I Count ALL Things But Loss

(“Yea doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord: for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ.  And be found in Him, not having mine own righteousness, which is of the law, but that which is through the faith of Christ, the righteousness which is of God by faith:  That I may know Him, and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being made conformable unto His death.”  Phil. 3:8-10)

Loss.  Just those four small letters echo with pain.  It implies something being taken…and not just anything – but something we valued dearly.  We shrink from it in any form it comes in.  The cold harshness of the casket or the unnatural severing of a critical relationship.  The stripping of the cherished possession rife with tender memories.  The melting away of our financial security.  The disappearance of the friendships or health we once took for granted.  When its iron fists reaches into our life wringing something from it, and our pleas fall lifeless at its feet, we are left numb in its wake with only one feeling pulsing through our souls – grief.

As I write this article, I do it with a profound sorrow over how many of my sweet sisters are struggling under unexpected loss.  You are trying to put the pieces back together after death, wondering how the hole in your soul will ever mend.  You are trying to recover from the disappointment, rejection, and re-definition of your life that comes in the wake of the tidal wave of divorce.  You are eaten up inside with worry over a wayward child, or how to the pay bills, and it robs you of precious sleep throughout the night watches.

Perhaps your loss has come in the form of dreams unrealized – whether it is the longing to be wife or mother – the emptiness of heart or arms mocks you.

Perhaps you are wrestling with chronic illness – and the fear that you might never know what a “normal life” feels like, or the insecurity of being “damaged” goods pushes on your heart in a quiet agony.  You work hard to appear well, pushing yourself beyond your strength so that you still feel valuable…for we all fear being replaceable.  Beyond the dread of daily pain and limitations is the deeper fear of being useless…even worse than that – a burden.  Is that not the greater hurt of the invalid – this feeling that they are in-valid?  That the world goes on without them as though they were nothing more than a pebble on the side of the road?

I understand, and I weep with and for you, because it hurts soul-deep.

At my lowest point, just before I was diagnosed with neurotoxic poisoning from mold mycotoxins, I was bedridden.  My muscles were in constant spasms and I was in excruciating pain.  My brain felt like it was on fire and my speech was slurring.  I was experiencing a rapidly increasing loss of motor skills and vision.  My heart raced and thudded and I had extreme nausea.  I was as weak as a newborn kitten.

My older two children were in and out of my room all day long – checking in on Mama before going back to their work or play.  My three-year-old, however, put her favorite toys and books up on our king size bed because she couldn’t handle being far from Mama (and didn’t feel well herself).  I would watch her play through silent tears, so innocently unaware that this storm might just take her mommy beyond where she could find me.  I asked the Lord if I would live to see her grow up, and asked that if it was His will, He protect her from the pain of saying goodbye.

Humanly speaking, I was completely useless.  I could not do anything to get better, find answers, minister to and protect my family or church, or take care of my home.  All I could do was lay there and rest in my Father’s hand.

I believed He loved me…I could feel His presence, along with His dear Son’s, descend with me into my Valley of the Shadow.  Yet I could not logically account for this detour, for it seemed that I was not only useless to the world, but to eternity as well. There, in my small bedroom, as I looked on a stormy autumn sky, tracing the ray of sunlight that escaped the foreboding clouds and spilled on my sunflowers, He asked me once again to “count all things but loss.”

“This, Lord?” I asked in the fading light, “The strength to go out and work in Your harvest field?  The soundness of mind and body to help my husband, raise my children in Your ways, bear more babies for Your glory, or care for the home You’ve given me?  The energy to be the right kind of Pastor’s wife?  You want me to count these things as loss too?”  In my weakness, my aloneness, it chafed against me, for I had always interpreted “counting all things but loss” as a relinquishing of my shame over past failures, or my pride over past successes.  I had associated the command with those things I had chosen to do or not to do…those things that I had control over. 

It could not possibly be talking about this careening train wreck that threatened all that I loved, and all I had hoped to be.  Yet there were no qualifiers to Paul’s statement.

There on my sick bed I had to ask, what if that word “all” meant just that – all?  What if it reached far beyond my actions and choices, to the things that I could not control?

What if the “loss” was my inability to serve at this phase of life?  What if the loss was the stripping of my strength to nurture and shield those under me?  What if the loss was being incapable of stringing two thoughts together and have them be coherent?  What if the loss was my candlestick being hidden…of no earthly good to anyone?

What if the loss was the disappearance of the very resources I believed I needed to do the most for the Lord in my stewardships?

What if the loss is financial, or a beloved relationship?  Or the loss of an opportunity or the breaking of a marriage?

I love the reason that Paul was willing to suffer the loss of all things.  He was not willing to make this sacrifice so that the whole world might come to Christ.  Nor in order that the Jews might be convinced of their Messiah.  Neither was it so that the church would cease to be persecuted.

It was for one glorious, breathtaking reason – that he might KNOW His Redeemer – the God of the universe.  Experientially, tangibly – in the deepest crevices of his heart and soul.  That Christ might fill all the areas of loss, becoming even more real and dear – enabling Paul to hold in the place of those treasured things the excellency of the knowledge of Christ.  Because Christ is so very worthy – He IS the gift of God – He is eternal life itself.

Like a shaft of light piercing the shadows, it struck me that my darkest, most isolated corner is still in full view of the Heavenlies!  That though my light might seem hidden from men it was still flickering before the angelic beings.  That in my most obscure place the angels were still looking on watching this wonder called redemption and sanctification, observing to see if Christ was indeed enshrined upon my heart’s throne and worthy of ALL my love, adoration, and worship… though He seemed to be slaying me.

In shame I realized I had fallen into the danger of measuring my usefulness to Christ by how much my life was able to impact men. Forgetting, that Christ is far more interested in me knowing Him than in what I can accomplish for Him (John 17:3).  

These places in life can shatter our souls – our sense of security and wholeness.  They are what we shrink from, what we hope to never have to talk about.  They lay our vulnerable beings out raw and exposed and we cannot move forward without the faith of Christ.  Yet it is this very faith, this unearthly God-like confidence when there is no obvious reason to hold on, that is necessary to form His righteousness in me.  In my raw interaction with the Son of God, through every kind of loss I can possibly encounter in life, He imparts Himself to me and exchanges my likeness for His.  Nothing, not even my helpless stillness, is truly lost when it is poured out as an offering at His feet.  That freewill offering rises before His throne as a fragrance of love and brings Him a glory I cannot understand in the halls of Heaven.

So, no matter where we find ourselves, dear sisters – impossible circumstances, overwhelming obstacles, failure, pain and suffering, grief, loss, need – nothing and no one is useless in His hands.  At our lowest, most painful point, where we need faith to see through the other side of our wounds – and all the territory in between – He is with us and at work in us accomplishing the very thing He gave His life for.  In our brokenness, He is redeeming us back to His heart.  And the redemption of broken souls IS His most important work.  There is nothing that can wrest me from it, unless I say no…and nothing is more precious than to let Him have His unobstructed way.

In a world infatuated with the picture-perfect image,strength, power and riches, let’s choose together to block its collective voice and accept the value Christ places on our imperfect lives…for He was willing to exchange His for ours…is it not fitting, and right, that we exchange ours for His?  Let’s fall back into His abundant grace – let’s look our disappointed expectations, our griefs and goodbyes, our limitations and suffering in the face – and count all things but loss for the excellency of knowing Him.