At 9:35 last night I hopped back out of bed after talking with my wife, realizing that sleep wasn't going to come soon. We had just had a discussion about all the possible impending changes in our life, all the current struggles, and all the typical things that come up in life as spouses and parents. Right before bed is a bad time for me to talk about these things, since my head needs time to find some sort of peace and sleep will not come until peace does.

As I shot out of bed and into the living room I flipped all the lights back on in the house and turned on the television to watch the end of the Angels vs. Red Sox game. Soon, I wasn't paying any attention to the game, and instead was trying to put a finger on what my heart was feeling that my words and actions have failed to express. For over a year, in periods and degrees, I have had this underlying, spiritual groaning that has been a friend and a shadow. What is this feeling?

Eventually I flipped the tv off, went and checked my e-mail (a good thing, since I got an important one), then went back to bed and quickly fell asleep. As I was falling asleep, I knew that the same questions and confusion would be waiting for me upon awakening since nothing had been resolved. I knew it was going to weigh especially heavy on me in the morning because I knew I was falling asleep and was trying to resist it, yet was overcome. Darn. Sweet dreams, Joe Beck.

I woke this morning with the same sense of weightiness and wishing I could sleep for several more hours. It's dark now when I wake up, which makes the feeling of sleepiness worse, and almost inevitably I fell asleep in the shower and ran late. All of this served as a distraction from the issue, as did sports radio and a rain storm on the way in to work.

When I arrived at my desk, I realized that it was going to be a slow day and I'd have to sit for awhile. There was no more avoiding the matter at hand. I called Pastor Richard and unloaded on him, which he always handles with grace and admonition. I love him dearly. At the end of that conversation, I knew exactly what I was feeling: grief.

I'm grieved that I've had to learn so many things the hard way.

Grieved that I take so many things for granted and have wished so many great things away.

Grieved that the world is a wicked, crooked place that's under a curse, and grieved that I don't do more to give people the cure.

Grieved that so much Christianity today hates Christianity and is doing everything it can to look as much like the world as possible.

Grieved that these people call looking like the world "holiness."

Grieved that the modernists think that the glory days of the faith were in the 50s, and grieved that the emergents think the glory days are here now.

Grieved that churches divide over the things of this world and not the things from above, then self-righteously proclaim to agree to disagree.

Grieved that I cannot give grace as I have received it.

Grieved that I do not love my wife and child with my entire being, much more my God.

Grieved that I am cynical so often towards the church.

Grieved that I do not trust God to provide for my needs.

Grieved that I relate better to Lot than to Peter and Paul.

And yet what of this grief? Where is my hope in all this despair? To what does it all amount?

"Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light."

Nothing has changed in the world, still I rest. My flesh demands wickedness and would exhaust me in the search for it, yet I must rest in Him who gives me His righteousness. There is work to be done, and in His power, as I work, I must rest. Though my heart is heavy with the cares of this world, there is indeed rest. There is love to be given, and I rest in Christ's love.