It seems like almost every blog or post I read is working hard to encourage me that we will all make it through 2020. That life will go on and that there are a ton of reasons to be optimistic. That the global pandemic has forced creativity and in many ways I will look back and be grateful. That I need to stay engaged and continue to embrace change and be willing to keep pivoting.
This past Thursday Michael and I had a podcast interview ahead of us with some friends in Austin to talk about our upcoming book release of Fulfilled: The Passion and Provision Strategy for Building a Business with Profit, Purpose and Legacy.
It has been a while since I “had a moment” on this platform. Truth be told I’ve had lots of moments since I wrote last that cover the range of emotions represented by our emoji friends, but have not been in a place to share them. Long before the season we are facing of COVID-19 and a global pandemic, I was in a season of sheltering in some ways. Doing battle with some parts of my identity and disconnecting during that battle from all but those most close to me.
“…Do not be afraid, Zechariah; your prayer has been heard...”
Those few words in Luke 1:13, spoken by an angel to Zechariah, a priest. Nice words. Encouraging words. Hopeful words.
But the remainder of the sentence was jaw dropping. Your wife, Elizabeth, will bear a son, and you are to call him John.
Meet Zechariah and Elizabeth, relatively small players in the larger Christmas drama. They are described in a way that is enviable in verse 6 - Both of them were righteous in the sight of God, observing all the Lord’s commands and decrees blamelessly.
Blameless. Righteous. Obedient. A powerful couple in their community with enviable heritage and a faithful relationship with God.
But. Always a but.
But they were childless because Elizabeth was not able to conceive, and they were both very old.
So how many years has it been since Zechariah stopped praying for a baby? How many suns have risen and set since that request, that pleading, left his lips? Ten years? Twenty years? Thirty? More?
Very old. Clearly well past childbearing years. Monthly cycles ended. All hope ended with them.
“Your prayer has been heard.”
I just sat with a friend who is asking himself some hard reflection questions.
In our house there is a regular interaction between Michael and I. Most often it goes like this:
I've been thinking a lot lately about the topic of worry. Life is so full of opportunities to step into it, and sometimes to stay there for far too long.