Saturday, 12 March 2016

Isaiah 43 - they lie down, they cannot rise, and it is enough.

In the last four months my health has gone down very swiftly.

Starting with a slight swelling in my foot, working through a tooth filling gone seriously wrong, currently in a state of parasthesia (tingling and buzzing) in my right hand and right foot, and battling exhaustion, possibly due to all these issues converging together, possibly due to one of the 'nebulous' health maladies like CFS or Lyme Disease.

All the concrete tests have come back negative, and I'm struggling with my body and it's new limitations, when once I could do anything I wanted just about anytime.

It's been a rough and uncomfortable journey - not only physically, but mentally, and emotionally.

Spiritually... It's been uplifting in many ways.

I've had the call to comprehend my own mortality in the last year. Starting with my cousin T, whose last months of life were depicted in swift, sure strokes by our Creator's brush, before He took her home. An emotional and spiritual challenge for me: T was two weeks older than me and one of the people of my own age whom I admired greatly. We weren't close, but her life was a joy and a blessing, even from the distance that her energy levels required. And T was so certain of her faith, so sure in the resurrection of Jesus and of her own redemption all the way to the end. Did I carry that certainty, too?

The last few months have made me question who I am, why I'm here on this planet. It's made me understand the sinfulness of the world, and how sin has permeated everything - our broken and struggling bodies, our quenched and drowning spirits. Eternal life in these bodies would be hell, indeed. God has promised to make us anew - first spiritually, then, after death, in the new heaven and Earth that he's prepared for us.

Today's thoughts are based off the reading from my ABM Lent 2016 app:

Thus says the Lord,
who makes a way in the sea,
a path in the mighty waters,
who brings out chariot and horse,
army and warrior;
they lie down, they cannot rise,
they are extinguished, quenched like a wick:
"Do not remember the former things,
or consider the things of old.
I am about to do a new thing;
now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
I will make a way in the wilderness
and rivers in the desert.
The wild animals will honour me,
the jackals and the ostriches;
for I give water in the wilderness,
rivers in the desert,
to give drink to my chosen people,
the people whom I formed for myself so that they might declare my praise."
~ Isaiah 43:16-21 ~

Personally, I've always preferred Isaiah 40:31 "They that hope in the Lord will renew their strength..." So much more uplifting! So much more encouraging!

And yet, right now, it's harder to be uplifted and encouraged.

This passage spoke to me today.

Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old... One of the issues I'm struggling with right now is the prospect of all the things I haven't done. The things I thought I would have 'later' to do and quite possibly may not; certainly not as I imagined them. My physical strength these days is extinguished, quenched like a wick - I'm hoarding my energy to do the things that are most important right now.

I can't live in the past (and I'm going to find a psych to talk this through with); I have to look forward. And while I struggle with the loss of my physical capabilities and the prospect that this may be long-term, or even permanent, this verse reminds me that God is about to do a new thing; to make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. And I'm well aware that this 'way in the wilderness' may not necessarily be a physical improvement; that it might be a spiritual challenge to draw closer to God than I've been walking these last few years, and to meet Him in a place where I don't have the strength, but He does. I don't think that's a bad thing; I've become spiritually complacent in the last couple of years, and it's been troubling me - although not enough to do anything about it until this year.

"For I...give drink to my chosen people, the people whom I formed for myself so that they might declare my praise."

This has been something that I've learned in the last six months - that really hit home with T's life and her death: we are here to declare God's praise. That's all. It's a horrifying thing to someone who doesn't believe; aren't we worth more than this? But somehow, in the trembling knowledge that life is short and I may never leave the mark I wanted to leave on the world, it's enough for me to say, "I am here to declare God's praise."

I don't know if I can explain it, or if people reading this will understand, but it satisfies something in me.

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