Thursday, January 1, 2009

Sitting Indian Style

I believe prayer & meditation are remedies for depression. But truthfully, God and I aren't right. My prayers are mostly just little thoughts that I aim in the general direction of "up".  You could call it begging.

When the crisis began, I saw myself as the woman who received healing just by touching the hem of Jesus' robe. I was touching and God was blessing. I watched Him work many many miracles in my life. He provided the money for my Husband's treatment when we didn't know how we were going to pay for it. We simply believed the money would come. And in just days before his departure, it did. It was nothing short of a miracle and just thinking about it is encouraging. I walked in total faith and God blessed me mercifully. Just as promised.

Back to the woman. I imagined her wispy and slight. Faithful and Graceful. Practically dancing up to Jesus with plump fingers barely caressing the edges of Jesus' beautiful robe. Time stops and she is wonderfully healed.

But that is now how I would describe my own hem-grazing experiences.

First of all, I show up late. Because I was crawling on the cobblestone streets with four children in tow (one on my back even) my knees are a bloody mess and so are my knuckles. I see Jesus in a group and feel left out. Instead of going forward, my crawling ceases and I take a moment to judge myself. I lose hope. I lose my resolve. I cry and I wonder if I'll ever be privileged enough to stand next to him like his disciples do. I turn around and blame my children for getting in the way and for needing me to carry them. I tell them how heavy they are and what a burden it can be to carry them along when I can barely move forward. I embrace guilt. And then I somehow get a grip. And my finger reaches out and my hands stretch open with force. I don't just touch the robe. I pull it to me and bury my face in the linen and by the time I'm done, I've stained it with my tears, my blood, my pain, and maybe even my snot.

And in this healing moment, I am shameless. I'm changed. My soul quiets. My heart glows in my chest. Tears are traded for peaceful sighs. I find myself recklessly in love with Jesus. Content.

My God, this has been such a torturous journey. I've sometimes felt as if I'm dragging on the backside of Jesus' hem... more like a string of cans getting yanked behind a car than a follower of Jesus. Please be patient with me. I feel stuck in this ugly place of paralysis. I'm sitting in the street with my grief. Wallowing in it. My faith is weak. I know you are here and I know you love me.

Right now, all I have is this: that I am somehow still here. Sitting but not running away.

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