Sunday, 17 August 2014

When You're on the Ground

"Even your God won't drop life in your lap," he said. 
"If you keep having problems, you should ask yourself if the problem is you," she said.
"You should be thankful for what you have. You have no real problems," she said.
They were trying to help, not hurt. And every word they spoke was true. But, oh. On a day when I am struggling to hold back the tears.
They say nothing really shuts you down
Quite like shame, it kicks you when you’re on the ground
Even with your good intentions
You always seem to lose against it (Jason Gray, Love's Not Done With You)
Must my weakness be so evident, so open to comment? Will I ever be strong enough, warmed enough inside, to bear the coldness of this place? Will I ever have enough grace? Where is that Comforter I have known? I have come this far, and how is it that I am so suddenly, awfully ridiculous, and so weak?

God knows. He knows the coldness that grips me, the emptiness that howls. He knows the reason I am here. There is a reason, firm and rich and full and worthy, for this senselessness, this confusion, this loss, this humiliation. I will trust in Him. I will wait here with Him. I will trust that He knows both the cost and the value of this hurt of mine.

These days, I am too often wretched and desperate and clawing, aware of only my own pain, and clumsy, awkward with the way I deal with others. I have struggled and fought to overcome, to give love when I am sore and empty - but everything is twisted, rotten at the core. The dim is all around, and it is hard to even see my own heart. I try to do good, but there is so little love in it that it falls in pieces as soon as I withdraw my hand. And sometimes I am fooled into thinking I can give a gift, but I am filled with such awful expectation when it's given that it is not a gift at all, and I am overcome with regret that I have tried. When, through exercise of will, I am able to tear out and hand over a shred of self, it is misunderstood and rejected, and I am left more bitter than before. Oh, who shall deliver me from the body of this death? 

I am ashamed and tired, and I don't know where to hide my hideous self. I am full of grief, but I have lost nothing - yet I am full of emptiness. I know my thinking is wrong. I could give myself all the advice people long to give me, but it's useless. I have no power, no strength, no understanding. Where is Jesus, to rescue me?

He will use this, too, for good. He will love me back to life.

God! Let this make me gentle, not cold and dull, to others' pain! Burn off the sharpness and the selfish anger that pour out of me, and overcome my spewing hate, and love me into soft, warm, kindness. Let Jesus overcome me, and change me, and live in me.

1 comment:

joeyanne said...

A beautiful response. I love you