Perfect Weakness

"My grace is sufficient...my strength is made perfect in weakness."

I feel like I've known these words my whole life.  In fact, I think my mother may have muttered them a lot.  Moms need a lot of grace.

They're beautiful words.  Poetic.

Yesterday, as I laid on a hospital bed for hours, these words ran insistently through my heart, on repeat.   I was hungry for understanding.  Needed that strength.

Weakness.  It's not something I like.  It might even be something I despise in myself.  Okay, it is.

Energy!  Competence!  Efficiency!  Helpful!  Those are my kind of words.

And I am all too aware of their absence in my life.  Recent weakness has been devoid of any loveliness, much less perfection.  It's humbling me.  It's costing others.

Seeking and hungering for more, I found what I needed.  Not in the morphine (though it was really lovely), but in the Greek dictionary on my smart phone.  The deeper layers of meaning in the beautiful words.

These words that were from the heart of God to Paul regarding physical weakness:

My grace...

...the merciful kindness by which God keeps, strengthens, increases faith, knowledge and affection...

...is sufficient for thee.

...to be strong, to be enough, to defend and ward off, as though raising a barrier.

For my strength...

...the inherent power of God which resides in him by virtue of his nature, a miraculous power...

...is made perfect...

...to carry though completely, to add what is yet wanting in order to render a thing full...

...in weakness.

...want of strength of the body (feebleness of health or sickness) 

or of the soul (want of strength and required capacity).

In other words,

"Michelle (add your name), 

I--your Heavenly Papa--

 gladly extend my merciful kindness to strengthen your faith 

and your knowledge of My affection for you.  

All that is in my nature I extend to you 

to carry you through completely.  

All that is in Me I extend to you

 to fill up what is lacking 

in the strength of your body 

and the capacity of your soul."

It really is enough.

It's for you too...whether its health in your body, mind, relationships...wherever the need.  He will add to what is yet wanting in order to render a thing full.

It's not you.  It's Him.  He will carry you through completely and make up all that you lack.

2 Corinthians 12:9

An Invitation to Trust

It seems like it was ages ago, but perhaps it was only three months...

I was sitting, endless hours, in the waiting room. Keeping anxieties at bay with an ebook, but my reader died. Amusing myself listening to the darling nonagenarian blurting out commentary on the current state of affairs...but her name had been called.  Along with almost everyone else. Wondering if they forgot me? If the pain in my bottom might soon be greater than the one on the inside? Shushing all the what ifs. Grasping at gratitude.

A young, very young, woman came in with four little stair-step children, all preschoolers I would guess, the youngest still in a carrier. They quietly followed her through the registration process in wide-eyed silence. In a little row, they filed along and sat down across from me. Six big eyes stared at me. Six little legs swung. Six little hands folded in three little laps. 

This is usually when I begin to bemoan the fact that my children seem to be completely devoid of whatever gene is required for such calm and orderly behaviour...

Just then a large and odd looking bath chair contraption rattled by.  Six wondering eyes followed and then turned to mamma.  She smiled.

A nursed wheeled a severely handicapped woman by and legs stopped swinging.  Once out of sight all eyes turned to mamma.  She smiled.  Legs resumed swinging and eyes watched.

An eerie cry echoed down the hall.  Eyes widened and turned to mamma.  She smiled...extra reassuringly.  Shoulders relaxed and legs swung again.

Babies cried. 

Nurses called out. 

Alarms rang.  

Six little eyes sought mamma's and she smiled.

It was enough.  For now.  Maybe answers would come later.  

My turn finally came.  Kind nurses and gentle doctors did all they could but they couldn't budge the system.  Anxiety rose.  Uncertainty and pain are a nasty combination.

Then I remembered.  

Seek His eyes. 

He smiled reassuringly and invited me to trust.

My shoulders relaxed.  

Months have passed.  Waiting has wearied.  Uncertainty has vexed.  Friends have hugged and prayed.  I've fallen apart and gotten up again.  Panic rises quickly when the mind is focused on the pain.

However, I've had frequent reminders of those six little eyes and six swinging legs.  Every time I remember, I seek His eyes.

Every time I find His eyes are already upon me, anticipating my need.

All I can see is love. And an invitation to trust.

It is enough.

For today.

Maybe all the questions will be answered someday when we go Home.

For now the warmth of His tender gaze is enough.

I will be with you, and I will protect you wherever you go...

I will be with you constantly 

until I have finished giving you everything I have promised.

Whom have I in heaven but you?

I desire you more than anything on earth.

My health may fail, and my spirit may grow weak,

but God remains the strength of my heart;

He is mine forever!

Genesis 28:15

Psalm 73:25-26

NLT

The Original Ideal Woman

A few weeks ago I came out of the closet about some of my health issues.  I think I even promised to be more vulnerable in my writing. Well, this could be more than you bargained for...

Four months now I have been inactive.  Not only am I not exercising in any formally recognizable manner, I find myself moving as little as possible in all matters of daily living.  It's just a little less painful that way.  There's a geeky corner of my brain that would like to calculate the precise number of unburned calories this would amount to, but the rest of my brain is currently too doped to quite make sense of the numbers.  Add to that fact, the current disturbance in my pelvis is causing some bloat-like symptoms...and, well, none of my clothes fit.  Except for the stretchy ones, that is.  I've become adept at all kinds of wardrobe disguises, but nothing hides the bare facts.  Bare facts.

Full disclosure:  I also ate a lot of barbeque chips on the way home last night.  More than anyone needs to...however many that is.  They were so good.  Anyway, now that you know that...

More vulnerable means admitting that I looked at an old picture and found myself wishing I was that thin again.  I detest of this kind of thinking!

When I taught English to recent immigrants I learned how absolutely cultural are our concepts of beauty.  My Asian students commented when they thought I was getting "fatter" (ya gotta love the lack of euphemisms in a limited vocabulary!) and my African students thought I was too skinny.  I vowed to remember that beauty is culturally defined, therefore hardly a standard to be too worried about.

Three times this week I had encounters with other women wherein the issues of weight and body image came up.  Sigh.  I look at my beautiful friends and I love them.  I have written posts about how God made us beautiful and I believe it with all my heart.

However, all this excellent head knowledge isn't helping me one bit this week.  You're in luck though--I am going to share a thought that has helped a lot...

I'm about to let you in on a little unscientific and perhaps unorthodox theory I have:  I don't think Eve looked like Megan Fox.  Seriously.

When God created woman...it seems likely that He would create the most beautiful woman possible.  Keeping in mind that he created peacocks and the Himalayas, His ability is obvious.  Yet she probably didn't look a bit like any magazine cover we've seen.

The beauty of this original woman inspired her name.  When Adam saw her he said, "Whoa, man!!" and we've been called "whoa-man" or "woman" ever since.

Have you seen pictures of the oldest human bones that have been discovered?  Apparently, scientists think they're about 7,000 years old (which coincidentally lines up with the general timeline of when Eve would likely have walked the earth).  I sincerely doubt that she was hairy like an ape, but the general shape is pretty clear:

The good news, sisters?  We look more like the original ideal woman than like Paris Hilton.

Just sayin'.

Splendor and beauty mark his craft...

Psalm 111:3a

An Autographed Original

Someone posted this silly picture on Facebook recently:

My first thought was that it would be sooooo cool to have a copy of the Bible with God's signature on it!  What would it look like?  Or would it be autographed by Moses, David, Matthew...?  A variety a scripts and scrawls?

The thoughts were barely formed before I heard the whisper, "I've autographed your heart."

Which choked me up immediately...  My heart.  Signed by God?  The God that made the northern lights and wove the delicate lace of the snow flakes.  The God who pulls children onto His lap and raises the dead.  The God who sets the captives free.  His signature on my heart?

I vaguely remembered a verse that said something like that...

  "You are a letter written not with ink 

but with the Spirit of the living God. 

You are a letter written not on tablets made out of stone

 but on human hearts".

But isn't my heart "deceitful above all things and desperately wicked"?  I used to think that was talking about me. There's certainly enough evidence to prove the point.  I don't know how it was that a little girl would know that verse so well without knowing the rest of the story...

The part where we cry out, 

"O Lord, if you heal me, I will be truly healed;

 if you save me, I will be truly saved."

And He responds, 

"I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean...

I will give you a new heart, and I will put a new spirit in you. 

 I will take out your stony, stubborn heart 

and give you a tender, responsive heart.  

And I will put my Spirit in you..."

Tender.  Responsive.  Filled with His Spirit!  Given when we ask that He would heal and save us.  An extravagant grace that takes your breath away. 

On that new heart He's writing a letter.  It's a story of redemption   The story of a deceitful and wicked heart that is made new and chooses love.  It's so extraordinary that there is no question that this "great power is from God, not from ourselves."  

That letter He's writing on your heart is precious.  I need to read it...it gives me hope.  With trepidation I share the letter He's writing on my heart...it's a love letter, a promise that He makes all things new, makes all things possible.

That tender, responsive heart, filled with His Spirit...  A gift.  

An autographed original.

2 Corinthians 3:3 NIRV; Jeremiah 17:9 KJV

Jeremiah 17:14 NLT; Ezekiel 36:25 NLT

2 Corinthians 4:7 NLT

That Stuff on the Wall

"I need some of that stuff on the wall."

Mystified, I glanced around...at animal posters, a string of Christmas lights, the skin of a long-dead critter, an adorable baby picture, and...cooties, definitely cooties.  

Not enlightened, I had to ask, "What stuff on the wall, Buddy?"

"You  know, the stuff you need all the time.  The letters you put on the wall."

I'm somewhat strangled by emotion.  Laughter and tears can be felt at the same time.  Intensely.

The "stuff" I "need...all the time."  It appears that I have modelled failure...often?  I know immediately to what stuff on the wall he refers.

Those letters I have stencilled on the wall in the hub of my home where they are needed often and desperately.  G...R...A...C...E.  Grace.

His cry for grace pierces my heart.  I burrow through tangled covers to wrap my arms around the sweating, heaving chest because I absolutely cannot refuse this cry for grace.  Impossible to be anything other than entreated.

"So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask Him..."

Indeed.   Why do I hesitate?  Frantically, foolishly, trying to remove stains with my own filthy hands.  Desperately trying to undo what's been done.  Justify.  Defy.  Clarify.  Who did what and when.  You.  Me.  Us.

What has been done cannot often be undone.  There is only one glorious cure.  Grace.  His divine presence entering the mess we've made.  Empowering the wronged to forgive.  Granting the guilty the privilege of standing free of shame.  All to be made beautiful.  Even that which cannot be undone.

Those letters have marked that spot for much more than a year, but it was only today that I recognized the irony of the fact that the "time out" bench has sat beneath those letters all this while.  The spot in which one sits to catch one's breath, to breathe deeply before any more words explode.  The spot to think for a moment before anything else thoughtless erupts into the atmosphere.  The spot one only gets sent to when it's too late.  When the damage has been done.

Except for grace.

"So let us boldly approach the throne of grace.  

Then we will receive mercy.

We will find grace to help us when we need it."

Boldly approach...receive...grace...we need.

Come and sit with me a while?  Let's stay long enough.  Long enough to soak up so much grace that all shame and distress is washed away.  Long enough that grace begins to run over and wash the chip off the shoulder.  Long enough to be filled to overflowing with grace for that one who feels like a thorn in my side, a pebble in your shoe, the spark to our fuse.  Long enough to worship.

Let's rest a while under the writing on the wall.

Because we all "need some of that stuff on the wall."

Matthew 7:11 NLT

Hebrews 4:16 NIRV

Coming Out

I didn't mean not to tell you.  In the beginning it just didn't seem like a big deal.

When it became a big deal I couldn't figure out how to casually mention it.  It would have been awkward to suddenly shout into the blogosphere that I felt like I was dying! No one likes a drama queen.  Or a hypochondriac.

I didn't want to worry anyone.  Honestly.

Sometimes we need to process a bit before sharing. This is true.

Besides, the internet is rife with "too much information"!  VERY true.

Then the medication made my brain so foggy I was sure nothing I could write would have made sense anyway (though I've enjoyed a few blogs that I'm pretty sure were written in a chemically-induced haze).  I hated feeling so dull and inarticulate!

It was just awkward!

It took over everything until really there was nothing else I could have written about.

Little threads of pride were woven through the strands of common sense.

I missed you.

One day I found myself with a fresh wind of hope but I didn't know how to go about sharing it as I'd been so reticent.  How could I explain without explaining?  But if I don't share...well, you know, I'm quite sure I might burst.

"My purpose in writing is to encourage you..."  Ah, yes.  And how can one encourage unless they've been in need of it themselves?  Hope isn't hope unless it's what you're hanging on to when there's little reason to hope.

How do you get yourself out of a tangle once tangled?

Apologizing is almost always an excellent place to start.

I'm sorry, truly sorry, that I've been awkward...and prideful...I really didn't set out to exclude you.  I'm sorry that I haven't invited you to share my burdens.  So now I will share the struggle.  Without acknowledging the struggle, the encouragement really is quite meaningless.

I've been unwell for a couple of months now.  Many trips to outpatients, clinics, and specialists, poking, prodding, jabbing, stabbing and scanning have lead the reassuring news that I'm not at risk of dying imminently.  Organs are malfunctioning, but I don't really need them any more anyway.  I would prefer to keep them, but not if they keep this up!

I apologize for not telling you about...

~ The incredible peace that prevails even when you're panicking.  Isn't that a contradiction?  Oh, no!  The body is crying out for relief, but the spirit is anchored in the Love of the Father.  This is the promised peace that passes understanding and it's very real.

~ The day, the very worst day of almost unbearable pain, when four couples came and gathered around me and they prayed for me and for each member of our family and it's never been quite as bad since.  They wrapped us in love, physically manifesting the love Jesus has for the hurting.  I long for instant miracles, but I mark that day as the day something changed, slowly but definitely.

~  The good news that the change was enough to avoid having surgery just days before Christmas.  It wouldn't have been the end of the world, but I count it a blessing!

~  The way I was able to shop just enough and to know that we had all we needed.  Christmas was simple, but more than enough.

~  That Jesus was born into awkward and He invites us to be unafraid.

~  That there are things I don't understand about God.  I truly don't.  But this I know, no-word-of-a-lie, look-you-in-the-eye, truth:  He is good.  He is very, very good.  We can trust Him.  Even when we don't understand.

There's more, much more.  Maybe now that I've come out in the open about it, I'll be able to share.

For now, please pray for the healing to be complete!  I long to get back in the saddle!  I've got places to go, people to meet, kids to raise, and blogs to write!

I resolve to be vulnerable.

Love and blessings,

Happy New Year!

Celebration of Waiting

Advent...it's a celebration of waiting...which makes no sense at all.

Who likes waiting?

I'm waiting for something.  Urgently.  This waiting is sort of consuming my life, blocking out the big picture.  I feel like I can't get on with things until the waiting is over.

My kids are waiting too.  They can hardly stand the wondering if they'll find what they desire most under the tree on Christmas morning.

We're all waiting for something...

So we need this season of celebrating waiting.  We're remembering that even though the waiting was long, oh, so very long, the Promise came. We're remembering all the waiting that ended with fulfilment.  Some of the waiting was hope-filled and some was anguished and despair-filled.  The fulfilment wasn't dependent upon the emotions of the those who waited but on the nature of the One who promised.  This is really good news for me.

Three hundred plus promises...endless waiting...and every promise was fulfilled.  Every single one.

The Son of God, Immanuel, became flesh and lived among us.  Light entered the darkness and nothing, absolutely nothing...no maniacal killer, no unfaithful friend, no sickness or sorrow...can EVER extinguish that light.

I don't understand the waiting.  Truly I don't.  Today seems as good a day as any for the waiting to end.  But this I know:  the waiting doesn't diminish the power of the promise.

This is the promise I'm holding on to today...

A child has been born--for us!  

The gift of a son--for us!  

...and there will be no limits to the wholeness he brings!

No limits.

Wholeness.

Come, Lord Jesus, come.

Isaiah 9:6-7 MSG

Revelation 22:20