Divorce is not a contagious disease... and neither is the thorn in your flesh...
Today is my dad's birthday! Happy birthday, Dad! My family is big into
celebrations, and there's nothing sweeter than celebrating another year of life
with someone you love.
I remember his birthday 3 years ago. It was a turning point for me. A small victory. I hated January with a passion, almost as much as I hate October at the time, and I was just glad the month was over. Everything was "finalized," and I had been anxiously awaiting a new month. The good thing about walking through a bad trial is that it can only get better as time passes. And so it was my dad's birthday. I had basically been living with my parents for about a month at this point, and I had ingrained myself into their lives again. I did everything with them, and they were sweet to let me be their shadow. We decided we'd celebrate my dad's big day with a dinner at a yummy little fondue restaurant. I remember eating so much that night that I could barely breathe. It was a first for me. For months I had skipped out on eating dinner. Not because I wanted to but because I didn't feel like it. With a stomach full of worry induced ulcers, food made me sick. But that night was different. The food was so rich, so delicious, that I ate more than I had eaten in months. And I realized that night, for the first time in a long time, that I had eaten an abnormally large dinner and didn't feel the least bit sick. It was then I knew things were starting to turn around.
I loved hanging out with my parents because I never felt uncomfortable. I didn't feel odd or estranged or isolated. They didn't treat me differently. Sure, there was an elephant that followed me around for months, but they treated me normal. Like the daughter they had always known. The one they loved. Like the person I was. And while the circumstances weren't pleasant, while there were really difficult moments and easy answers weren't readily available, they just kept on loving me. They kept on encouraging me. They kept on speaking truth to me. And they kept on treating me like... me, which isn't always the easy in such situations.
Divorce isn't a disease, but it kind of felt like it. Like I was ill with this terrible, never ending ailment. And sometimes I felt like I was being quarantined. That maybe some of the people who knew were suddenly afraid to get close because it might happen to them. Or maybe it was just too difficult, too awkward, too uncomfortable, and so they kept their distance. They watched from afar. They asked their questions and stayed up to date, but things were different and I felt like there was something wrong with me.
But the thorn in your flesh, the thorn in their flesh, is not a contagious disease. It might be a tough circumstance, it might be foreign and uncomfortable and uneasy to comprehend, but Jesus called us out of our comfort zones. He didn't come with perfectly packaged Sunday school answers wrapped in darling bows. He didn't come with a cookie cutter method. He wasn't afraid to sit and mourn loss with another, to listen to their heart-wrenching stories, or to show them love despite their situation. He didn't come to lecture them, to condemn them, or to neglect them. He didn't push them away, keep them at arm's length, or avoid them at all cost. Jesus came to bring healing to the sick. To bind up the bones of the broken. To comfort those who mourn. He came to show them the love of His father, to show them the power of redemption, and to offer them saving grace. And when we love people like that, when we see their thorns and offer them grace and mercy rather than judgment and condemnation, Jesus is reflected. The true Jesus. The cross bearing, life giving, salvation offering Jesus. Because there's nothing you go through that Jesus can't fix. Nothing he can't redeem. And the thorn in your flesh, well, it's okay because there's nothing He won't love you through.
"Instead of your shame you will receive a double portion, and instead of disgrace you will rejoice in your inheritance. And so you will inherit a double portion in your land, and everlasting joy will be yours." - Isaiah 61:7
I remember his birthday 3 years ago. It was a turning point for me. A small victory. I hated January with a passion, almost as much as I hate October at the time, and I was just glad the month was over. Everything was "finalized," and I had been anxiously awaiting a new month. The good thing about walking through a bad trial is that it can only get better as time passes. And so it was my dad's birthday. I had basically been living with my parents for about a month at this point, and I had ingrained myself into their lives again. I did everything with them, and they were sweet to let me be their shadow. We decided we'd celebrate my dad's big day with a dinner at a yummy little fondue restaurant. I remember eating so much that night that I could barely breathe. It was a first for me. For months I had skipped out on eating dinner. Not because I wanted to but because I didn't feel like it. With a stomach full of worry induced ulcers, food made me sick. But that night was different. The food was so rich, so delicious, that I ate more than I had eaten in months. And I realized that night, for the first time in a long time, that I had eaten an abnormally large dinner and didn't feel the least bit sick. It was then I knew things were starting to turn around.
I loved hanging out with my parents because I never felt uncomfortable. I didn't feel odd or estranged or isolated. They didn't treat me differently. Sure, there was an elephant that followed me around for months, but they treated me normal. Like the daughter they had always known. The one they loved. Like the person I was. And while the circumstances weren't pleasant, while there were really difficult moments and easy answers weren't readily available, they just kept on loving me. They kept on encouraging me. They kept on speaking truth to me. And they kept on treating me like... me, which isn't always the easy in such situations.
Divorce isn't a disease, but it kind of felt like it. Like I was ill with this terrible, never ending ailment. And sometimes I felt like I was being quarantined. That maybe some of the people who knew were suddenly afraid to get close because it might happen to them. Or maybe it was just too difficult, too awkward, too uncomfortable, and so they kept their distance. They watched from afar. They asked their questions and stayed up to date, but things were different and I felt like there was something wrong with me.
But the thorn in your flesh, the thorn in their flesh, is not a contagious disease. It might be a tough circumstance, it might be foreign and uncomfortable and uneasy to comprehend, but Jesus called us out of our comfort zones. He didn't come with perfectly packaged Sunday school answers wrapped in darling bows. He didn't come with a cookie cutter method. He wasn't afraid to sit and mourn loss with another, to listen to their heart-wrenching stories, or to show them love despite their situation. He didn't come to lecture them, to condemn them, or to neglect them. He didn't push them away, keep them at arm's length, or avoid them at all cost. Jesus came to bring healing to the sick. To bind up the bones of the broken. To comfort those who mourn. He came to show them the love of His father, to show them the power of redemption, and to offer them saving grace. And when we love people like that, when we see their thorns and offer them grace and mercy rather than judgment and condemnation, Jesus is reflected. The true Jesus. The cross bearing, life giving, salvation offering Jesus. Because there's nothing you go through that Jesus can't fix. Nothing he can't redeem. And the thorn in your flesh, well, it's okay because there's nothing He won't love you through.
"Instead of your shame you will receive a double portion, and instead of disgrace you will rejoice in your inheritance. And so you will inherit a double portion in your land, and everlasting joy will be yours." - Isaiah 61:7
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