just as he said.

Things are, very rarely, just as we plan them to be. We can guess, we can try, but life often shows up instead--politely mocking what we thought was the ability to control our circumstances.

We get let down.

I have a client who refers to this as the "expectation gap", and as far as psychology goes, she's not too far off the mark. There's a certain type of enmeshment that we talk about in counseling, where we become entangled with others in such a way that we feel we are them. Their emotions become our emotions, their experiences our experiences. And because of this, expectations are usually high and frustration tolerance is low. In short, we say:

 event+expectation=emotion

So when we plan something, and our expectation is that it will go exactly as we planned, we become emotionally dysregulated when it does not.

The expectation gap.

The irony is that the more we fight things not going our way, the more reactive we become. We literally make it impossible to enjoy an experience because we can't let go of the fact that it is not how it is supposed to be.

Our job.

Our relationships.

Our life.

It's all terribly messy.

And rarely does anything happen in the way we wish it to.

Nothing is just as we said it would be.

And I love this for several reasons.

The first is that rarely have I ever had the foresight to choose things for myself that were good. I have a long history of poor choices, mostly wrapped up in who I thought I was supposed to be or what  I thought I was supposed to do. Thankfully, my feet have found the path I needed to go on, versus the one I  thought I was supposed to. And I am healthier, more whole for it.

It's not to say that the paths were easy, or even comfortable. Most of the refining times in my life have been in the fire, and now is no exception. Growing is hard because it means we have to let something die, let something go. And this is never uncomplicated. There are so many parts of ourselves we have fought to protect because we didn't know who we would be without them, and at times this has heeded our growth.

It's scary to die to yourself, in whatever capacity that may be.

But it's almost always worth it.

There's this story in the bible that talks about when Jesus was raised back to life from the dead. We've all heard it a thousand times, and whether you believe it or not you most likely know it--Jesus died on the cross to save us from our sins, and three days later he rose again.

The scriptures say that Mary and Mary (his close friends) were among the first to see the empty tomb. As they got there, still mourning his death, they were surprised to find he was not there.

An angel said to them:

He is not here, He has risen, just as He said. 

Just as he said.

I'm not sure why I have never noticed that phrase before now, or why it's suddenly gained so much meaning for me--but the truth of it stops me in my tracks in its stark simplicity.

Jesus didn't promise that he wouldn't die, that he wouldn't be betrayed by the people he served. He didn't say that it would be easy or that he would take away the painful process.

He died.

And then he rose again.

Just as he said.

You see, the hope doesn't come in just the cross or just him coming back to life. He could have promised to only die, but that wouldn't have been meaningful--just sad. And he couldn't promise to come back without having gone somewhere, it wouldn't make sense.

He died and promised to rise again.

And it was just as he said!

Do you know how many times in the course of my life I have doubted that hope would come through for me? That desperation was the only tune I knew how to sing? That death after death after death made the possibility of life seem like a cruel dream?

But.

I walked through the flame.

I was burnt, ashes to ashes.

And found beauty on the other side.

It was just as he said.

So today, I am resting in the fact that while my expectations may not be met, it's not because everything is just dying.

It's that everything is coming back to life.

My expectations are not high enough.

And I don't mean circumstantially--in a physical sense.

I mean eternally.

There is a hope that has been set before me, and despite what is happening in and around me, it is there--just waiting for me to grab on.

And when the time comes, when my walk through darkness is over, I will be able to look back at my suffering and forward towards the joy set before me and say:

It is just as he said.

He has risen.

And so I have I.

For the joy set before him he suffered.

So that I could have the joy. 

AND IT IS JUST AS HE SAID.

Though the suffering may be unbearable.

And the fire impossibly hot.

Hope is the unshakable, unwavering expectation placed before me.

So when I can't feel anymore, or when I feel too much.

I will remember the joy.

I will remember this thing, this promise that was made in dying, so that new life could be raised up.

Because in the midst of my doubt, my faith has yet to fail me.

And it has always been, never as I said, BUT always as hope said--

far beyond and above the expectations of my soul:

and straight to the heavens.