The book, Where is God When It Hurts by Philip Yancy, arrived at my friend Renes’ church. She was at a Tuesday morning Bible study and in walks a woman handing her the book for me. It was from a missionary who’d seen my name on their prayer list and had sent it.
Rene had no idea who the missionary was or how she found her in that class but she drove it over the next day.
Rene is like that. When Michael had to go out of town for a business trip, I checked into a Marriott. We thought room service would be ideal and it would have a handicap shower. The dogs went to daycare and Rene thought nothing of driving across town to get me, take me to dinner and then to the hotel. She came up after dinner and helped me change into a bathing suit then down to the pool for a swim and a walk in the water. We figured if I fell at least it wouldn’t hurt.
She brought several different aides she had used for her many, many knee surgeries. She is another friend I could never live without!
I devoured the book she brought to me.
It was like the guy had read my mind and was answering all my questions.
I loved every word. It soothed me and brought me comfort and hope.
It should be required reading for anyone who has ever suffered.
I mull over my feelings about this long ass illness and I feel myself fighting being broken.
Like I’m a clay pot getting raised into mighty hands and I’m being smashed against the ground, over and over.
I’ve cracked and pieces of me are missing but I’m not shattered.
Am I supposed to be? Am I delusional?
This sucks so bad and I’m so tired of living in the margins. What do I need to do?
I am braced for impact. Arms locked and straight fighting the fear of being in a million tiny pieces. Is that the hold up?
Is this what’s keeping me sick? I can’t be well or used until I’m broken up completely?
Are the fragments worth more than the whole?
When Jesus gave thanks for the loaves and fishes it wasn’t enough food for the thousands that were there. But when he broke the bread, there was enough for everyone plus baskets left over.
So am I broken? Is my ruin sufficient for transformation?
My answer was coming in Chicago.