Thursday, March 26, 2009
I wake up at six am, and my head still hurts. It's cold, and the humidity is high. I'm having trouble breathing. I'm a little miserable, but I feel God's presence hovering over me, brooding like He did upon the face of the deep in Genesis.
I'm trying to be brave. I'm trying to get ready. Last night was a huge breakthrough. Already I know we'll face the wilderness. Jesus is going to go with me.
"I'm ready," my soul whispers, but I wince because the light coming from the computer screen hurts my eyes.
"Just one thing," Jesus said. "What did you read last night?"
"It's a little vague I say," my lungs burning, "But there was something about you giving me just enough for the day. Like, I'm supposed to hold out my hands, like an empty bowl, and trust that you're going to fill them."
"How much healing?"
"What I need for today."
"Will you do that for me?"
"Sure." And I take my hands, and hold them up, still a little breathless and weary. I don't even speak. I just trust that the act of holding my little cupped hands is asking enough. Trust. My mind is too tired to fight, and I wish I had the inhaler.
"Good," Jesus says simply.
I think of how we are suppose to be preparing to go into the wilderness. How I'm going to get in there, just like He did, and face the devil. And I'm going to be, just like He was, famished, aware that my hunger is something else, entirely.
It occurs to me that I should tell Jesus I'm ready, and before I think it He's telling me to find and inhaler and get some rest.
"But I have to face my temptations."
"There's plenty of time for that. You've still have enough Lent left to do the work."
"I'm Lent's biggest failure."
"Isn't that the point? To see what you can't do on your own. The real rock stars of Lent are the humble. The contrite, and sorry for their sins. And lets not forget the poor in spirit, those completely reliant upon me."
"Nothing is like I thought it'd be."
"Yes. Yes, you are, Jesus."
"Now, about that inhaler...."
One bit of healing at a time.
"We are ever but beginning... The most perfect Christian is to himself but a beginner, a penitent prodigal, who has squandered God's gifts, and comes to Him to be tried over again, not as a son, but as a hired servant." John Henry Newman