Looking back, 2016 was a year of contradictions.

I’ve seen people born…and people die.
I’ve witnessed weddings… and divorces.
I’ve walked with friends in their victories… and in their failures.
I’ve drawn close to Jesus… and I’ve pushed Him away.
I’ve sat still… and I’ve run full-steam ahead.
I’ve trusted… and I’ve doubted.
I’ve spoken words of life… and spoken words of hurt.
I’ve both lost… and gained friendships.
I’ve walked in favor… and frustration at work.
I’ve felt both constrained… and freed.
I’ve seen gains… and losses in my personal disciplines.
I’ve chosen bitterness… but also forgiveness.
I’ve seen people change… and seen people stay the same.
I’ve named my weaknesses… and my strengths.
I’ve known both deep beauty… and deep pain.

This past year tested me on every level and left me clinging to Jesus for daily bread on more than a handful of occasions. I’ve fought really hard this year. I’ve dug really deep. I’ve gotten my hands dirty so often that I’ve simply become used to the stains under my fingernails.

And while I’m truly, honestly, genuinely grateful for all the ways that God is changing me, I don’t like contradictions and chaos. It’s messy. It’s non-linear. It slows down my definition of progress.

But I know these contradictions are actually proof that I’m growing. They reveal the struggle to learn, to apply, to understand, to change, to be transformed.

And, really, to struggle means you’re alive. It means that the Holy Spirit is active and you are responding to His work in your heart. Those who don’t struggle are not growing.

But that struggle means you have to get your hands dirty. You can’t wish change upon yourself. Jesus invites Himself into our mess to help bring order from chaos and beauty from ashes because we will never be able to do it ourselves.

He has to do the work, but we have to live hands open, palms up. Surrendered. Willing. Trusting. Thy will be done.

When a friend offered to pray for me this summer, I closed my eyes and laid my head on my folded arms. I expected her to start praying, but first she gently took my fingers and said, “Lydia. I think God wants you to open your hands to Him as we pray.” The symbolism was not lost on me. I immediately started weeping. But, in God’s miraculous way, I also started healing.

To struggle involves giving our wounds the attention they deserve. It offers the chance to look Jesus in the eye to ask our hard questions. And as we wrestle with God, we are thrust into closeness with Him.

And He never flinches. He never avoids my punches. He invites me to surrender everything – all my questions, all my fears and all my sermons on unfairness in the world. Because Jesus is committed to my growth.

He speaks amidst the chaos. He comforts amidst the contradictions. He rescues me every time with sure-bet promises of love, hope and hallelujah.

“Even to your old age I am he,
    and to gray hairs I will carry you.
I have made, and I will bear;
    I will carry and will save.” (Isaiah 46:4)

I used to criticize Jacob in the Bible because he wrestled with God. I thought he deserved that limp as a punishment for his uppity attitude. But maybe, just maybe, that limp was a trophy of grace. You see, in the wrestling Jacob gained proximity to God. He got close enough to be touched by the Father.

So, what if my contradictions and chaos lead to open hands which leads to an open heart which leads to a wrestling which leads to a closer relationship with Jesus?

And therein lies the hope. Because, if we let it, deep struggle can lead to deep relationship.

“He disciplines us for our good, that we may share his holiness. For the moment, all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.

Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees  and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed.” (Hebrews 12:10-13)

Farewell, 2016. May I steward your lessons well.