loss and grief tore at the lives of her husband, children, and my younger brothers. 2008 closed with a family rift that left separation and silence between two older brothers and their pre-teen siblings. All because grief had to have its way.

I’d rather forget 2008 ever happened.

Often our most painful times cause the most growth.

The Scars Left Behind

If 2022 was like one of those years, I empathize with you deeply. The cuts produce tender scars. 

Those indelible years come for all of us. It’s easy to look at pictures from a good year, smile at the memories, and think “This year has been blessed,” but what about those hard years? Can we ever say those years were blessed?

Enough time has passed since 2000 and 2008 for me to look back on them and notice a glaring truth: I survived them! Several times during those years, I thought and confessed aloud that getting through the next day was impossible.

In the moment, my survival to the next day seemed God’s cruel trick. When I opened my eyes to tackle the next day, it was just another chance for God to introduce some new pain before my inevitable demise. 

Those two years violently ripped me down. Certainly, pruning occurred during those trials; things like selfishness and pride were burned off when exposed to the fire. But they also tore away a lot of good, with no regard for what should be kept.

The experiences left me gutted. I could part with the rubbish that it shed from me, but was it really necessary for priceless blessings to be stolen from me?

The answer to that question is yes, because of God’s perfect wisdom. You can read The God of the Unexpected post for more on the mysterious but comforting wisdom of God. But why it was necessary falls outside of my paygrade.

But the question is persistent and haunts the mind. With such a critical and unresolved issue present, it would seem reasonable for my faith to have taken a nosedive.

Not only did my faith remain but Jesus became more real to me. The deep wounds from those times revealed more of him and drove me into closer fellowship with him. A closer fellowship that only seems possible after the worst of time.

How can that be possible? The moments, which should have driven me from him, chased me into his arms.

[The reason] I didn’t run when the waves broke over me: He kept me faithful. He held onto me because my feeble fingers could not keep their grip.

The One Who Keeps You Believing

It reminds me of God’s words to Elijah after the prophet fled from Jezebel’s threats. He complains that he is the only one in Israel who has remained faithful. God tells him to stop running and return for he has left seven thousand in Israel who remain faithful to him. (1 Kings 19:15-18)

The Israelites who remained faithful to God were not the ones who had inherent strength of their own making to weather the storm. Or who had manufactured enough courage to withstand the adversity telling them to cave in. Those seven thousand remained true, because God held them.

That’s the only way I can explain why I didn’t run when the waves broke over me and the weight was too heavy to shoulder: He kept me faithful. He held onto me because my feeble fingers could not keep their grip.

Just like David, amidst dark days when his enemies sought to find and destroy him, I proclaim: “Surely God is my help; the Lord is the one who sustains me” (Psalm 54:4).

In church Sunday we sang the “Goodness of God.” I reflected on the lyric, “All my life you have been faithful, all my life you have been so so good.” Can I mean those words when thinking of abysmal years like 2000 and 2008?

Even then. Especially then.

He hasn’t promised pain-free years. He hasn’t even promised to reveal all our unresolved questions in this life. But what he has promised the believer is that he will be faithful.

“And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ” (Phil. 1:6).

I may not know what lies ahead in 2023, but I know he holds me to him and will not let me go. Because of this, even in the worst, I can count every year as blessed.

It may be that the pain and grief is too “in your face” for you to see around it right now. I pray, with time, you gain the hindsight to look back on 2022, and see that his hand firmly sustained you. And while you wait, I pray you take your shelter in him until the storm passes.

If you’d like a copy of my free devotional, “Faith From the Chair,” you can sign up here.

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