Momentary Reflection, Partial

The hand. The arm, rather. A needle stuck in, mid-arm, puncturing a nerve. Twice struck, but the first time utterly direct. And such pain.

Sometimes, after the fact, it seems possible to look back and interpret signs. My right hand was stricken, reduced. Constant pain, wearying. I was limited.

How representative was this, in actual truth, of the reality that I had been increasingly forsaking to acknowledge God in all my ways? Though in one specific circumstance, only, truly...but still, increasingly turning to my own understanding and reinterpreting all which passed as somehow being within purview of God's will...apart from the Word, apart from prayer.

In a certain light, retrospectively, it can look to me now as though God allowed the enemy to attack and maim. He permitted me to be stricken. And in the midst of being felled, He allowed me to falter. He permitted me to give over to what was evil. Only to ultimately convict me of the reality of my wretchedness, all the more clearly, that I would be humbled all the more from perceiving myself as strong, perceiving myself as pure, perceiving myself as above others. Or even as below others, in terms of viewing my sins as more grievous. That I would see and know all the more clearly that my strength is in Christ, alone, He let my strength be removed.

The vital need for communion with Him and direction from Him and acknowledging Him increasingly and always in my ways...was forsaken, for a time, and I was desolate and bereft and utterly lost in darkness apart from still clinging to a shred of hope in the reality of Christ as redeemer, and committing to the sure knowledge that He could deliver, despite my asking for what was not His will. And pleading, even.

I am disgusted with the sin, now, and humbled by the deeper realization of my position of truly depending on God for all things--including for my walk with Him, and especially the security of my being fixed upon Him.

There's a slight echo of that, now, in having my strength once more felled, physically. My right arm is in constant pain and grown weak. My hand becomes less agile as the days pass, under strain of continued use. And yet I proclaim Him, I profess Him, and I continue on...even as a point of strength has been taken from me, external. I am otherwise bereft, also, and yet now...I am humbled unto God, in all this.

And He is giving strength. For He is my strength. And I will trust Him and endure howsoever He leads. Open hands, with that which was unto strength being kept, withdrawn as only unto Christ. And I cannot endure, I cannot bear. I become weaker and weaker. But He has, and He will. And His strength toward me increases. All the sweeter now, His fellowship.

Whatever comes or goes, I will trust Him--the One who loved me and gave His life for me. Do likewise.