Guest: Mel Miles

April 28, 2009

I read Mel’s entry today on her blog and had to repost it because it really got me thinking:

We had a guest speaker at church yesterday. He asked us to turn to Luke 10, read the story of the woman with the issue of blood who was healed by touching the very bottom of Christ’s robe. I got stuck in that story and completely missed everything else that was said.

If I was that woman, His robe would have remained untouched. I wouldn’t have pushed to get nearer. I would have made very self-depreciating excuses, and probably would have stayed home.

“I don’t want to bother Him.”
“He’s too busy going somewhere- I’d just get in the way.”
“There are thousands of other people here, why should I push through them and their needs to fix my own?”
“If He really wanted to heal me, He could come find His way over here.”
“What if people get mad at me?”
“I’ve lived with it this long, maybe I should wait for a more opportune time.”
“Maybe there’s something that I’m supposed to learn while I die an isolated death.”
“Who am I to say what I need?”

Come boldly before the throne of grace? I know I’ve done that before. Violently. Passionately. Heaven and earth have shook with the force of my prayers.

And somehow today, right now, I’m dull. Dark, cloudy. Slightly pissed off. Disappointed. My prayers for myself are whispers made at the very end of a day full of yelling.

I stand in a dark alley, look over the busy crowds and bleed.

It’s not that I don’t believe He can bring something out of absolutely nothing for my benefit. It’s not that I don’t know what I want. I just feel… bothersome. A child who has asked too much, and is now just absolutely bothersome. Out of all the things in the world, I hate being an pest most of all. So I’ve withdrawn and stopped asking.

That just doesn’t seem like the place I need to be. Not now or ever.

Jesus, help me.

Jesus, help me.


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