I Made It Through The Wilderness
DANNY SUTTER
“I made it through the wilderness. Somehow I made it through." ~Madonna
Okay, so that quote is taken a bit out of context, and the rest of the song has no relevance whatsoever to what I'm going to write, but I kind of geek out about music, so bear with me. When Josh asked me to write about my experience through the wilderness of the pandemic, my initial thought was that I had nothing to say because like Madonna, I feel like I already made it through the wilderness. My life has been going well through the pandemic. You see, 2016-2019 were such terrible years for me that 2020 was like a breath of fresh air. Those three years were my wilderness where I experienced the implosion of my marriage, my divorce, my mom's stage IV cancer diagnosis, illness and death, long-term unemployment, and an ongoing bout of anxiety and depression — all of those things overlapping. When I consider that, I realize that maybe I have more to say than I thought.
Sometimes, when I look back at those three years, I laugh at the absurdity of it all. I could've maybe dealt with any of those things on their own just fine, but they all happened at the same time, and there were times I didn't even know if I'd survive it. By the grace of God and with the support of some devoted friends, an excellent therapist, and a ton of self-reflection, I thankfully made it through to the other side.
So now I find myself asking, "What does it look like when you're out of your wilderness, but so many others around you are in the midst of their own?" That's something I've been learning this past year. Through the pandemic, my kids and I have been healthy, and apart from a temporary layoff, my job has been safe. I also find myself in the best place I've ever been physically, mentally, and emotionally. I'm incredibly grateful for all of that, but I know for many folks this has not been the case, and a lot of people are struggling. So what do I do with that?
First off, one thing I had to learn while in my wilderness was that it was okay to not be okay. Throughout much of my life, when I went through hard stuff, I "put on a happy face" and "chose my attitude" to "fake it 'til you make it." (I'm cringing that I used to think most solutions were that simple.) But when your whole world collapses in front of you, you can't do that. I needed support, and I had to learn to stand up and say, "I'm not okay." I think the counter to that applies to when you're out of the wilderness, though. It's okay to be okay. Just because others are struggling doesn't mean you have to pretend like your life isn't going well. You can be grateful for your health, comfort, and happiness, and still grieve for and support those around you. Acknowledging your own fortune doesn't dismiss anyone else's misfortune. In fact, when I was at my worst, I found it incredibly helpful to hear stories from people who survived what I was going through; it gave me hope that there was a dawn to what felt like an endless night.
I also learned through my wilderness how helpful my community is. When you get divorced or lose a parent, your friends really show up; at least mine did. When I had no energy or drive to do anything, my friends took all the initiative in including me. They were there for me, and I don't know how I could've made it through without them. At the same time, though, they didn't really have to do all that much to support me. Mostly, they checked in on me, invited me to dinners or game nights, and listened to me lament, and that was enough. Not only was it enough, but it was the most helpful thing they could've done. All it took was their presence, their acceptance, and some empathy, and that made the most impact on my healing.
I think I also learned a lot about how I understand God through my wilderness. I learned the hard way that those platitudes you always hear, things like "It's all part of God's plan," "Everything happens for a reason," or "God won't give you more than you can handle," aren't true. While on an intellectual level I didn't believe those any more, on an experiential level I still wanted to. That gave me a harsh reality check when prayers for my mom's cancer to go into remission went unanswered and when the marriage I'd felt called to crumbled in front of my eyes. I was no longer able to see God as formulaic like I had before: if I do x, God will do y. If I pray hard enough, the cancer will go away. If I try hard enough, my marriage will be reconciled. The world doesn't work that way, and as such, there were times it felt like God was completely absent.
It didn't stay that way, though. Something changed in me. Through the actions of my friends, my view of God changed. I saw my friends mourn with me when my mom passed away. I saw them sit with me as I was in pain at my impending divorce. I saw their intentional presence and complete acceptance of me and the emotional wreck I was at the time. And through that all, I saw God; I learned to believe that that's the role God takes with us. God isn't happy that my mom died, having orchestrated it for some greater purpose; God is heartbroken that one of his children has suffered and died, leaving a grieving family. God isn't angry at me for ending my marriage; God is proud of me for giving it my all. God isn't disappointed in me for failing in something he called me to; God is grateful that I followed that call. I don't know if I would've learned that had it not been for my friends stepping up. They truly became the hands and feet of Jesus and taught me more about God than I've ever learned from a church or from scripture.
So that brings me to today. In the midst of this pandemic where so many people are facing uncertainty with health and employment and are battling loneliness and isolation, my life, for the most part, is pretty hunky dory. How do I navigate this season that's been devastating for so many people but rejuvenating for me? I think I start with a posture of gratitude for where I'm at, and I balance that with empathy for others and where they're at. By taking that attitude, I can be okay, and I can support others who aren't okay. I can be present with them and practice listening and acceptance. My desire is, through that, to be the hands and feet of Jesus like my friends were for me, to provide hope that the darkness will pass and the sun will rise, to inch closer and closer to truly loving my neighbor as myself. I pray that as the vaccine continues to roll out, the pandemic diminishes, and folks make it through their wilderness, we can all strive to live this way, and the world will be a better place because of it.
Danny lives in Morton with his three kids (Afton, Cy, and Dulci). He is a recruiter by day, singer-songwriter by night, and in need of a nap by mid-afternoon. He's been attending Imago for around 10 years, where he is often seen trying not to trip on the cables while he runs back and forth on the stage between various instruments. And yes, he is indeed barefoot most of the time. His passions in life are his faith, his family and friends, and music.