The Great Exchange: When a Million Little Deaths Lead to the Secret of True Life

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As I recently shared, this past month was one of extreme physical circumstances that left me out of commission, out of family life, desperate for relief, and weary of the battle.

There were moments when I was in such discomfort, I could barely think, let alone read my Bible or pray beyond begging God for mercy. It left me feeling like a stranger to myself and wondering, has this become the sum of my life—with faded dreams, forced isolation, and living within the painful prison that my body has become?

Truth is, it’s not my first time feeling stripped of strength, health, comfort, confidence, or sense of purpose. In some ways, my whole life has been a process of stripping, as the Christian life often is (albeit in varying degrees). 

But at my lowest points, as my sense of value, purpose, and any measurable evidence of God at work in the waiting, I’ve been bombarded by relentless temptations to question the good and loving purposes of God. What’s the point, I wonder? Why would God give life, only to strip it down to the root, seemingly fruitless and exposed to the relentless elements of the wilderness?

I sure don’t have all the answers to those questions. But what I have begun to see is that my understanding of purpose and “flourishing” in this life has been shaped by what feels worthwhile to me. In other words, it’s a struggle to believe God’s favor and love over me when I know he can redeem my pain in some measurable way now, and from my perspective—hasn’t. The natural conclusion? I’ve either done something to bring this on myself or God has more important things to be concerned about than my little life.

Lately, however, I’ve been wondering why that’s my gut reaction to the painful circumstances God continues to allow. And it struck me—it’s far more natural for us to see God’s presence in the mighty wind, earthquake, or fire, than in the still small voice (1 Kings 19:11-13). And for good reason. Think about it: Sunday school lessons are often focused on the Old and New Testament miracles, on Joseph being pulled from the pit to save countless lives, and on the little guy defeating the giant and the unsuspecting shepherd becoming the King. Rightfully so, we are moved to worship and awe when we see the saving power and miraculous hand of God. 

The problem is, most of the Christian life isn’t lived on the mountain top of miracles or dramatic life-changing moments. It’s lived in the wilderness of faith without sight—learning to trust in the waiting, lay down our independence, endure in long-suffering, be pruned of self-righteousness, and hunger for his presence more than his provision. 

More than anything, it’s meant to lead us to the quiet, personal, heart-changing presence of Jesus himself. 

And sometimes, it takes being stripped of what we desire to be led to what we truly need.

Personally, the longer the Lord has kept me “hidden”, the more he has prevented me from opportunities and a life that seems far more fruitful, the more I’ve longed for the peace and joy of his presence more than anything else.

While I was stomping my feet in an adult-sized temper-tantrum, I was missing the miracle of his still small voice in the darkness, calling me by name. I was missing the opportunity to marvel that the God of the universe had been walking right beside me in this barren wilderness, providing everything I truly needed—even if it wasn’t what I desperately wanted. Yes, while I was so busy focusing on all he had taken, I was missing the greater, lasting, unfading treasures he came to give me through his life-changing presence.

That is growth. That is life. And it has only come through the death and loss of so much I desired in this world.

The truth is, as much as we love a marvelous story of earthly redemption, growth in Christ often means a withering away of much of what we value in this world—including independence, measurable success, comforts, and the admiration of others. Yes, he still does miracles. Yes, he still lavishes undeserved gifts on us in countless ways. But the truth is, he doesn’t always restore to us what we’ve lost in the world, as he did in Job’s life. He doesn’t always heal us or our loved ones as he did Lazarus. He doesn’t always part the Red Sea as he did the Israelites. And he doesn’t always give us a thriving ministry after experiencing immense suffering, as he did in Paul’s life.

That may sound counterintuitive to the truth that God also wants to fill us with joy, contentment, and peace. But the more I am stripped of these “good things”, the more I’m realizing that to be filled with these things, I must first be emptied of everything else. And that requires death. Death to self. Death to expectations. Death to the desire to be known by others. Death to independence. Death to my suffering feeling purposeful and used. Death to comfort. Death to significance. Death to my own strength. Even death to my own sense of “spirituality”.

Because when all the excess is stripped away and we are left with nothing but finding our sole identity and value in Jesus himself, there is a quiet rest, fullness, and satisfaction that isn’t measurable in any visible form. And it may never be in this lifetime. We may be stripped of everything but never get a chance to write a book about it. We may lose our health or abilities and never understand why until eternity. We may spend years preparing for missions and then God calls us to minister to our special needs child instead. We may have gifts and abilities and never see them used in the way we desired. We may never get to leave our bed again and have nothing to show for our life but a persevering faith that few will see until eternity.

But maybe, the small deaths we feel as a result are actually where we’ll find the most sacred places of faith. Places too sacred to even put words to. Places that are so wrapped up in a mixture of grief and joy, and agony and peace, that we are left speechless, humbled, and quieted. We experience holy ground that is only found when death to self and this life meets life in Christ. And we realize that we don’t need anything else beyond it.

I don’t want death. None of us do. It’s agonizing. But it’s the only path to true life. And maybe what we choose to pursue and find value in will be entirely changed as we begin to taste where true life and fulfillment is found- being emptied to truly know the fullness of Christ.

And maybe, just maybe-we’ll stop ceaselessly striving for something else because we’ve finally died to truly live.

“For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh.” For “if anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.”

2 Corinthians 4:11, Matthew 16:24

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1. What circumstance has challenged a previous belief about who God is and how you believed he would act? Be honest with him about those questions. 
2. Do you believe God may have more for you than what you think you most want or need right now? 
3. Can you remember a time when you were sidelined in life, lost something you desired, or faced a painful circumstance? Looking back, can you see a way God used that time to draw you closer to him, even if my degrees? Was it worth the cost?

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I encourage you to meditate on and ponder Colossians 3:1-4 this week:

“So if you have been raised with Christ, seek the things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.”

Home is around the corner,

Sarah Walton

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To read more of Sarah’s writings, you can pick up a copy of He Gives More Grace: 30 Reflections for the Ups and Downs of Motherhood, Hope When It Hurts: 30 Biblical Reflections to help you grasp God’s purpose in your suffering), Tears and Tossings (short evangelistic resource on how God carries our sorrows), or Together Through the Storms (for married couples navigating the trials of life). Lastly, you can now order Sarah’s Pilgrim’s Progress inspired children’s book based on the account of the Prodigal Son, titled “The Long Road Home” (Crossway).