Sarah and I watch a sitcom that makes us laugh. Recently, I remembered a line from one of the episodes that I thought was funny and clever. A character known for not being much of a go-getter said: "I'm not convinced I actually know how to read. I think I've just memorized a lot of words."
This reminded me of a day in the second grade. We, students, were tasked with reading a paper quietly to ourselves. Once finished, we'd take the page to the teacher's desk. This was our way of communicating we were done with the task. As I read, I kept getting hung up on a single word. I didn't know it. I tried sounding it out. I couldn't get beyond this mystery word. I watched as student after student brought up their finished papers. I finally asked for help. The teacher introduced me to this complicated word: "THE." I hadn't mastered the "TH" sound yet. I was pronouncing the T -then "HE." That didn't sound familiar. I was hung up on one of the most basic words. These three letters stumped me. I kept reading and came across that word again, but I couldn't remember it. More students were done. I had to ask for help again. It's frustrating getting hung up on simple things. Especially when they're things we should have mastered.
From the beginning, I was a church kid. I was probably in church that first Sunday out of the womb. During my preschool years, I was a part of a class in church called the Rainbows. I wore the uniform: a green vest with a patch on the front left upper corner that said, "RAINBOWS" underneath an embroidered rainbow. In Rainbows, we learned the basics about God, such as God loves me, the simple stuff. Little Israel knew God loved him.
I found myself struggling with the simple stuff about God after I had a stroke. I questioned: Does God really love me? This, what's happened to me, doesn't feel like love. How could He love me and take so much away? I seriously questioned the reality of an unseen God who loved me. An invisible God didn't seem believable the more I thought about it. This wasn't an instant struggle. But as my condition continued, the questions got louder and more forceful: God, where are you? Where is your love?
When my wife Sarah and I were dating in college, I had my first birthday away from home. Perhaps I had an unhealthy expectation about my big day. I wasn't home, and Sarah didn't make a big deal about my birthday. I misread the situation and thought, "She's just not that into me." I didn't handle it like a mature adult. I wasn't getting the love I believed I deserved. I'm embarrassed to admit that.
After my stroke, I had talks with God, like, "If you really loved me, you would. . . "
Sarah wasn't moved by my childish birthday tantrum nor God with my love ultimatum.
God loves how He chooses. I'm not in control, so I can't manipulate Him with those "If you really love me. . ." games.
This week has been a tough one. I'm honestly having a tough time accepting that God loves me. I've been going back to the simple lessons for perspective. Reconsidering the basics serves as a realignment for me. During my prayer time, I've found myself singing a song I sang in Rainbows:
Jesus loves me, this I know,
For the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong;
They are weak,
But He is strong.
Yes, Jesus loves me!
Yes, Jesus loves me!
Yes, Jesus loves me!
The Bible tells me so.
It's easy to have tunnel vision when life gets hard and to forget the principles that have led my life. Here's what I needed to be reminded of:
1. I need to trust the Bible again.
Sometime after my stroke and coming home, I questioned if the Bible was trustworthy. This question was a slippery slope that led to fear and hopelessness. I didn't want to hear the Bible or that "God" stuff anymore. Anger had consumed me. "This I know, for the Bible tells me so" was no longer good enough. I was getting cynical as I stood on verses that were disappointing me.
But no matter how angry I got, I'd always come to a place of hope in God. It's all I had left. I refused to give it up. I'll admit something hard. When I heard God's truth, an inner voice would say, "That's a lie." My anger has made room for doubt. But I still read the Bible every day. So even though I doubt, something in me honors God's word. I've since moved on to a place where I'm hungry for truth, wanting to hear what God's saying next.
2. I need to accept that I am God's.
Again, I'm reconsidering the basics: "Little ones to Him belong" or how David wrote:
The earth is the Lord's, and everything in it,
the world, and all who live in it; Psalm 24:1 (NIV)
I'm God's. That means I'm under his care. And I need to trust His care and timing.
3. I need to accept my weakness while recognizing His strength.
This was a challenging lesson for me. Before my stroke, I felt I could handle anything. Now I'm weak. But really, I've always been weak. I just wasn't aware of how weak. It has taken me to lose complete use of my left side to realize how weak I truly am. I live at the mercy of Sarah. Thank God she's good to me. Every day, I live at God's mercy. Thank God He's good.
". . . they are weak, but He is strong." I understand I need a God who is strong enough to heal me. As a kid, there was no question about God's strength. However, I had never faced anything where I needed Him to be as strong as I need Him to be now.
This is the kind of reminder I need:
God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, Psalm 46:1-2 (NIV)
Life is now about trusting in the ever-presentness of the strong God. Following my world falling apart, my default setting has been fear, not trust. This is a daily conscience reset: Trust God, Israel. Don't fall into fear and despair.
4. I need the childhood certainty of God's love for me.
I vividly remember the exuberant shout that the 3-year-old Rainbows would cry when we sang "Jesus Loves Me." We'd try to be louder than our friends as we sang: "Yes, Jesus loves me!" That "Yes" was so sure, loud, and confident. Today, I lack that assurance. I'm working on it. Jesus encourages a childlike faith. But I've seen things and have experienced many dark days. I'm trying to find confidence in God's love in immense loss.
Paul said it well:
Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written:
"For your sake we face death all day long;
we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered."
No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:35-39 (NIV)
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