When I was a small child, I imagined my future would be so perfect – the knight in shining armor would sweep me off my feet, carry me to his castle, have at least a dozen children together, and live happily ever after in my fairy-tale world. Unfortunately, for me, that dream never came true.
I did marry, but badly. I didn’t wait for the man God would bring me. Instead I married the first fool who asked. At my age (I was 36) I thought I was running out of chances for God to find me the perfect fit, especially when it stood to reason that may not have been his plan at all. Some of us remain single, like Paul. My marital experience was not only doomed to fail but done outside of God’s will. That’s trouble if I’ve ever seen it. Of course, I didn’t waste time blaming myself. That would be counterproductive, no?
It was God’s fault, of course. Wasn’t he supposed to find me just the right man? I was getting tired of being asked when I was going to get married and have kids. I wanted God to hurry up. Certainly my lack of marital status had nothing to do with me! I railed against God for not allowing me the things he seemed to be giving every other girl. How unjust God was! How unfair! I deserved a good life! I deserved a wonderful husband and children! Didn’t I?
When I walked into marriage outside God’s will I was practically begging for trouble. I got exactly what I asked for though I was pretty sure it wasn’t my fault at the time. It was far easier to play the blame game than recognize the truth. Easier to blame God than to hold myself accountable. I told myself I was doing the best I could given the limited assistance I was getting from God.
I stayed angry at God for years because he didn’t give me what I thought I deserved and had earned by going to church every Sunday, teaching Sunday School here and there, working with children, being on the church board, etc. That was enough to please God, right? Enough to get everything I ever wanted. I wasn’t really going to be required to do anything that required me to sacrifice of myself. The “doing” and “sacrifice” was all up to God. Right?
To say the least, my ideas of what God should and shouldn’t do were a bit skewed. I actually thought he owed me an explanation. Sounds more like a two-year-old child demanding candy for pitching a fit. I whined and whined and whined. Never once did it occur to me that I should be asking God what he expected of me – that I had a lot of explaining to do when there really were no excuses to be made.
For so long I believed myself pathetically useless to any church, making myself so by those errant thoughts. I decided I didn’t have much I wanted to give for fear that they would misunderstand and ask me to leave. For example, being single seemed to be a problem for many married women in any church I attended. For some reason, they all thought I was after their husbands. Listen, girls, they’re your husbands for a reason. If I were looking for one, it certainly wouldn’t be any of them.
An elder in one church heard me talking about working on a baby quilt on a Sunday and had been aghast that I dared to work on the Lord’s day. Sewing quilts is a hobby; I didn’t think of it as work but I’d apparently offended her, the church, and the Lord without even guessing I had. What else had I done without thinking which caused others to be offended?
I didn’t go back to church for some time, but when I did I determined to sit in the back and try to be as inconspicuous as humanly possible. I picked a church way out in the middle of nowhere. Unfortunately, hiding in the back wasn’t an option since the church membership was so small. But I did my best not to get in the way and avoid doing things that would offend anyone.
Then one day I found out I had a tumor. My world spun. I was sure I would be dead within months. God didn’t have time for pitiful people like me, or so I thought. He was too busy giving others exactly what they wanted, blessing people who hadn’t done anything to deserve those blessings. (I was pretty sure I wasn’t getting the blessings I thought I so richly deserved.) When would he have time to heal me? Why would he want to?
When I finally gave everything over to God I discovered that he does care – about every last one of us. He drew me so close I could hear his breath on my cheeks. He gave me Scripture and songs and sermons beyond belief. His care for and healing of my body and soul was amazing.
A few months later I sat down and read a book by Francis Chan entitled Crazy Love. My world spun again. The further I read the more I was intrigued. Overwhelmed by a relentless God? What in the world was he talking about! Faith and radical solutions? Me? A part of that kind of thing? Who was I kidding? And, yet, once you’ve encountered Jesus, really encountered him, nothing is ever the same in your life again.
Ephesians 6:13-18 tells me:
Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the saints.
Reading that means I have a whole lot of work to do in a very short time. This is the record of my journey. I’m going to call it I’m Still Standing. Not because of anything I’ve done but because without the Potter’s Hands, I wouldn’t be standing at all.
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