The Lame One

                              

I've been longing to write again. Wondering when I'd be ready. My heart has been the messiest place it has ever been. I've written it all down in journals. The whole mess. Maybe someday the extended version will be made into something that can be shared with others. Today, I feel drawn to share just a piece.

Recently, I was with the Lord, desiring help with the mess. This is something I've practiced once or twice a day for over a year. This time, the image of Jesus healing the lame came to mind. My mind leaped to an insight from years ago that explained why there are so many healings of the blind in the New Testament. I have been that blind person. We are all blind. Blind about God. Blind about me. Blind about how to be a person of love.  It's become such an essential part of my relationship with God to be given sight. I was blind, but now I see is a remarkable experience every time. Sometimes it's a get-up-and-dance moment. Other times it feels more like, I really needed that, thank you. A much quieter moment. Of late, the quieter version feels more familiar.

Next, my attention turned to how many lame people Jesus healed. Then, like a ton of bricks, I'm the lame one. I've been in a horrible "accident" so to speak, and I've woken up lame, crippled by life circumstances. It was a relief to have a brief moment of understanding, a part of the mess has been an extended time period marked by confusion and growing anxiety. This is who I am. I've had my legs taken out from under me, and I don't know how or if my legs will recover.  On the surface, it sounds awful to see that. But the strange thing about truth is that it brings relief. I needed a name, a visual for what I've been experiencing. This is why I feel lost, shocked, scared. It's why I move into confusion and anxiety so easily.

A flash of clarity, this is who I am. This is who I need Jesus to be for me.  The one who heals lame people. I felt like Jesus was meeting me in my brokenness and reminding me He has revealed Himself capable in this place before. Do I believe Jesus wants to be that for me now? Can I believe?

The truth is, walking with Dave to his death for two years and facing the additional overwhelm of treatment for my cancer, along with other life experiences of pain and loss, were trouncing my capacity for faith, for trust. Underneath and unnamed for a good while, I was living with these questions. Do you love me? Are you enough for what you allow? Will I ever be ok again? 

At times, evidence that could give me access to faith felt muted, unsatisfactory, and sometimes completely inaccessible. I'm learning that my response is all so very human. 

Previously, I wasn't willing to be vulnerable amid the mess. I've written these blogs when I'm all the way through, back inside a tidy room with pictures that memorialize the journey. This is not that blog. I'm still right here in the mess.

Jesus and other people I trust say this will not last forever.  

To be continued...