Why Closed Doors Feel Like Failure, And Why There Is Still Hope

 

    I had been in such a season of growth and joy. In the last few months, I had felt closer to the Father and more at peace than I ever had before. I was waking up each morning earnestly looking forward to being in His presence--and then, it struck. Deep-rooted pain that stripped me of my joy, demanding loudly to be re-processed (even though I have re-processed time and time again!) It felt almost as if God gave me a taste of His presence and then withdrew so far away that I couldn't feel His joy, for Psalm 16 states that in His presence there is fullness of joy...

I couldn't understand why this was all happening. Why would he bring me up to such a beautiful mountain, only to send me straight back into the valley--a place that I had spent the past few years walking through. I'm going to be very candid with you all; these past two and a half weeks have been incredibly hard for me. I have cried, processed, and mentally stewed enough to last me for the next year.

We are told time and time again to rejoice in our suffering because it is an opportunity to partake in the suffering of Christ and the renewing and testing of our spirits.
James 1:2-4 says "Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing."
1 Peter 1:6-9 says "In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls."

These truths are beautiful, and exactly that--TRUTHS. However, honestly, suffering feels terrible. It doesn't feel rewarding or beautiful at all. After all the tears I have shed, I cannot easily and cheerily put a smile on my face and praise God for my suffering. That, after all, entirely contradicts my human nature. That is the thing about suffering, after all; it's painful. And even though, in my heart, I already know Christ has the victory and that He has given me such a reason for joy, it doesn't make my current trials any less painful in the moment. 

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I am a very work-based person. I always have been. I feel the incessant need to prove myself to others. To prove I'm worth loving, worth knowing, worth pouring into. I have come to the very recent realization that all of this stems from the deep-rooted need to prove myself to my biological parents. The pain about their sacrifice and their love for me has been a huge factor in my aching these past few weeks, and I have realized that the reason I work so hard is to feel like I'm worth it. To somehow feel like I am showing them that their sacrifice was not a waste--that I took the chance for a better life that they gave me and made the best out of it. I am very hard on myself and I push myself because I ultimately crave their approval, but since I can't communicate with them, I seek validation in everyone else's approval of me. This is what makes closed doors so much more difficult for me to handle.

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Recently, I felt God closing some doors in my life, which really disappointed me. In fact, much more so than I anticipated. I have been in a season of struggling to feel His joy, even though I want to. Of knowing that I need to rejoice in Him and all He has done but feeling some sort of disconnect to taking that action. I now know that this is because closed doors feel a lot like failure. Even though, in my heart, I know that they are merely gentle reminders from Him that better doors are going to be opened, my human self equivalates them to being a failure on my end to be good enough; and the fear of not being good enough cuts deep for me for aforementioned reasons--because I feel like I need to SHOW that I am good enough to be worth my parents' sacrifice. I have struggled to feel joy recently because the closed doors in my life make me feel like I am not sufficient.

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What is the point of all this? To be honest, I'm not quite sure. It's 2 a.m. and I feel very weary and tired and emotionally drained all at once, yet also unable to sleep because there are so many thoughts churning inside my mind. It's all so much to swallow--and that is why I took to writing instead of sleeping. (Which may prove to be a poor decision down the road...I have two exams in two days and I definitely need to be sleeping and studying more for them, but breakdowns and revelations never seem to accommodate my schedule...c'est la vie.) One thing that I am sure of is this, though. The Father's Heart for me is so full of love and compassion. Time and time again, I have proven to be faithless. Time and time again, He has proven to be patient and has extended His undeserved forgiveness to me. I can trust in His attributes, even when I don't fully see His plan or understand the ways He chooses to work. I can rejoice in Him, even when I don't feel like it, because His joy is not contingent upon my mere human emotions but instead on His love and promises, which are both steadfast and fulfilling.

I don't fully know why His plan had me go straight back into the valley. I don't know why He closed the doors that I so desperately wanted to remain open. I feel very broken and vulnerable right now because I feel like I have failed somehow, and by failing I have let my birth parents down. And, even though I know the truth of what Christ says of me, I feel completely unlovable, unwanted, fruitless, and hopeless. Yet, like I said before, God's joy is good, and not contingent upon how well or poorly I am feeling. (Praise God for that!) Even though I don't feel like it, I can (and, more importantly, MUST) continue to be faithful and intentionally joyful in worshipping Him. These closed doors leave me feeling very confused and unsure of what is to come next, but that means there is SO much more room for Christ to grow me and work through me, and I cannot think of anything more beautiful than to be used by Christ--to turn my mourning into glorifying Him.

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Well, it is very late now, and I feel like I have been rambling for long enough now. Hopefully, this is actually coherent, if only a little bit, rather than the mutterings of a sleep-deprived lunatic. I just wanted to be very raw and candid with you about how I am doing. Life is rarely easy, and suffering is not a burden I take on joyfully. But, I can continually pray that Christ makes those burdens lighter and easier for me to take on. I can pray that He shapes and uses me in ways that reflect Him. I can pray that, in all this hurt and feeling insufficient, He will truly shine through and use me for His glory. His grace is greater, His love more intentional, His promises more faithful. And so, even closed doors don't mean the end of the road.