Letter from Natalie Khalil

Photo by Ngelah

Dear friends,

Have you ever entered Lent with a laundry list of ways you desire the Lord to work on your heart? Have you hoped that adding this or that prayer routine and giving up this or that time-suck activity would create the space to end up as the perfectly new spiritual version of your Ash Wednesday self?

This was especially true for me this year, as I sat in the crowded pew on Ash Wednesday hoping for solidified healing from (another) unexpected break-up and direction on where God wanted me next in my career. I wasn’t necessarily expecting these things to be tied with a bow by Easter, but I had hoped that by creating more space for Jesus to speak into these areas of my life, He would radically change my heart and provide the healing, peace, and direction I deeply desired.

And He did. But as God likes to say, “My ways are not your ways.”

Instead of instantaneous peace with the ache of a failed relationship or filling it with something new and exciting, I was cut off from my physical community as the world entered into isolation from a global pandemic, only increasing the ache of lost companionship I was feeling.

As I left my apartment one Thursday evening for a long walk and a phone call to confide in a friend about how tough it was adjusting to the “new normal” and how badly I was missing my community, I mentioned I was at least thankful to have had the stability of my job—a job that I loved and had persevered in prayer for not even two years ago. I was grateful to have security in some aspect of life amidst the craziness that was ensuing in the world at that moment.

About 20 minutes later I arrived back home, feeling somewhat more peaceful, and I received a worried text from a coworker saying, “Check your email.” I anxiously made my way back to my work computer to learn that myself and the majority of our company were being temporarily let go due to the impact of the pandemic on our industry.

My immediate internal response was, “Really, Lord? Why on earth would you take this, too, and especially right now?” As I had hoped and longed for Christ to resolve these hurting (and big) areas of my life, He seemed to have a different plan, one that involved stripping them down to bare bones.

In the days that followed, when I’d find myself in moments of restlessness over my current circumstances and unsure of what to do next (of which there were many), I’d default to posting up in a pew of the nearest open Adoration chapel. Not having a job to report to in the mornings or coffee dates and meals scheduled with friends, I had the time to sit with Jesus and not watch the clock. As I spent more time with God over several weeks, He showed up in some big ways, primarily in the moments I’d open my Bible and give Him the opportunity to speak to me through Scripture.

In Psalm 16 the Psalmist writes, “Those who choose another god multiply their sorrows.”

I began to see that Christ was allowing the losses I was experiencing through these events to reveal deeper attachments in my heart. In hoping that the unshakeable peace I was after would come from having these areas of my life “settled” sooner rather than later, I was in a sense making them idols above Christ himself and allowing the wrong things to hold the foundation of my peace.

The Lord gently started to redirect my heart as I continued to meet with Him each day in prayer. In chapter 10 of the Gospel of John, Christ tells us He is our Good Shepherd. Reading this Gospel with fresh eyes, it struck me that not only does He call himself the Good Shepherd, but He says He is the door for His sheep, insisting that He is both the one to lead us and he Himself is the way through. I felt Him telling me that no matter how shaky and uncertain my circumstances and future might feel, leaning into Him first in just the ways I was doing would not lead me astray and would instead lead exactly to where I’m supposed to be in his unique mission for me.

In the deprivation of the big things, I became accustomed to finding comfort and security in—a good job, a boyfriend, even mere personal connection—I found my heart echoing the words of St. Peter in saying to our Lord “To whom else shall I go?” I had no other answers, and Jesus continues to convict my heart that fixing my gaze upon Him alone is the answer.

In a way like never before, unshakable peace began to come from spending this unrestricted time before Jesus and fixing my gaze upon Him in the Blessed Sacrament. Each time I finished prayer in my bedroom or before Him in the Eucharist, it all fell away. He was here, He was in control, I was O.K., and finding peace in His presence in the moment at hand was what he desired most for me. Little by little the anxiety and worry I had felt about the future changed into an incredible sense of relief that He was teaching me about the freedom of not securing my peace in my circumstances, and dare I say thanksgiving that He was giving me the grace to learn and experience this (albeit the hard way) at 26.

And just as Christ so generously provided me with the grace to take this first step in realizing that securing my heart in Him alone is the way, He was slowly opening my eyes to the (somewhat painful) realization that surrendering the good hopes and desires I have for the future to discover the path that He has, would not be an overnight or six-week Lenten fix. Instead, journeying with Him and handing Him these things daily provides a new reality.

So I now find myself weeks later and beyond Lent, grateful for the new ways He’s begun to open and settle my heart. But as these areas of hurt, waiting, and uncertainty remain unresolved, I also sit here wrestling with the question of how to bring the Easter hope that Christ promises us through His Resurrection to the here and now. What does right hope in our Lord look like when I wake up tomorrow still jobless and blind to what the future holds, and quite frankly, still partially carrying the weight of a break-up I’d hoped would be long gone by now? How do we have right hope when the joys we desire so deeply will not come in the morning and our seasons of waiting continue?

I come again to Psalm 16, and in just a few lines, much of what Christ had been placing on my heart in the extra space this Lent is concisely summarized.

“Lord, my allotted portion and my cup, you have made my destiny secure.

Pleasant places were measured out for me; fair to me indeed is my inheritance.

Therefore my heart is glad, and my soul rejoices; my body also dwells secure.

You show me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy.”

Even through the failed relationship I was so sure He’d given me peace about, the sudden and unforeseen loss of a dream job, and uncertainty about the future, my destiny is secure in Him. And there, in His presence, there is fullness of joy to be found. He assures my heart that these joys are real, not counterfeit or inferior joys to the ones I experience when my circumstances feel secure by the world’s (and sometimes my very own) standards. Joys He’s longing for me to receive in the present moment.

Right now these joys are in the connection made with a friend over scripture resonating with us in similar ways, despite our hurt and waiting being in such different facets of life right now. They are the joys of getting to explore new activities in life I haven’t had the time for. Most profoundly, they are the joys in taking stock, yet again, of the incredibly deep relationships He’s bestowed on me in my friends and family that allow me to both give and receive love now, in real ways, despite continuing to desire my Vocation.

And trusting in the goodness of this Jesus who chose to undergo every step of His Passion that I might trust in Him, I read on:

“In your right hand are pleasures forever more.”

Yes, there are joys for us now, sisters, and in His hands, there are more joys waiting that He desires to measure out to us as we continue to walk with Him in this life. Joys He already holds in His hands for us at this very moment. Of this, I am sure. So I continue the current season of waiting and uncertainty with this right hope: grounded in and ready to receive the joys that He has placed before me today and trusting that my good, Good Shepherd, will lead me to the joys and mission He has prepared for me tomorrow.

Yours in Christ,

Natalie

Photo of Natalie

About the Writer: Natalie is a 27 year old Virginia native currently enjoying young adult life outside of Washington DC. When not working in data analytics and marketing, you can find her exploring new parts of her city by bike or on her ever evolving mission to nail down the best ice cream spot in DC. She has a heart for youth ministry and spreading the many joys and treasures of the Catholic faith. She’s most passionate about her relationships with her friends and family and cherishes the wonderful adventure of getting to walk this life with Christ.