He Sent me a Centipede

I am weak-willed.

I did not use to think that; I held two jobs, a full-time and part-time, while completing a full-time, accelerated Masters program. My lowest grade was a B+. My employers were happy with me. I had friends. I still do.
    I had accomplished so much, more than most would be willing to do (which is very different from more than most would be able to do). I had will, I had perseverance, and the friendships to hold me up when I faltered. I was doing well. I was disciplined, to work day in and day out, and sure, there were evenings when I procrastinated, but I was human. That was allowed.
    My first faltering showed in going to the gym; I no longer go, now that my sister moved and I do not have a partner. I exercise sporadically at home.

    It has since become much worse. But I did not know how much worse, until I met a centipede this morning.

I was sitting on the floor, after working out for fifteen minutes (one mile). I had stretched--some. I had stopped exercising when my heart felt like it would pound out of my chest, when I was pretty sure God told me not to go on. My pride surrendered, and I stopped. I stretched, the pounding went down, my muscles relaxed. It was 6:17, I think. My head was resting against the chair behind me, my legs stretched out flat on the floor. God told me to get up, to do my devotions; I said, you're going to have to help me up. I'm too tired to move.

Yes, I told God that. Yes, I am perpetually an idiot.

He has, before, helped me up, given me strength (it truly is in Him we live and move and have our being in His love...physical, emotional, spiritual, mental...all of us). I said that to be stubborn, but there was a part of me that thought I truly couldn't move. I was just too tired. I glanced down and there on the floor was the white blur of the centipede's innumerable, slimy feet, the slithering of the insectoid body that still sends shivers of disgust down my spine (and I like most insects). The creepy, crawling, hundred-footed cretan was moving at high speed towards my right hand. I suddenly discovered that I could not only get up, I could do it fast. On my feet, looking down, the insect disappeared beneath the sofa, and I shuddered and walked out.

And started laughing. Softly, so as not to wake my family up. God sent a centipede to get me up. A centipede. Really.

And then I had another thought, and it wiped the smile off my face. How many things have I said, I could not do, that I could? How many times was my will too weak to believe I could do what I had been called to do?

How weak was I really?

I hate that question. I love being strong, supportive and immovable, the strength that you can always depend on for both its gentleness and unbreakable support.

But in the end, my strength will not matter. God's will will be done, no matter my shortcomings, weaknesses, selfishness, or disbelief. His wisdom, power, and even humor will extend far past my shortcomings and bring his glorious plan. A child of his will not be condemned to hell or eternal brokeness because of my sin, though I will have to bear not being like Him.

And He might send more centipedes to move me in the right direction.

Hiding Because I Cannot be Held

   It started yesterday, I think, when the time of the month came around and my body ached and dragged at every motion with the tiredness that makes even gravity too hard to move against. But that was merely physical; my ability to be easily annoyed made today worse. But those were surface emotions, feelings, that destroyed life and wonder and yet left me intact.
    Then I got the call that a friend's unbelieving grandmother had passed away. My father's heart stands in the same place hers did, and my friend and her family...I ache for them. I open my email and read "Village Chief murdered, Pastor blamed." God, why must these things be? Why?
    So I open my facebook, and find things that make me laugh. I do that because I can, because it is either that or go down to my room and realize that I am alone and crying once again. My heart is sore, father, and beaten. I want to be held, to feel all within me give way and yet be caught, to cry and scream and yell and whisper the secrets that are too heavy to keep and give them all to someone holding me. I want to be held.
    But I don't even have the ability to let people hold me. I turn away, uncomfortable--am I asking them for too much? Will they still trust me, to make my own decisions, or more importantly, to hold them, if they see how weak, frail, and flimsy I really am? Will they let me help, if I show them how deep my own bleeding goes? Or will they judge me too weak, too injured, to bear that other burden now?
     And can I ask from others? Can they give to me, without this forcing them to deal with resentment, impatience, worry? Can I ask of them, and not burden them, but bless them?
    Who can even hold me? God, I want to be held! Can't you see me breaking apart? God, God, God...please. God. For them, the ones who have lost so much more than I have tonight, who need you so much more, For them. Hold them. God, who is big enough to hold each and every saint, come and find me. hold me. my God, my God, help me. please, hold me.

Sarah's Song

"By faith Sarah herself received power to conceive, even when she was past the age, since she considered him faithful who had promised. Therefore from one man, and him as good as dead, were born descendants as many as the stars of heaven and as many as the innumerable grains of sand by the seashore."

Barren Sarah's Song

I want to have a child.

TO have a child, a son of mine,
To feel his skin, so soft, so warm,
To give him milk, to hold his form,
To have, to keep, cradled, [kind].

I want no more of this reproach,
I want to feel that heaven smiled,
I need to hold my baby near--
I need to have a child.

To bear an heir, to give a son,
So borne a home, a family line,
My husband good, his hope [fulfilled]
A birth of hope, future begun.

I want no more of this reproach,
I want to feel that God has smiled,
I want to feel that I have worth--
I want to have a child.

To walk with pride in tents and towns,
To wash away the bitter words
That women use, that cleave as swords,
Their words so silenced, son, by you.

I want no more of this deep need,
I want an end to pain, despair,
I want to live, I need to breathe; 
I want, I need, to hope no more.

A promised hope I scarce believed,
A word, I laughed, to hear it said,
My body old, as good as dead,
Yet God to us--"your prayer received."

I did not want to bear this hope,
I did not want to feel this need,
I did not want to feel this weight,
That some day soon I might conceive.

My heart, my mind, my need, held sway--
But God stayed close through al the pain,
Rebuked, surrendered, I gave Him reign,
He walked with me, each day by day.

I want to trust this God of ours,
This Yahweh, LORD of life, of love,
If He has said "this will be done,"
I trust my child will outnumber the stars.