Half Past March- Part I

 I was born in December and each year at half past March, I acknowledge another year’s passing.  Evidence on my driver’s license concludes that I’m in my mid to late twenties and this week I will celebrate six years of life.  It was a moment that formed over the course of a decade and each year, in the middle of March, I put one hand in front of the other, and crawl farther and farther away from the wreckage.

Faith requires more than a feeling.  The object of our faith entails complete trust and absolute confidence.  We are certain of our spiritual faith regardless of whether or not we hold in our hands actual evidence or proof.  It’s exhilarating, life changing, and all consuming.  The faith that we possess, as a Christian, is a discipline.  Each day, we decide to trust and exercise our faith in a God that we cannot see.  Faith in Christ births the love, devotion, and obedience that we exemplify in our relationship with our Creator.  Fortunately, God allows us moments where we can feel His presence and situations occur that strike us with the adoration He has for us and our belief grows even more because we are aware of His faithfulness. 

While faith is more than a feeling, there are times when we yearn for just that.  Where we might be able to feel His touch or constantly reside in comfort and peace because we “feel” that He is there.  I would even go as far to say, that His promises are easier to claim as truths when we “feel” Him.  But, feelings don’t always lead to truth and sometimes we build upon a feeling that was a lie to begin with.

I had my tonsils out when I was six and my appendix out when I was eleven.  Broke my back when I was thirteen and received a diagnosis of anorexia and severe depression that same year.  In the fall of my junior year in high school, I was hospitalized for a total of 9 kidney stones wreaking havoc on both of my kidneys.  That year alone I had three surgeries to clear the blockages I kept experiencing in my kidneys and that was the beginning of what would turn into 10 more surgical procedures and a debilitating ache that since hasn’t left. 

My sophomore year in college they discovered another health condition that led me to eleven more operations and not a pain free day in over a decade.  My body seems to have failed me.  The relentless pain stabs at my flesh, day after day, and year after year.  My abdomen looks like a treasure hunt map gone wrong because the incisions point to more than one “x” marks the spot.

While I briefly summarized the bullet points of a harried medical past, the facts don’t immediately point out the severe emotional effects of my constant uphill battle.  More than once I have fallen to my knees, gravel pressing into my bare skin, as the daunting task of the continued climb has paralyzed me.

The promise of the scriptures reads, “We wait in hope for the Lord; he is our help and our shield.” Psalm 33:20.

On one day in particular, I sat hoping.  I cried and prayed and screamed and begged.  The pains outnumbered me.  I lost my grip in His hope, and began to believe, in a feeling, that He wanted nothing to do with me.

To Be Continued…