Sitting with the Uncomfortable
- Emily Reed
- Jan 15
- 3 min read
Some of the richest wisdom in the Christian tradition comes not from well-known theologians or pop-culture pastors, but from ordinary followers of Jesus who lived lives of prayer and solitude nearly 1,600 years ago. They are known as the Desert Fathers and Mothers—monks, nuns, and hermits who intentionally withdrew into the deserts of Egypt, Syria, and Palestine to pursue a life of prayer, simplicity, and continuous attention to God.
We may imagine these saints as distant from modern concerns, yet their words resonate because they understood the same interior struggles we face today: distraction, fear, anxiety, longing, and the ongoing practice of keeping the heart fixed on God.
I am currently reading a book by Christine Valters Painter called "Desert Fathers and Mothers, Early Christian Wisdom Sayings". One of these Desert wise ones was Abba Moses of Skete, a former robber who found in Christ a new way of life. He once said:
“Whenever the eyes stray a little, the heart follows them. Therefore we should turn back the eyes of the heart in a straight line toward God.”
Simple words. Deep truth.
The Apostle Paul writes in Ephesians 1:18:
“I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you…” (NIV)
Paul’s prayer isn’t about our physical eyes—it’s about the inner vision, the capacity to see God’s goodness clearly even when life is confusing, painful, or uncertain. To have our “heart’s eyes” enlightened means God opens our inner sight to His hope, His promises, His presence.
Combined with Abba Moses’s caution, these words call us to guard where we look, because what we fix our attention on ultimately shapes what fills our hearts.
My Journey: Anxiety, Medication, and God’s Gentle Leading
For the past fifteen years, I have relied on anti-anxiety medication. I have attempted to wean off several times before, but each attempt ended in failure. Last year, however, I sensed God gently inviting me into another season of trying—not because the medication was wrong or a lack of faith, but because He wanted to meet me more fully in a place I had long kept buffered and numbed.
This time felt different. I felt steadier, healthier, and more supported than I had been in the past. I was eating whole foods, exercising regularly, and surrounded by a strong support system—my family and my fiancé walking closely with me. For the first time in several years, it felt like the right moment to listen to that quiet invitation and trust that God would be present.
Despite being in a season of stability and support, the process has been incredibly hard. The side effects—physical discomfort, emotional swings, restlessness, and even panic—have at times felt unbearable. There have been days when I honestly wondered if I could make it another hour, another minute.
This morning, as I sat with Ephesians 1:18 and the words of Abba Moses of Skete, I was reminded:
Suffering is not a sign of God’s absence.
Struggle does not extinguish His light.
What matters most is where the eyes of my heart are turned.
In this painful process of slow weaning, I have found God meeting me over and over with love and tenderness.
If you’re reading this and your heart feels weary—perhaps from anxiety, loss, chronic pain, loneliness, or the quiet exhaustion that doesn't get talked about—you are not alone.
This season has taught me that hope doesn’t always look like relief.
Sometimes it looks like learning to sit with what is uncomfortable while trusting God is still present.
“Lord, enlighten the eyes of my heart.”
I’m learning to notice where my inner gaze rests—not just what I see with my eyes, but what my heart lingers on: fear or hope, anxious thoughts or steady grace.
And this is the comfort I hold onto: God does not wait for us to feel whole before meeting us. He meets us in the struggle itself and gently turns our hearts toward Himself, one moment at a time.
Prayer for the Journey
Lord, open the eyes of our hearts to see your hope.Teach us to turn our gaze back to you when we wander. When anxiety rises, let your grace be wider still. When we suffer, let us feel your nearness. When our hearts grow weary, let your Spirit renew us. Amen.
Song for the Journey
