here am i

I've had quite the emotional and spiritual growth spurt recently. Coming from the girl who has very little pain tolerance on every level imaginable (even though she likes to believe that's not true), it hurt incredibly. I was deeply reminded of Paul when he had a thorn stuck in his flesh and immediately thought, "Alright, God, listen. My tolerance for pain is like a speck compared to Paul's gargantuan endurance in suffering. The man was a spiritual giant and I am a tiny ant in comparison, so how about you make this go away? I. AM. NO. PAUL."

But a little pain is necessary for growth, right? The best analogy I could think of was like peeling back a bandaid, writhing in pain and then...yeah. Wow. I have absolutely no idea where this analogy is going because I can't see any good coming out of ripping off a bandaid.

Let's try this again.

Inwardly, I'm being stretched so much that it hurts terribly but in a good kind of way. It's like when you do a really intense workout and you hurt all over the next day and even though you whine about it to your friends, you feel extremely accomplished (almost smug) deep down. I say this as if I'm relating from personal experience. Yeah, no. This girl and workout do not go together.

Without going into detail, I've been on the fence about surrender. I hate the word. Yes, hate is quite a strong word, but I really do hate it. Typically, "surrender" does not paint a pretty picture. This is a word that brings strong imagery to my mind immediately. It's the immense struggle, the tossing and turning, the sleeplessness, the frustration of realizing you are not in control, the uncontrollable crying, the negotiations directed at the ceiling, the planning of every little detail only to see it all come apart, and the PAINFULLY slow process of coming to terms that it is better for someone Greater to be in control, before you finally turn the reins in. But obviously, before you realize you're a terrible person to run your own life, surrender means losing. And losing, for lack of a better word, sucks.

Let me rewind. I've been asking God to shatter the mundaneness in my life, but I've also been holding back from Him little areas in my life that I think are no big deal. What a fool I was to know and to continue to living on in my pretend ignorance. I fought and negotiated with God. After what seemed like ages (but only a few weeks in reality), I finally handed the reins over to Him and felt the peace that passes all understanding. It was amazing, because having gone through similar circumstances twice before and somehow severing all parties involved in the process, I was rather satisfied and proud at how fast I had bounced back from my situation. When the few who knew what was going on asked how I was doing, I responded that I was fine and dandy, thank you very much.

Third time's the charm, I thought to myself.

If only.

This past week, as most of you know, was Passion Week. This week is the pivotal point of the Gospel, because He conquered death and gives us the hope we carry today. My goodness, how I long for the day of His return with ever fiber in my being. So Thursday night, I find myself sitting in the back pew during a Maundy Thursday service when suddenly, out of nowhere, I feel the twinge of pain resurface and I feel myself slowly starting to unravel again.

Confused, I turn to God, Wait, I surrendered this to You, so why do I still feel the way I do?

Determined to not let the distraction get to me, I turn my attention towards the service, desperately trying to grasp and retain at what the speaker is saying. As I struggle in my silence, the praise team asks everyone to rise to sing a familiar old hymn by Frances Havergal, titled, I kid you not, "Take My Life and Let It Be."

I stand up along with the congregation and begin mumbling along--partially singing, partially reading, most certainly still struggling. I sing through the first two verses, still half-heartedly moving my lips. The third verse flashes across the screen and I begin moving my lips to sing. But the words, those words, they stop me. I go back and read them again. Then again. And again. The slide changes. The words are etched in my mind now:

Take my will and make it Thine

It shall be no longer mine.

Take my heart, it is Thine own

It shall be Thy royal throne.

And then the chorus:

Here am I,

All of me

Take my life

it's all for thee.

In the silence, He whispers, Surrender. Overwhelmed in the moment, I stop mumbling, my mind is racing. How could I sing these words when I didn't truly believe it?

I wish I could say there's a satisfactory ending to this story. I suppose by common definition, a satisfying ending is when the protagonist attains what he or she has been pining for. But what I want in my heart is not what is necessarily what I need for my soul. What I need is the strength to be still in turmoil. There may not be a happy ending here but I am and will be perfectly at peace with that. Don't get me wrong, pain still lurks beneath the surface, rearing his ugly head every now and then to remind me of his existence, but even so, something stronger, something more beautiful resides within. Because through the One who gave His all for me:

In affliction, there is growth.

In turmoil, there is strength.

In sorrow, there is hope.

In darkness, there is light.

In surrender, there is peace.

In impenetrable grief,

In overwhelming gladness,

In the broken past,

In the looming future,

In frenzied chaos,

In deafening stillness that my heart can no longer bear,

there is Christ.

There is Christ. And He is enough. 
So Lord, here am I, all of me.