...I was given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations. Satan’s angel did his best to get me down; what he in fact did was push me to my knees. No danger then of walking around high and mighty! At first I didn't think of it as a gift, and begged God to remove it. Three times I did that, and then he told me,
My grace is enough; it’s all you need.
My strength comes into its own in your weakness.
My strength comes into its own in your weakness.
Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ’s strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become.
~ 2 Corinthians 12.7-10, The Message
“Oh, Andrea, I can’t; I can’t; it hurts.….” My mama’s call not only struck chords in my
ears, but also bore holes in my heart.”
She was in severe pain, suffering the agony of a broken hip. I squeezed her hand and told her she could. That she had
to. She had to do as the physical
therapists told her or she would not get well.
Later that day, I spent moments in reflection. I thought of how my fingers had brushed through Mama's white
hair, my lips bent to her ears, and my hand grasped hers so tightly and Mama’s
grasped back.
Progressively, my thoughts journeyed to the season of her fair hands brushing my hair for
church and school. How they touched my
forehead with tenderness when my body was fevered. How she took me to the doctor. How she made biscuits every morning and took
me to piano lessons. I thought of how
she told me I could….
In the stretching days of my youth, Mama was there to hold
me.
In the stretching days of her senior season, I was there to
hold her.
The power of holding and helping my own mother created an
immense well within me. Tears easily
find their way past that well and into my eyes and down my cheeks.
As I now sit,
touching the computer keys, she is in rehabilitation at a nursing facility.
I am in her house
with my husband. We are in her
home. Alone. Without Mama.
She has many stretching days ahead of her before she returns
to this sweet, small rancher that is surrounded by nature and quiet. When Mama returns, she will not be the
same. Her separation and stretching will
mold her anew, as she adjusts to living alone again.
I am like my mother.
I cry when I’m in pain. I ache
when I am stretched. I scream when I
think it’s just too much for me to handle, when I think, “I can’t.”
I suppose we are all a bit the same. In the frailty of our flesh, we cry and
resist, whether we are being stretched in the physical or being stretched in
the spiritual.
Physical stretching is felt in the body. Spiritual stretching is known in the soul and
felt in the natural.
I truly do not know a time in my life when I was not being
stretched by my Father. And, so many
seasons of stretching have included cries of doubt. “I can’t, Lord God.” “It’s just too much.” “Please stop the suffering. Stifle the pain. Cease the Season.”
And, into the depths of my comfort zone, He then breathes into my
ear and soul, “You can “and reminds me of the Spirit-inspired words of the
Apostle Paul, that God's strength is perfected in our weakness.
In one of the loveliest pieces of scripture given to us by
God, Paul tells the truth about stretching and the key to surviving its agony. Paul shared deep, godly truth that is hard to
hear. His response to his own
stretching, “thorn in the flesh,” was one that challenges me today. “I will most gladly rejoice in my
infirmities….
