Let Go

  Last week, the Lord spoke to me in Barnes & Noble.

  There was no still, small voice. No fiery foliage. No rending of upholstery. My eye was merely drawn inexorably to a particular set of words. They were so appropriate that I laughed out loud.

   All right, I'll admit it: I think God spoke to me through a rainbow-colored refrigerator magnet.

   *sigh* This is embarrassing. I would much rather receive divine inspiration from one of the gorgeous leather journals. But I was trapped in a never-ending line, contemplating the logic of owning seven cash registers while only using one, when my attention was arrested by the following pithy proverb:

LET GO OR BE DRAGGED.

 First, I really wished there was a comma.
 Second, I hate almost all pithy proverbs. Life is complicated, and I think true communication suffers a lack of potency when it's watered down into something that fits on a T-shirt.
 Third, I shivered at the awful simplicity of the mental image.

   Let Go, I heard the Almighty say, or be dragged.

   The last two weeks have been one smashing revelation after another, each one proving to myself (and any human being unfortunate enough to live with me), that I have a teensy-weensy control problem. My subconscious believes it inhabits an omnipotent being, and plans Life accordingly. Stressful events? No problem! Emotional upheaval? Be proactive! My conscious body hadn't had a solid night's sleep in over a week because my brain fought every attempt at sleep with a violent passion.
  I was still in control! I cleaned under the kitchen sink at four a.m. because even desperate sleeplessness couldn't make me unproductive. I stumbled through VBS, ignoring the nausea of sleep deprivation. I looked past the bright flashes in my vision which begged "MAYDAY... please... let us... go to bed..."

    I was going to be fine if it killed me!

    Today, it occurred to me that if I insist on a battle of wills with 'death' as my only parameter, against a God who knows the hairs on my head, I could very well lose. Sheer obstinacy is not a virtue. Self-control is, but not My-Self-Controlling-All-Things. I must either learn to live as a broken human, with limitations, with needs, or I will destroy myself in a folly of delusion.

   The Holy Scriptures do not tell of a God who is mediocre in His work of sanctification.

   .... so it appears that I had better learn to let go. I had better release all the things I cling to that are not God, because it will hurt if He has to pry my fingers open. And He will pry my fingers open, because His love for me is greater than my tantrums.




  The good news is that my dear husband took me to Barnes & Noble and bought three new books to keep me company while I'm in the hospital.  I'm almost looking forward to my upcoming surgery... !