The first forty-five years of my life were marked by the discovery of hidden strength and abilities. I learned bravery as I attempted a lot of new things, knowing I could always rebound and rebuild.
The past four years of my life have been marked by the discovery of the depths of my weakness and inabilities. My journal tells the story, with notes scrawled out like graffiti on the walls of a prison cell: I can’t do this. It’s over my head. I’m not made like this. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not enough. I’m not enough. I’m not enough (and seventeen variations on this thought.)
I have wondered out loud why God would trust a man with no muscles to a girl who is can’t even conquer the laundry.
I promise you this is not false humility or a thinly-veiled plea for you to tell me I’m awesome. This is reality. After 45 years of up-and-to-the-right, ALS brought me face-to-face with the endless array of things I cannot do and the many reasons Steve would have been better off marrying…anyone else.
I could fight these feelings with my resume or my good intentions or with the argument that many people aren’t good at this stuff and aren’t forced to find out. I probably have fought with all those things, and would continue to do so except they don’t work. What has worked is this verse on repeat in my brain and on my tongue. This simple verse, quoted over and over, so my ears can hear it and my heart can take refuge in it.
He is before all things and all things are held together in Him. Colossians 1:17
He holds all things together. He holds Steve together. He holds my children together. He holds my heart together when I think it’s splintering into sawdust. He is the first and last word and even when the storm spins outside my door, His love holds me together. Always and in all ways.
I hope you feel Him holding you today.