O LORD, do not forsake me; be not far from me, O my God. Come quickly to help me, O Lord my Savior. Psalm 38:21-22, NIV
I have delayed in writing because I am so unworthy to address others on the subject of faith. When I look into the eyes of my Goliath, my knees wobble at the enormity of the challenge before me and I wonder about the wisdom of God. Think of it, the young boy, David, and his sling against such a massive fighting machine, Goliath. Yet God picked him and he won the battle. But if you are like me, you may feel that your giant is too big to fall.
Pain in the form of humiliation, embarrassment, and shame can often haunt those of us who have dealt with severe childhood abuse. Sometimes struggle after struggle leads us to the end of hope. Sometimes we wonder where our next burst of faith will come from.
As I struggle with the results of my recent bilateral parietal stroke, I must look into the eyes of a powerful new adversary. But it’s not the stroke that is the adversary. It’s not the abuse or the memories of such that I fear. I am not even afraid of my new limitations or struggles. I am not afraid of the heart condition that came with this stroke. I do not fear the loss of independence although I freely admit I hate it.
What I fear is that I will bring shame to the One Who loved me so many years ago. I fear that others will never know the depth of God’s love, commitment, and grace to an unwanted little boy. I fear that my lifelong goal of encouraging others will wilt in the heat of my new day.
I fear myself. I fear I lack the will to fight Goliath on the field of battle.
Excuse me. I think I hear a giant!
I have delayed in writing because I am so unworthy to address others on the subject of faith. When I look into the eyes of my Goliath, my knees wobble at the enormity of the challenge before me and I wonder about the wisdom of God. Think of it, the young boy, David, and his sling against such a massive fighting machine, Goliath. Yet God picked him and he won the battle. But if you are like me, you may feel that your giant is too big to fall.
Pain in the form of humiliation, embarrassment, and shame can often haunt those of us who have dealt with severe childhood abuse. Sometimes struggle after struggle leads us to the end of hope. Sometimes we wonder where our next burst of faith will come from.
As I struggle with the results of my recent bilateral parietal stroke, I must look into the eyes of a powerful new adversary. But it’s not the stroke that is the adversary. It’s not the abuse or the memories of such that I fear. I am not even afraid of my new limitations or struggles. I am not afraid of the heart condition that came with this stroke. I do not fear the loss of independence although I freely admit I hate it.
What I fear is that I will bring shame to the One Who loved me so many years ago. I fear that others will never know the depth of God’s love, commitment, and grace to an unwanted little boy. I fear that my lifelong goal of encouraging others will wilt in the heat of my new day.
I fear myself. I fear I lack the will to fight Goliath on the field of battle.
Excuse me. I think I hear a giant!
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