I cried when I took it, I cried as they filled it and as I ate the tablet and as I drove home from it all.
And then I cried.
You might be confused, it's not a fatal diagnosis, it's won't require anything but a few daily pills and then after a while we will see if I can do life with out the small tablet.
But in that moment I felt hypocritical
I have passionately spoken truth that Jesus is sufficient and anxiety is a practical unbelief in that truth.
I felt like wounds that I have begun to heal from were exposed again.
I thought of the wounds that had made a young heart anxious and a young mind developer such a coping skill.
I thought about the wounds that shouldn't be there and cried that they still define how I respond and react to fear and stress and anxiety.
I cry because in that small room my smallness and weakness are undeniable-holding what I would consider medicine for the weak- and my pride is wounded.
And I call brown hair and brown eyes to hear truth. And she tells me and I listen.
And at the end of her words I think "Maybe our wounds are the only reminder we have that we need his wounds."
The woman the one that bled
The one who bled until life and resources and community and intimacy were gone.
The woman wounded she sought out the one who had come to be wounded for her healing.
There were other woman you know, in other towns and homes and places that never touched the healer.
"Daughter" he had called her.
And every gospel uses daughter's story to tell the greatness of the Father.
And her story it helps to tell how the God of the whole universe chose to glorify himself not by damning the ones bent on his wounding but by becoming one of the wounded.
Can we ever understand it? That the mighty Warrior would take a fatal wound so we the wounders could be healed and whole, perfectly, eternally loved.
He would have been full of greatness and justice and glory had we, the simultaneous victim and villain, experienced the fatal wounding. But he, like only he could, carried our wounding and remains great and just and full of glory. He married in his body mercy and justice and because of that we are healed are healing.
And these wounds that I am learning to lay down,they are just wounds from being human. And they hold no glory. We must be very careful not to glorify, magnify or minimize the wounds. But we can use them to magnify, glorify, prioritize and remember The Wounded One that he is healing and has healed, they lead me to the healer and remind me that I need his wounds. They remind me that he was wounded for my sin for my villain heart that won't beat right because I forget this truth.
And this heart that won't beat right and my head that won't think right? I think about them and I am reminded that they have been touched and claimed by him and I am learning what the medicinal truth of being his really means.
You might be confused, it's not a fatal diagnosis, it's won't require anything but a few daily pills and then after a while we will see if I can do life with out the small tablet.
But in that moment I felt hypocritical
I have passionately spoken truth that Jesus is sufficient and anxiety is a practical unbelief in that truth.
I felt like wounds that I have begun to heal from were exposed again.
I thought of the wounds that had made a young heart anxious and a young mind developer such a coping skill.
I thought about the wounds that shouldn't be there and cried that they still define how I respond and react to fear and stress and anxiety.
I cry because in that small room my smallness and weakness are undeniable-holding what I would consider medicine for the weak- and my pride is wounded.
And I call brown hair and brown eyes to hear truth. And she tells me and I listen.
And at the end of her words I think "Maybe our wounds are the only reminder we have that we need his wounds."
The woman the one that bled
The one who bled until life and resources and community and intimacy were gone.
The woman wounded she sought out the one who had come to be wounded for her healing.
There were other woman you know, in other towns and homes and places that never touched the healer.
"Daughter" he had called her.
And every gospel uses daughter's story to tell the greatness of the Father.
And her story it helps to tell how the God of the whole universe chose to glorify himself not by damning the ones bent on his wounding but by becoming one of the wounded.
Can we ever understand it? That the mighty Warrior would take a fatal wound so we the wounders could be healed and whole, perfectly, eternally loved.
He would have been full of greatness and justice and glory had we, the simultaneous victim and villain, experienced the fatal wounding. But he, like only he could, carried our wounding and remains great and just and full of glory. He married in his body mercy and justice and because of that we are healed are healing.
And these wounds that I am learning to lay down,they are just wounds from being human. And they hold no glory. We must be very careful not to glorify, magnify or minimize the wounds. But we can use them to magnify, glorify, prioritize and remember The Wounded One that he is healing and has healed, they lead me to the healer and remind me that I need his wounds. They remind me that he was wounded for my sin for my villain heart that won't beat right because I forget this truth.
And this heart that won't beat right and my head that won't think right? I think about them and I am reminded that they have been touched and claimed by him and I am learning what the medicinal truth of being his really means.
