I don’t usually write about the struggle in the middle of it.

Because, most of the time – in my life, anyway – the lessons come later. In the debriefing and processing. In the rearview mirror. After the storm has dissipated...or weathered...or passed through.

But, today, I’m in the middle of the struggle. The storm. The strife.

And I’m writing it. With the hope that, somehow, I can find a place of peace from which to see the hand of the One who is intimately familiar with the trial, the tempest, the tussle. I need to find a refuge of rest in which I can breathe deeply in the comfort of the One who knows how all this ends and calls it good, no matter what a mighty mess the middle looks like now.

I want desperately to find a bubbling, refreshing fountain of faith into which I can dive headlong, eyes closed, and emerge saturated and dripping in tender-yet-tenacious droplets of confidence in the One who promises to never leave nor forsake.

Because, quite honestly, today I feel forsaken in the midst of this dark night of the soul, as spoken of by John of the Cross, the 16th century Spanish poet.

The particulars of a crashing, crushing upheaval likely vary at any given time, in any given tribulation. While each blow, each jab, each uppercut feels intensely personal and unique to each of us – and each one deserves to be felt, investigated, processed, grieved, and healed in its time – I’m not certain those particulars are the point. At least not in and of themselves.

I think the point is what we – you and I – choose to do with those assaults, those battles, those clashes. To whom do we choose to take them? Whom do we run to with our scrapes and bumps and bruises, whether self- or other-inflicted? Whom do we allow our souls to cry out to when we come to the end of ourselves and the squall continues its deluge, with no end in sight?

Faced with those questions, I realize that although my hope may be weary and worn, tired and torn, it points me to the One, the only One on whom I can completely, utterly, and honestly depend. Developing confidence in the character of God takes depending on Him deliberately, fully, honestly, unhesitatingly, instinctively and finding Him more than worthy of that dependence. Every time.

Today, I’m depending on Him like that.

Like my very life depends on it.

Because it does. Especially in the middle.

What does dependence on God look like to you in the middle of your times of upheaval? In your times of calm? How can you learn to deepen your confidence in the character of God?

Laura Moss is beyond grateful to be able to say she has survived being Mom to 4 spirited girls, a battle with aggressive breast cancer, and some difficult seasons in her almost-25-year marriage. She calls herself a Creative, is drawn to beauty in all its forms, and loves loving on people. You can find more of her musings at gratefulamazement.wordpress.com. Read more posts by Laura.