Gun-Shy

There’s a really detrimental view of what walking out our faith journey with Jesus is suppose to look like; the American version of the gospel is that once we accept salvation, all will be rosy. But the reality is, growing in faith can be painful. And I want to be real and open with you about a current painful refining moment in my life. You might read this and recoil at the audacity of what I say out loud...but here’s the thing, I already poured all this out before Jesus and He still loves me. So I can lay out what is shameful about me because I don’t carry that shame anymore, He voluntarily took it from me when He climbed on the cross and let His blood flow for me. 

Recovering from delivering twins has been hard, my hormones are still so wacked out that one month my hair will be dripping grease and the next my eyes are so dry I have to pour eye drops in them continually. I realized yesterday that my typical urge to cast myself and my physical challenges at the feet of the Lord has been checked within me...I am gun-shy. 

Yes, you read that right, I am gun-shy about entrusting my health to the Lord. Meaning, I don’t trust Him with it. 

Yes, I realize how insane that sounds. I have spent the last 15 years intentionally placing myself in the Lord’s hands. He has sustained me through the violent ups and downs of my health; He has healed deep wounds my physical weaknesses have inflicted on my heart and mind; He has gently tended to me in the ordinary needs and in the unusual; He has provided me with strength when I have had none and hope when I have despaired; he has even used my health problems as a bridge to salvation. 

And yet, yesterday I laid down with my face to the floor and wept as this poured out of me:

———

i don’t trust you
i desperately long 
to cast myself upon You 
to rest my physical body 
in Your creating, sustaining hands 
with confidence 
that You will 
tend 
and not break

pushed repeatedly 
to the edge of despair 
though You have sustained 
my heart bears 
the scars 
of painful valleys 
of dark nights of the soul 
of endless days of waiting 
looking to the hills 
for help to come 
and finding only 
the rising and setting sun

i do not trust You 
i weep at my doubt 
ashamed that my heart lies wounded 
when you have blessed 
and carried 
and revealed 
through every moment 
of bleakness 
and dread 
and fear 
and floundering 
i feel abandoned 
entrusted to my own 
helpless hands 
holding nothing 
but the realization that 
my faith is too small

i know that You are 
good present living kind
Healer Hope life
abundant safe Refuge
strength Redeemer 

help my unbelief 
help me step from 
under the shadow 
of years lost 
and into the shadow 
of years found

a crushed reed 
i may be 
but it is only the might 
of Your hand 
that can bear up 
beneath the weight 
of its fragility 

Father 
i long to rest myself in You
i long to feel my fear 
dispel in the presence 
of Your love 
weak but unwavering 
hoping but not waiting 
content in my lack 
and in my gain

———

Because here’s the thing, I just somehow endured a twin pregnancy. And yes, it was full of miracles, but it was literally my greatest physical fear and I had to look it in the eye and plow through it for ~240 days. I walked out of my first ultrasound honestly believing I would die. I had to feel the pain and strain of it on my physical body knowing I never even started with what was required to see it through. 

And I’m gun-shy. I am afraid of what trials I may face within His hands. Because here’s the deal...I know that the Word says that “a bruised reed He will not break,” but I also know...KNOW...that sometimes the fact that the bruised reed doesn’t break is not because it has been given strength, but because He is kind enough to sustain it through the storms it must endure. 

And maybe I’m really afraid of the storms in front of me...the sound of rushing waters hit my ears and I do not know if they are in my path or not. And I long to trust. 

And Jesus, oh my Jesus. He is so tender with my sobbing mess. “Let Me bear those scars,” He said to me—faithless and broken and poured out before Him, “I have scars enough for you. The score your body keeps, let Me wipe away the marks of days lost and let Me write upon you a new score of days redeemed and days restored.” 

And how can I not trust THAT love after all these years.