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.
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