JESU JUVA
“The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them;
he delivers them from all their troubles.
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
Psalm 34:17-18
About half a dozen of us sat around a small waiting room one Wednesday morning, and none of us wanted to be there. I glanced briefly at the others and observed pale faces and eyes flickering with nervous fear. I probably wore the same expression.
We certainly wore the same clothing. A white hospital gown and little else. Small talk was more than awkward. 'What are you in for today?' I politely asked the acquaintance seated on my right. I assumed everyone waited for gallbladder removal surgery like myself. I'm not sure why I thought that, except perhaps, I wasn't used to the ways of surgical waiting rooms.
'Haemorrhoids,' answered the lady. 'My fourth operation in the past year.'
What else could I say except to wish her well? I decided it best not to ask questions of anyone else, and, anyway, none of them volunteered to declare the purpose of their presence in the surgical ward that day.
Physical surgery can sometimes be a shameful experience and almost always a fearful one. I could sense it in the faces of my waiting room acquaintances. I knew it in my heart.
Each of us in that waiting room had to face the consequences of a disordered body. My tiny gallbladder was filled with crystallised stones. I'd ignored it for about two years, hoping and praying the pain and discomfort would disappear. But it didn't. In the end, there was only one option: face it. This meant the sharp end of a surgeon's knife.
I made the decision, surgery was scheduled, and then I had to wait.
My disordered body was meant to climb onto the surgical table at 10:00 am. I still waited at 1:30 pm. Weary from both lack of food and nervous emotion and dreadfully thirsty from lack of water, waiting for surgery became a hardship in itself.
I passed the time with a book. I'd downloaded it the night before last in preparation for waiting. It was an autobiography by a woman called Sheila Walsh.
As I waited, I read: 'It is one thing to believe in the ability of a surgeon to perform life or death surgery; it is quite another to allow yourself to be put to sleep and submit yourself to his knife.' 1
The practical words about surgery became a metaphor for trusting God and allowing him to perform surgery on our inner lives. I'd never heard of this author before, but as I waited and read, I found myself identifying with her timely words. Sheila Walsh wrote with a raw edge about her own life struggles with depression. Her words made me want to weep as I began to realise it wasn't only my body that required surgery. Reflected in Sheila's struggles were parallels to my own life. I was ignoring stuffed-down emotion and had for a lifetime.
That particular Wednesday, I put my trust in a surgeon I didn't know. When I awoke from dreamless oblivion, my body shuddered from pain. My abdomen felt like it had been stabbed, which, in-a-somewhat civilised manner, is precisely what had transpired. The pain was excruciating, but over time it lessened and disappeared. What's more, gallstones no longer ailed me either.
My body became healthy, but Father God gently began highlighting my emotional weaknesses through his Holy Spirit's power. I needed his healing, but more than that, I needed Him.
One of the biggest admissions I ever had to make was to myself: I struggled with depression. Its suffocating blackness had lurked beneath the surface for years. I shoved it down, trying to keep it hidden.
But it was time to be honest, and being real meant that I began to cry out to God and confess all my weaknesses to Him. I looked to my Father, through His son Jesus, in the power of His Holy Spirit. I made a choice to put my trust in the most skilled of surgeons. My God, the living God, heard my cry. He took His surgeon's knife, inserted its sharp point and cracked my emotions open like a walnut shell.
A journey began then. A hard one. It's painful to be under God's knife, but it's necessary, and there's no wiser place to be.
Is there neediness in your own soul?
Turn your eyes upon Jesus, and cry out to the Father. He hears the desperate voice. His words in the Bible promise that He answers anyone who seeks and calls upon His name in earnest.
And, at times, when the journey becomes excruciating, know that the pain will pass, and healing will come. The body takes time to heal after an operation, but so does the soul.
My journey is not yet over, but my eyes are on Jesus, and I'm trusting in my Abba Father. You can trust Him too.
“I sought the Lord, and he answered me;
he delivered me from all my fears.
Those who look to him are radiant;
their faces are never covered with shame.”
Psalm 34:4-5
1. Walsh, S. 2015. Loved Back to Life. Thomas Nelson, Tennessee.
he delivers them from all their troubles.
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
Psalm 34:17-18
About half a dozen of us sat around a small waiting room one Wednesday morning, and none of us wanted to be there. I glanced briefly at the others and observed pale faces and eyes flickering with nervous fear. I probably wore the same expression.
We certainly wore the same clothing. A white hospital gown and little else. Small talk was more than awkward. 'What are you in for today?' I politely asked the acquaintance seated on my right. I assumed everyone waited for gallbladder removal surgery like myself. I'm not sure why I thought that, except perhaps, I wasn't used to the ways of surgical waiting rooms.
'Haemorrhoids,' answered the lady. 'My fourth operation in the past year.'
What else could I say except to wish her well? I decided it best not to ask questions of anyone else, and, anyway, none of them volunteered to declare the purpose of their presence in the surgical ward that day.
Physical surgery can sometimes be a shameful experience and almost always a fearful one. I could sense it in the faces of my waiting room acquaintances. I knew it in my heart.
Each of us in that waiting room had to face the consequences of a disordered body. My tiny gallbladder was filled with crystallised stones. I'd ignored it for about two years, hoping and praying the pain and discomfort would disappear. But it didn't. In the end, there was only one option: face it. This meant the sharp end of a surgeon's knife.
I made the decision, surgery was scheduled, and then I had to wait.
My disordered body was meant to climb onto the surgical table at 10:00 am. I still waited at 1:30 pm. Weary from both lack of food and nervous emotion and dreadfully thirsty from lack of water, waiting for surgery became a hardship in itself.
I passed the time with a book. I'd downloaded it the night before last in preparation for waiting. It was an autobiography by a woman called Sheila Walsh.
As I waited, I read: 'It is one thing to believe in the ability of a surgeon to perform life or death surgery; it is quite another to allow yourself to be put to sleep and submit yourself to his knife.' 1
The practical words about surgery became a metaphor for trusting God and allowing him to perform surgery on our inner lives. I'd never heard of this author before, but as I waited and read, I found myself identifying with her timely words. Sheila Walsh wrote with a raw edge about her own life struggles with depression. Her words made me want to weep as I began to realise it wasn't only my body that required surgery. Reflected in Sheila's struggles were parallels to my own life. I was ignoring stuffed-down emotion and had for a lifetime.
That particular Wednesday, I put my trust in a surgeon I didn't know. When I awoke from dreamless oblivion, my body shuddered from pain. My abdomen felt like it had been stabbed, which, in-a-somewhat civilised manner, is precisely what had transpired. The pain was excruciating, but over time it lessened and disappeared. What's more, gallstones no longer ailed me either.
My body became healthy, but Father God gently began highlighting my emotional weaknesses through his Holy Spirit's power. I needed his healing, but more than that, I needed Him.
One of the biggest admissions I ever had to make was to myself: I struggled with depression. Its suffocating blackness had lurked beneath the surface for years. I shoved it down, trying to keep it hidden.
But it was time to be honest, and being real meant that I began to cry out to God and confess all my weaknesses to Him. I looked to my Father, through His son Jesus, in the power of His Holy Spirit. I made a choice to put my trust in the most skilled of surgeons. My God, the living God, heard my cry. He took His surgeon's knife, inserted its sharp point and cracked my emotions open like a walnut shell.
A journey began then. A hard one. It's painful to be under God's knife, but it's necessary, and there's no wiser place to be.
Is there neediness in your own soul?
Turn your eyes upon Jesus, and cry out to the Father. He hears the desperate voice. His words in the Bible promise that He answers anyone who seeks and calls upon His name in earnest.
And, at times, when the journey becomes excruciating, know that the pain will pass, and healing will come. The body takes time to heal after an operation, but so does the soul.
My journey is not yet over, but my eyes are on Jesus, and I'm trusting in my Abba Father. You can trust Him too.
“I sought the Lord, and he answered me;
he delivered me from all my fears.
Those who look to him are radiant;
their faces are never covered with shame.”
Psalm 34:4-5
1. Walsh, S. 2015. Loved Back to Life. Thomas Nelson, Tennessee.
SOLI DEO GLORIA
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