Clinging to His Robe?

Progression of events:

Dizziness.
Discomfort.
Worry.
Obsession.
Panic.
WebMD.
Google searches.
Self-diagnosis.
Tumor.
Near death.
Anxiety.
Doctor visit.
Actual diagnosis:
Vertigo.

The above timeline refers to actual events that took place last February and March. Look closely at the progression again. Did you find the time I prayed about what was happening? How about the moment I turned everything over to God?

Now travel back in time further to last January.  Replace "Dizziness" with "stomach pain" and "vertigo" with "GERD." Same progression of events. Same startlingly lacking prayer and trust in God.

Of course, I did pray about these things. Late at night, when most of my pointless and damaging google searching was going on, my prayers turned a bit accusatory: "God, I know you're all powerful.  I've always had faith that you can do anything. So why aren't you making these things stop, hmmm?"

I wouldn't really say that is the most faithful kind of prayer.  But you see how I pointed out to God, that I was, in fact, quite faithful.  I let Him know (just in case He had forgotten) that I was His good and faithful servant. I believed in His power and miraculous blessings. So why wasn't He giving me what I wanted?

A few weeks ago our gospel reading was from Mark 5:21-43. Here, we read the story of Jairus and how Jesus brought his daughter back to life.  I've known this story my whole life, but the part of the story that resonated with me on this particular Sunday morning was about the woman who pushed her way through the crowd just so she could touch Jesus' robe.

Just one touch. That was enough for her.  She had the unabashedly profound faith in her heart where that would be enough. It was enough. Jesus said to her, "Daughter, your faith has made you well: go in peace, and be healed of your disease."

Looking back over my timeline, I don't see any moments where I had that kind of faith. I see myself trying to prove my faith, but I never just turned my moments over to my Savior. His very name says that he will save me and take care of me. But that wasn't quite enough for me, no, He needed to live up to my demands. Pronto.

This is an unfortunate pattern with me. It will always be an inner battle: letting my fear get in the way of my trust.  I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm not the only one who suffers from this "lack of trust" disease.

I have faith. I've believed in Christ forever, but that doesn't mean I always trust in Him. What I need to be is more like that woman, clinging to Jesus' robe. I need to cling to the promise that He will keep me safe and in His hands at all times.  I know he allowed unsavory things to happen to me, but He has delivered me thorough all of them. He allowed these things to happen for a reason, and I need to trust that I will someday understand why He chose these paths.

He will deliver me whatever may come my way. His way is the best path, and I need to trust that He's a little better at planning than I am, considering He can see past, present and future. His plan is surely better than anything I could map out for myself. He knows which way to direct me, where to guide me and how to bring me safely home.

Jesus, Savior, pilot me

over life's tempestuous sea;

unknown waves before me roll,

hiding rock and treach'rous shoal;

chart and compass come from thee:

Jesus, Savior, pilot me.

As a mother stills her child,

thou canst hush the ocean wild;

boist'rous waves obey thy will,

when thou say'st to them, "Be still!"

wondrous sov'reign of the sea,

Jesus, Savior, pilot me. 

When at last I near the shore,

and the fearful breakers roar,

'twixt me and the peaceful rest

then, while leaning on Thy breast

may I hear Thee say to me,

"Fear not, I will pilot Thee."

(by Edward Hopper, 1871...
and still beautiful today...)