She's exhausted but insists on staying awake, bawling. She needs some rest, some comfort, but pushes my arms away. She cries out for me to come back when I leave her be, "uppey mommy". She's feverish, some ibuprofen will help, she spits it out.
She's a sick baby, but seems to refuse to be comforted and helped.
He offers His medicine of grace, but I spit it out. He wants to love me, to hold and comfort, I push His arms away. He wants me to rest in Him, to relax, not worry. I insist on wrestling and shaking fists and asking why, why, why?
I'm sick, but refuse to be healed.
Wrestling a sick baby is a battle I picture Jesus having with me in my own illnesses.
I worry, about everything. Will I have enough, can I be enough, when Lord?; like I'm praying for something I don't want.
Psalm 62:8 Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge.
I mess up, I yell, I cut and hurt others with words, I fail, I forget, I let down, I sin and I insist on punishing myself for these; like I don't believe that Jesus is big enough to cover, to forgive. So much pride.
Isaiah 43:25 I, I am He who blots out your transgressions for my own sake, and I will not remember your sins.
I'm busy, constantly moving, doing. Do I add up? Am I enough? Is it clean, homemade, organic, up-to-date and did I "do-it-myself"?; like I believe my actions will win me hope and grace.
Psalm 62:5 Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from him.
I refuse to accept He knows best, the grass is greener over there, I want this, I don't want that. I need, I'm not content, no thanks. If only this was better, different; like I daily refuse the peace Jesus offers. John 14:27
I'm so, sick.
Truth is, I have been healed. I've been released from the symptoms that I insist I hold on to.
So often these moments of mothering give me a picture right clear of myself. I'm still so young, so much to learn and so much to let go of still. Sick babies; so sad and so needy and frustrating, refusing to be helped. Sick people; so sad, so needy and often refusing to be helped. Yet He, He is not frustrated, He does not give up. He keeps on. His lullaby of truth, hope and love, constantly sung through the occasional breath-taking sunset, daily life and its struggles, moments of joy and in moments of heart break even. His medicine? Grace. His forgiveness? Through and through, offering peace, refuge and rest.
Constantly whispering "I know. I know you're hurt, but I, I have the answer and I can heal you."