The Kindest Thing
One of the kindest things God ever did for me was to convince me thirty-eight-plus years ago, that I was blind and weak and sick. I know that sounds odd. Not a self-revelation I’d welcome as a rule. But it was much needed. And long overdue. Let me explain.
Jesus said, ‘I came into this world for judgment (as a Separator, in order that there may be separation between those who believe on Me and those who reject Me) . . . so that those who have never seen will see, and those who have made a pretense of seeing will be exposed as blind.’ (John 9:39 AMPL, MSG).
This was not the time in my life to talk of blindness. I was a busy, busy woman. My energies were desperately needed at home in order to keep my addicted husband straight, and keep our family together and safe while he sold drugs.
His preoccupation with the dope scene left me having to handle everything. And because this was my second marriage, my second go ’round at being a wife, a mother, and homemaker, things needed to be done differently this time . . . and done right. If I could work out the bugs, we’d all have a better existence. Managing life was taxing, but I’d figure something out.
‘They that are whole (strong) have no need of the Physician, but they that are sick (and weak) . . .’ (Mark 2:17a AMPL.)
Weak? Sick? Not me! I’ve got this! I’ll just do better. After all, who else would console my hurting child and step-children now that their father was out of commission? Who but me could help them get through these trying times? We deserved better than this. So, I knuckled under, worked harder.
'I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.’ (Mark 2:17b)
Now Jesus was labeling, calling me a sinner. If anything, I was the victim. What did I have to repent of when I was doing my very best to handle everything? Wasn’t my best good enough for Him?
The weight of responsibilities grew heavier and demands more stringent as time wore on. And I was tired, extremely tired. If our little family was to survive all that life was dishing out, I needed to hold myself together. This ship would without a doubt go under if I didn't get a handle on my raging anxiety attacks. So, I figured out the exact dosage of pills I needed to take and the exact times to take them so I could get through each day, so I could keep my job, pay our bills, keep our home, keep our car, care for our children, locate my drug-addicted, philandering husband. Keep my sanity.
It was too much.
God had my attention. It was with a great sigh of relief that I agreed with Him. I had indeed been blind, weak, sick—a sinner who needed to repent of trying to do life without Him. I was in dire need of the Physician. His Name is Jesus.
Giving Him control over the management of my life was long overdue. And at last, welcomed. I had finally come home after my exhausting and burdensome journey. I was blind but now I see.