I put on my walking shoes on a cool fall morning. God and I needed to have a talk because I was feeling like a hot mess. I had believed God for fourteen years for healing for my child’s chronic illness and he was sick again. To say that I was undone by this turn of events was an understatement. At first I was really scared. And then I was very angry. And after a few weeks of walking through spider webs, I just felt numb.
And then, out of nowhere, a thought bubbled up in my spirit. It caught me by surprise. From deep within my spirit, this desire voiced itself:
“I want to live.”
Tears escape my eyes while worship takes place all around me in the church building. No one notices me down here on the floor, but God does. Down on my knees, face towards the floor, I cry out to the Lord. “Oh God, change me,” I pray with passion. “Change me so that You can use me. ”
When I peer into my sinful, human heart, I see so many things that I wish weren’t there. Anger over the actions of people. Frustration when things don’t go my way. Disappointment when my plans were stymied. And it gets worse. Round and round in my brain swirl hateful words that I long to say. I want to reject those who reject me and I want to hurt those who have hurt me. I demand justice for wrongs that I have suffered.
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I was exhilarated but I was also exhausted. I was the leader – the head honcho – the woman in charge.
My fantasy is that I could simply give out food at my church’s Food Pantry and not lead women or teach the Bible. Somehow handing out bags of rice and beans in my Fantasy Island seems less likely to draw hurtful criticism.
