Strength & Victory

Ever since my body was smashed up pretty badly I live with a certain level of discomfort.  I truly live with it, as in, I don't really notice.  When I hear a snappish tone accompanying my speech I am learning to take inventory.  Sure enough, something is throbbing/tight/weak -- more than usual.  And then, I step back and acknowledge that regular life is a little difficult for me right now and I have to grab a heating pack/stretch/sit down.

I visited a doctor lately who tested three things in a row that should have elicited a complaint.  He said as much.  

"I don't really pay attention to it," I replied.  "I guess I have just adjusted."

In this particular case, my stoicism allowed an infection to grow for almost seven months.  And infections don't just cause damage to the immediate area -- they deplete the whole body and leave it vulnerable.  

Well.

I think doctors are great and antibiotics are great and I am looking forward to regaining health.  In the meantime, I am pondering this whole weakness subject. Again.

I'm not a strong person.

I am not an excellent wife or a good mother or an honoring daughter.  I am not a respectable church member or an inspiring employer or a stalwart friend.

I would like to be -- or be known to be.

Sometimes I have the faith to live out the truth I know, in spite of all my failings.  "Let the weak say 'I am strong in the strength of the Lord.'" Most days or moments I am hindered, caught up, entangled in the pride that says my own worthiness matters.  And then I am swirling in the endless drain of maintaining the facade ...to myself most of all.

If I don't acknowledge my inability, how can I overcome?

The poor in spirit inherit the kingdom of God because they know they bring nothing.

Those who mourn are comforted because they have no other hope.

The last are first because they can never get there on their own.

It might look more holy to tough it out and act the part when my life intersects another's.  But I am failing most days.  And I need Christ most days -- or all is lost.  I don't think I can tell the story of His faithfulness if I don't describe in some measure my helpless estate.

When I admit my brokenness and huddle before Him, I am in His Presence -- the only place there is fullness of joy.  It is the spiritual submission of myself for examination, the diagnosis of an invasive infection, and the subjection to whatever means of healing and restoration.  And it must be done regularly or I will accept the status quo of a standard that falls far short of health.

These are the things I want to remember, as carefully as the antibiotic to be taken every eight hours, around the clock (for which I have set an alarm).  

Joy that dawns with the morning is sweeter because it is the promise that sustains through weeping that endures for a night.  A garment of praise is more extravagant because it is an exchange for the spirit of heaviness.  If I hold out empty, beggar hands, the riches that fill them to overflowing will unmistakably reflect the glory of the Giver...the purpose for which I was created, redeemed and am being refined. 

Jesus! What a strength in weakness--
Let my hide myself in Him. 

Tempted, tried, and often failing

He my strength, my victory wins.

Hallelujah! What a savior! Hallelujah! What a friend! Saving, helping, keeping, loving: He is with me to the end.