For Those Who Hide

Never Too Late

Today I write from the top of our home—the finished attic, specifically—where from a dormer window I watch our trees bow in bitter January winds. I love the storybook contrast of the dread world outside with the world within, a kind of storybook setting. This magical perch is also perfect refuge for writers; so here I hide in my stolen hours, happily sequestered from winter’s latest withering blast.

Some of you are familiar with hiding, too; only maybe it’s not from weather. Maybe you hide from worse things—people, emotions, or unmentionable fears, but with no feelings of storybook seclusion. Maybe an inner tyrant keeps you in a lonely tower of self-imposed isolation. I’m familiar with those kinds of icy blasts, too, and a recent experience reminded me that this hateful “thorn in the flesh” must serve to comfort others somehow.

I’ll begin not with myself, but with God, who turns any weakness into a tool for revealing His strength. He is the “friend who sticks closer than a brother,” though in my multiplying thoughts, I may foolishly forget Him. This friend, unlike any other, can make beauty from even our ugliest thorns.

Although I’ve slowly tasted more victory than defeat over this old foe over the last decade, I still stumble into the emotional dungeon on occasion. When these familiar, crushing feelings of isolation descend on me, I have nowhere to run. Every direction presents damning evidence of my failure. (This is our lot as humans; No amount of money, fashion, exercise, or romance can chase away the enemy’s taunts.)

Thus surrounded by frowns on all sides, I’m forced at last to God’s mercies, a place of much-needed humility, and the only place of rescue. His arms are always open, ready to restore an erring child like me with forgiveness. His word is faithful, ready to strengthen me with its promises. What if I had no such hope? How many may suffer without knowing of any loving designs in the pain, any hope for restoration?

With that in mind, I’ll welcome you in to my little attic solace and share its otherworldly warmth with you. The hope that restores me is big enough for you, too.

Do you hide from the present, fearing the the searching eyes and scathing opinions of others? Does a stream of happy faces seem to look past you? Does everyone else apparently thrive in a union of social energy, style, confidence, connections, or beauty? Does your mirror condemn you, confirming you as the world’s ugliest teenager, saggiest mid-lifer, or loneliest widow?

You can entertain the lying—but very convincing—voice of the evil one all day, or you listen instead to true words. The truth is, we need only perform for an audience of One, who sees deeper than people do, and who designed us for specific, eternal purposes. Key phrases are in bold print:

“Behold, the eye of the Lord is on those who fear him, on those who hope in his steadfast love.” (Psalm 33:18)

“For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” (Ephesians 2:10)

Do you instead hide from the past—crushed by the ruins of your history? It’s a common struggle; your inglorious trail of failures, mistakes, and stupidity seems worse than that of others. They tell of high school glories; you recall your failed attempts and embarrassing rejections. They chose wisely; you made a fool of yourself. Their timelines are dotted with achievements, marked by pretty people with important names; yours are filled with years of obscurity and fewer invitations. You want to hide.

Maybe you’ve hurt others by sinning against them, and fixing the self-inflicted damage seems impossible. Maybe you’re desperate for that second chance, fearing that the swift advance of years will keep your good efforts from bearing fruit. Until then, you must live in well-deserved misery. You feel ashamed and discarded, so you must hide.

While the enemy thus pounds you with his predictable mockery, the Lord speaks hope into your painful past. He offers something different—restoration. He reminds you of his kingdom-shaking power, his sure forgiveness, and your only means to produce meaningful fruit in this lifetime.

“Behold, I am the Lord, the God of all flesh. Is anything too hard for me?” (Jeremiah 32:27)

“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” (I John 1:9)

“I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.” (John 15:5)

I’ve gotten a little wiser over the years, even if my temperamental thorn in the flesh makes me easy prey for such assaults. I now recognize the imposing, old gate of the kingdom of Self, where Satan continues his cold and hopeless assaults. Its iron gate is always open, ready for one of my isolated strolls down memory lane. Like Narnia under the wicked spell, it’s always winter there, but never Christmas. A day lingering near its entrance, nipped by the edges of icy gales, is usually enough to send me running to the Father.

Do not waste another day gratifying Satan’s wicked suggestions, regretting what is behind you, or fearing what lies ahead. In the book of Joel, God promised his people that He would “restore the years the locust has eaten,” and God never lies or changes. My favorite part of that passage ends with these words, a balm for wounds we suffer under Satan’s convincing lies: “And my people shall never again be put to shame.”

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“Yet even now,” declares the Lord,
“return to me with all your heart,
with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning;
and rend your hearts and not your garments.
Return to the Lord your God,
for he is gracious and merciful,
slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love;
and he relents over disaster.”—Joel 2:12-13

…so as to walk in a manner worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him: bearing fruit in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God; being strengthened with all power, according to his glorious might, for all endurance and patience with joy; giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in light. He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.—Colossians 1:10-14

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