I don’t know if God will make me whole again. He may not. People all over the world go their whole lives being broken. God sees them, God hears their prayers, God chooses not to answer with a ‘yes,’ and still….God does not love them less. I know He would not love me less if he chose not to heal me. He didn’t heal Paul, even though Paul asked for it three times.
“My grace is sufficient for you.”
I suppose Paul could have spent the rest of his life whining and complaining that God didn’t answer his prayer, that He must just be a big ole meanie up in Heaven who doesn’t really care. That sounds like a lot of pseudo-Christian-self-centered nonsense I hear today, anyways. But Christianity probably wouldn’t have survived if Paul had done that. Paul submitted to God’s decision, trusted it, and lived with his brokenness despite the setbacks and frustrations it caused. Despite how people talked and most likely misunderstood it. Despite whatever judgement from people he received because of it. He bowed to God’s will even though it meant no healing for him. It probably meant pain and isolation from others as well.
But God’s words are true for me too, and I rest in them down into the depths of my soul. I do not worry that my life will be “ruined,” or somehow not be exactly as God designed it, even if I never experience recovery. I presume God’s plan to have included it, given His tendency to foresee and plan for the future. You know, like God does….
His love and grace are the same despite the maladies in my soul. And yet…it doesn’t keep me from asking. I guess I figure as long as I don’t have a clear ‘no,’ then I’m allowed to keep asking. Until then, the answer might as easily be a “keep waiting…” It could be a matter of persistence. I know I don’t deserve the things for which I ask anymore than the woman did, who begged Jesus for crumbs like a dog asking for scraps from it’s master’s table. That is, after all, what I am in the grand scheme of things anyways. And I’m at peace with that.
For now, I believe if I keep asking, hoping, and seeking Him…then eventually He will turn His eyes on me once more. Eventually…He may allow His gaze to fall on me again. I mean, I’m not anything like I was the last time I felt His eyes on me. I’m much dirtier and far more unkept. (I’ve been drug through the mud quite a bit, you see.) And today I look a bit more like a beggar who hasn’t been cleaned in so long that she’s forgotten what it was like to have a clean face. But…I just keep asking. And I figure if I keep asking…then maybe He will hear me and turn His face to me again. Maybe He will recognize me through the dirt…beyond the stench…and past the matted hair that covers my face. Maybe he will recognize me again….if He would only look into my eyes. Lord, look into my eyes again. Just one look, Lord, and I’d be healed.
And there was a woman who suffered much and spent all she had, and was no better but rather grew worse. She had heard the reports about Jesus and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his garment. For she said, “If I touch even his garments, I will be made well.” And he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”