Thorns

I was replying a friend's e-mail and he reminded me about Paul's thorn analogy in 2 Corinthians 12:7-10:

7To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. 8Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. 9But He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. 10That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

Here was Paul, someone who was doing the work of Christ and filled with His Spirit, and here he was pleading with God to take away what was hurting him, hindering him, a pain in his side (whether physical or figurative, we can't know for sure). And what did God say? "My grace is enough; it's all you need. My strength comes into its own in your weakness."

I identify very well with Paul's thorn analogy, because for a time, it helped me come to terms with the possibility that maybe God allowed me to turn out the way I am by allowing this thorn in my life because it's better this way for His purpose. Perhaps, despite all the pain and heartache, it has kept me grounded? Perhaps, in spite of all the tears, it has given me more reason to smile by saving me from worse things? I guess in spite of, or even because of, the trials I have experienced, God has made me a better person. It's interesting to imagine-- what kind of person would I have been had I not had this thorn in my side?

In many ways, because this thorn weakens me, I know I need God more. Because this thorn brings me to my knees time and time again, it makes it easier to pray. Because this pain brings tears to my eyes, it clears them so I can better see God for the Healer that He is.

"And we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love Him."

- Romans 8:28

Healer

You hold my every moment
You calm my raging seas
You walk with me through fire
And heal all my disease

I trust in You
I trust in You

I believe You're my Healer
I believe You are all I need
I believe You're my Portion
I believe You're more than enough for me
Jesus You're all I need

My Healer, You're my Healer

Nothing is impossible for You
Nothing is impossible for You
Nothing is impossible for You
You hold my world in Your hands

Relapse

For the past couple days, I've been in a funk. I'm surly, irritable and my heart feels heavy. And I tell people who ask that it's "just one of those days, you know?"

But maybe that's just the easy answer. Deep down, I know that I keep in an iron-clad box the side of my heart that yearns for love beyond the platonic. But every so often, when I let my guard down, I come across someone that inadvertently manages to loosen the deadbolts I have so meticulously set, and out it springs, pouring forth the feelings that are like sweet poison in my veins.

I could describe exactly how this makes me feel in big flowery words, but in the end, we all know exactly how it feels when you simply want someone to love and to hold, but know that it can't happen.

It sucks.

Thanatos

I think about death from time to time. That is, my death. Not the actual act of dying per se, but more of the ways I would die.

I would imagine scenarios such as my being involved in a fatal car accident. Abrupt. Final. No goodbyes. What would it be like for the people I left behind? What if I could be present as a spirit at my funeral? Who would I see there? Who would cry, and who wouldn't? Whose lives would be affected more than others by my sudden departure?

But mostly I would imagine myself being stricken with a disease. It would usually be some form of cancer; it seems to be the stereotypical "major disease with no cure". In the scenario, I walk into the doctor's office, and he gives me the bad news. For some reason I take it in stride and, after insisting on a straight answer, ask the doctor matter-of-factly whether I'm going to die. Once he confirms it, I simply ask how long I have.

Then begins the process of my long goodbye. Should I tell everybody about my condition? Or should I keep it myself to ensure that I don't get any pity, since it's the last thing I want or need? I wonder about the last things I will do before my time runs out. Perhaps stop by England to visit some of my close friends there. Then come back home and spend the remaining time with my friends and family.

As my time runs out, I spend more time with my godson, talking with him and sharing my joys and tears, my hopes and fears for him, and teaching him all that I can and have left to teach. I tell him that I will sorely miss seeing him grow up and settle down with a woman that God brings into his life, miss seeing him have children of his own who he will adore as much as I do him. I tell him that I love him more than he will ever understand, and I give him the silver ring on my finger which has "Dad" engraved on it. I remind him of the other ring I gave him years before, the one with "PS 27-4" engraved on it, and tell him to keep that verse close to his heart, and to keep Jesus even closer. Then, I will reassure him that this not goodbye forever. It's only goodbye for now.

And who knows? Maybe, just maybe, I finally get the courage to come out to the people I love? The finality of death seems to supply one with courage, and perhaps this is the time I open up? Since I am to leave this world, what more have I to fear?

Thus far, I have not been in any fatal car accidents or been diagnosed with cancer. But on Saturday, at ten minutes before midnight, I found a small, hard, peanut-sized lump near my collarbone. So, I've been thinking about death.

And I don't seem to be afraid to die.