What do you want to teach me in this?
-I'm with you. I take care of you.
Satan makes stupid things happen every day, then we turn to God and ask, "Why did you do this?" It's not fair. The blame goes to God and not to the author of all chaos and pain. What we should ask is, "Why did you allow this? What do you want to teach me?"
I've been increasingly upset about the fact that my car is all crunched and hideous from hitting a deer, upset that there's nothing I can do about it, but feel ashamed, embarrassed. I try really hard to take good care of my things. Then yesterday, I dropped and shattered my phone to the point where shards of glass will stab me if I try to use it. Later, I went to the gym and got $80 stolen out of my wallet. It was my business money, so now I have no more to invest. I borrowed the money because I thought I could multiply it, and now it's gone. I feel like I failed.. like everything I try to do fails. I can't take care of myself, can't get or keep a job. I need a dad. I'm so weak.
Is that ok? Is that ok, Daddy?
-You are safe. I won't let you fail. You can let go.
I go to brunch today after church with my sister, Cassia and my parents. At one point I say I should've spent more money at a garage sale I went to since it got stolen anyway. I hadn't told my parents about the money yet, so I did. My mom says, "You must be getting attacked; you've been so happy, then all this." I agree and start tearing up. Cassia is tearing up, says she wishes she could do something to help. I can't stop tearing up, holding back a storm. My mom gives me $30. First I say I don't need it, but she sets it down and I say thank you through subtle tears. My mom prays for me, that God protects me.
I tell them it's been really hard to not drink lately, and I think that's why these seemingly little, but difficult things are happening, then I start crying as gently as I can. When I look up, my dad's eyes are red and teary and my mom's face says that she wishes she could make it all better. She asks if she can get me a soda. I say no, but it's a sweet gesture. Cassia says, "It's ok, Mom." Mom says, "Well, it's good to bring it out to the light."
I agree. Then I fight for a few minutes to hold back violent tears, awkwardly folding and unfolding my napkin and taking multiple sips of my coffee, trying to think of something funny to make my body stop its autopilot into a sobbing mess. There's a reason tear and tear are the same spelling, the same word.
I am so loved. It's worth all the pain to know that. It's worth all the pain to know that. It's worth all the pain to know that. This has been quite a journey. In church, I thought back to a few years ago when Annabeth was crying out to God for me to be rescued from the world, looking around at people I know prayed for me while I was lost. So much victory. I've seen so much victory all around me. How could I not believe for more?
Thank you God for rescuing me, believing for my life, healing me, taking care of me. Thank you for your unfailing love and endless faithfulness. Thank you for every victory won and every victory yet to be won. Thank you for loving me.
-Keep dreaming, baby girl. I've got a lot in store for you, more than you could ever imagine.
Worship is a beautiful duet. Perfect harmony between God and man.
