I’m not sure why, but I’ve been feeling fragile lately. Emotionally, psychologically, mentally, spiritually, physically — you name it — I’ve been living with this egg-shell sensation of if I get bumped, I just might crack.
God is the potter, I know, and I’m his vessel. And I’m content to be a vessel for common use. I really am. But more and more, I’m feeling like a cracked pot. A second. One fit only for the bottom of the bargain bin.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m functioning fine. I still giggle about our Lab gang’s antics; I still smile over the sparrows at my bird feeders. I still chat with other people, visit and help my 84-year-old mother, have lunch with my twin sister, go on dates with Dear Hubby (DH), chat with my nearly grown kids, and socialize with friends. I still get up on time, shower regularly, eat right, cook, clean, do laundry, work, write, read, pray, pay bills, and drive my son to his job as needed.
I still walk through my days like everything is routine.
Few would know how fragile I feel.
Except DH.
He knows. He reads me well. He should, after 25 years of married life together.
But I still need to communicate my need. He’s not a mind-reader.
You see, when I’m in this perilous place (and it can be perilous), my head races in a thousand directions. My thoughts tend to spiral away from Truth and toward distortion. And then distortion feeds on distortion, until I’m consumed (momentarily) in heartache or despair.
I’m not being melodramatic here; it’s really how I feel. I just don’t act on the emotion or wear it on my sleeve.
Here’s an example.
Yesterday morning, I was finishing a book I’ve been reading called Thinking Spiritually by John Owen (an English puritan from the mid-1600s). It’s a good book. Really. It’s technically a classic on the importance of living all of life spiritually.
While reading, I stumbled upon the word “contemptible” in his writing. Owen was using the term to describe God’s view of things of this world (vain pursuits, worldly treasures). We’re to love, value, and pursue the things in which God delights, Owen rightly suggests, and not those things of lesser value, those things the world has to offer.
My head, however, (in the fragile state it’s been in) wrongly jumped from thinking of “contemptible” (as Owen used it) as describing things of this fallen world (values, materialism, status, proud self-sufficiency) to its describing sinful and defective people – the World of John 3:16 (Owen never intended this). Then my head ran to my “blemished” (handicapped) 23 yo son and my “blemished” past and present. Then my head leaped to the idea of God finding “blemished” sacrifices unacceptable. My head concluded, grossly so, that God must view us – Daniel and me – as contemptible.
There I was, outwardly the picture of serenity: reading comfortably in my oak rocking chair while DH read quietly in his overstuffed recliner ten feet away.
But inwardly, I felt my soul shredding – that’s how intensely I reacted to the word “contemptible.”
I started to cry.
DH was, of course, oblivious to the silent war waging within me. Until he heard my snuffle.
He looked up. I met his searching eyes with silence for a second.
Then I choked, “Does God see us as contemptible?”
Now…believe me, I know better. I know with ever fiber of my being that God loves me and Daniel and the World far more deeply and unconditionally than I can comprehend in this lifetime (John 3:16). I know in the depth of my soul that God delights over me and my handicapped son with singing (Zeph. 3:17). I teach as much. I speak on as much. I write as much. I’ve had works published on as much.
But I’ve been fragile of late.
And my fragile thoughts and emotions left me more vulnerable to accusation (false accusation) than I realized.
I had only to speak the haunting question to Don to realize what a lie it was.
And I had only to hear Don’s gentle reassurance to recall again (for what seems the millionth time) the Truth of God’s grace, mercy, tenderness, forgiveness, and love.
I had only to voice my fear to remember we’re all blemished…marred by sin…handicapped, if you will. It’s just more visible in some of us than in others.
And because of Jesus, God remembers our sin and blemished state (visible and invisible) no more. He sees us through the lens of Christ’s perfect righteousness. We bring nothing to the table but willing surrender. And we’re deeply, completely loved — more than we know (I wrote about this before, I know, but I need to hear it again).
So I’ve been fragile lately. But speaking my fragility — telling someone — put things in perspective yesterday.
It helped me remember. It allowed another soul, in this case DH, to encourage my heart.
It allowed God to penetrate dark thoughts with the light of His truth.
It allowed God to sooth my aching soul, when I so needed soothing.
It allowed me to see again that God delights in and has purpose for all His vessels.
Even his cracked ones.
And maybe next time I’ll speak up sooner.
‘Til next time,
Joan
