Toward the end of last year, one of my dearest friends, Walinda, asked me if I’d be willing to guest post on her blog, Glorious Weakness. Below is the post I chose to share (which is actually a repost from 2014 just before the holidays). I hope that you’ll also take the time to check out Walinda’s blog. She is a genuine woman of God who has a deep and abiding faith in Him and who is not afraid to be transparent about her struggles, often bringing forward topics with which many of us are uncomfortable. Thus, she is on my list of people whom I most respect and admire and with whom I look forward to spending a glorious eternity as true sisters.
On Monday evening of this week I received a text from my oldest brother, who doesn’t text me all that often; and he said something along the lines of, “It was four years ago today, right?” At first, I had no idea what he meant. Then, I remembered. Back in 2010, I was admitted to the hospital on a Monday in the middle of the month of November. I was really, really sick–in acute kidney failure actually. Another friend who was an integral part of that sick season, and who does not usually text me either, sent me a note too Wednesday evening to say she was re-reading her 2010 prayer journal; in the passage she read, she had prayed Psalm 27:13 over me–“I am confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.” She reminded me that, because of God’s goodness, I am indeed a living miracle. This year was the very first year since all of this happened that I didn’t remember the anniversary of it. I believe now that God wanted me to remember, not the way that so many of us choose to, but in his way, in his Spirit. Not remembering initially seemed like a victory to me. But, then, it began to seem like I was negligent somehow. Though I do often feel victorious when I remember, I occasionally feel a little sick all over too. Tragedies do that to us I think. They make us feel stronger yet they leave us with a limp, sort of like Jacob of the Old Testament who wrestled with the angel of the Lord (who was thought to be the pre-incarnate Christ) until he got the promise of a blessing from God. Yes, Jacob walked away incredibly blessed but he walked away limping too, for the rest of his life as far as we know. I limp too, and I’m not alone. I believe it’s part of the human condition. Life hurts and it leaves its mark. Whether it’s suicide and cancer like my story or abuse/betrayal and divorce like the stories of several of the women I’m closest to in this life down here, tragedies change the substance of our being. For me, though, someone who has decided on/for Christ, I must choose to remember that–limps and all–there is an even greater change that occurred in me the very moment that I chose Him. Holy Scripture tells me that I, in that moment, became a new creation; and I believe that even when I don’t feel that. And though I am far from complete at this point (meaning perfect), I am completely forgiven and completely accepted and completely loved–no matter what. And every limp in my step, every scar, henceforth will be used for and by “Good,” for and by God who defines the very word itself. Yes, Jacob fought with God, and I feel like most of us spend our lives doing the exact same thing. I fought God in a most real sense for several years before the myeloma ever became active. I fought him for a different story. According to me, the story I found myself living out was never supposed to be mine. Then, one day, I finally let go, and I certainly didn’t do so for some righteous reason. I did so only because of my exhaustion from the fight. I needed rest, and I knew there was only one way to get it. I then decided I had to trust God to bring about things, “fruits,” so beautiful that the day would eventually come when I would have a very hard time wishing the storyline of my life away. And that day is today.
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