Bottom of the Drink Revisited

Humility.  Just saying that word sounds so ugly.  Have you been forced to undergo humility training lately?  I sure have.  I think God looks down on me and says, Well, Sara, you asked for Me to search your heart and know your thoughts; you asked Me to find any way of pain in you and then lead you in My way, the everlasting one.  

The last two-and-a-half months have been just that, a humility boot camp, since I prayed that prayer of David in church, months back, from Psalm 139 (my favorite psalm -- well, one of many).  Life has been sifting and churning and crushing, and we find ourselves very often ground like fine flour.  It's been trial upon trial upon trial on our family, and not just ours, but also on those we love.  Eric and I are feeling totally spent.

Ever feel like saying "uncle" or "enough" with God?  That's what our prayer has been lately.  Truly, Lord, have mercy.  Lord, save us in this moment, so that we finally get to the less-crushing and more productive side of the tunnel.  Let endurance have it's perfect result that we may lack NOTHING, as we wearily praise You for these trials. Grant us wisdom, according to Your promise in James 1, and increase our faith, so we are not like a vessel on a stormy sea, unstable in all of our ways.  Once again, we praise You in this storm.  

Chronic illnesses can often be completely humiliating, rendering a person completely helpless, and sometimes I feel totally alone in mine.  I have a chronic imbalance that can be debilitating without medication.  In fact, it can be deadly.  But it is also like Paul's thorn in the flesh, which he tried to "pray away" three times.  It is just utterly weakening and humiliating for me.  It forces me to ask for help and to trust the counsel of others He's placed in my life.  I fool myself into thinking I'm strong enough, even without them.  This is where wisdom gets swallowed up in the drain.

My husband and I are walking through this together, hand in hand, as always. Without this chronic issue I have, he wouldn't have had to hold me throughout the night.  He has always been an emotional stabilizer for me, so when we are having any trouble whatsoever, I feel helpless, like I have to stand on my own two feet, alone, in my strength.  Totally and completely.  

But I'm not.

Even there, in that time of helplessness, God is there.  He's at the bottom of the drink, the sea of despair at midnight or midday, waiting to swallow me up in His mercy and incredible grace.  He's there to spit me out again, like Jonah, and give words of peace and wisdom in the morning and watch over me to see if I am listening.

He's there to remind me of the perfectly matched man He gave me and to remind both of us of His love and His faithfulness, upon which we can stand firmly.  Trust like no other.

He's there to swallow me with His love, time and again, casting out all fear and doubt.  He's there to show me, as always, the silent humility of His majesty; how He entered Jerusalem on a donkey's foal, the lowliest of traveling companions, as the people proclaimed,"Hosanna! Lord save!" just like I have.  His kingly crown invisible to all because His humility is so apparent.

Humility: the willingness to just say, "I need help.  I'm not strong enough on my own."

May my humility be so apparent.


Here I am, Lord, broken and spilled out before Your humble feet, but listening.  I am listening.

Believers in humble circumstances ought to take pride in their high position.... But the rich should take pride in their humiliation—since they will pass away like a wild flower.  For the sun rises with scorching heat and withers the plant; its blossom falls and its beauty is destroyed. In the same way, the rich will fade away even while they go about their business.Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him." James 1:10-12

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I wrote these words back in 2014. Four years later I am here to say that God is faithful. We are still here. We are not crushed to powder or poured out like wax. Humility is a road I take daily because of the illness that I have. Mental illness are still very misunderstood, and sometimes it feels like I am being avoided or treated as sub-human. But humility is where Jesus and Paul both lived and thrived,  crying "take this cup from Me" and "remove this thorn in the flesh," but both also submitting to the Father's will for their lives - "not My will but Yours be done" and "Your grace is sufficient for me." His power and His plan are made perfect in our weaknesses and our meek submission to His purposes. May I live in that place where His happiness is my every thought.