The day started out so well. I was up early, the kids were ready, we got to church on time with all my responsibilities fulfilled or planned out. It was a really great morning, and I connected well with those I was teaching and reaching out to. I was fully engaged and loving discipling and being discipled. And somewhere in the middle of all of that, the off-hand comment came. My brain chewed it up, spit it out, and before I knew it, there it was. I was discouraged.
In retrospect, I probably put two and two together to get five. But at the time, it seemed to be the most logical conclusion. A few more disappointments, missed communications, messages not received that afternoon, and my discouragement blossomed. I snapped at my family. Suddenly, unintentionally, I was reverting to a little child again, feeling helpless and deeply hurt. The dragons of my past were eating me alive again. It isn't the first time. The fact is that almost every time I step up to speak in front of more that 2 people, almost every time I venture into some new area of ministry, my heart races like a herd of mustangs in front of a starving lion. Sometimes it blossoms into a full-blown panic. I've been known to throw up from sheer nerves. I remembered all of that, and I said to my husband through my tears, "Maybe I'm just too wounded and broken to ever be really useful to God."
Immediately, he reached for his Bible purposefully, pulled out a note card, and read: "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.' So I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities for the sake of Christ; for whenever I am weak, then I am strong." (2 Cor 12:9-10, NRSV)
Those words hit me like a powerful wave of understanding and love. My tears turned into a flood. Almighty God had looked down from his heaven, and noticed.
I may never get over all that junk. But I will get through it. I have to. The Creator of the Universe knows and understands my hurts, my wounds, and my undying desperate need to find meaning and purpose from it all. I have been called. It's what I was made for. I can't deny it, and I won't run and hide from it. So if you ever see me doing my thing, looking calm and confident like it is just another day in the ministry, you can know that it's just a front. I'm all Jello inside. Apparently, God can use that.
I think he might be able to use you, too.
