Trust and Faith are Circular

Compadres

Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called

when you made your good confession in the presence of many witnesses.

(I Timothy 6:12)

          Faith and trusting God are active and circular (like a spinning hamster wheel). We trust God, and God trusts us enough to allow struggles, for our benefit and our good. Yesterday I fasted, yet again, for direction, clear meaning, and other existential ideals. To re-create purpose. Lately I do that sort of thing, embracing quotes like, "When I waked, I cried to dream again (Shakespeare, The Tempest, quoted in The King's Speech). The day was filled with distractions, errands and non-essentials. Anything to keep my mind off of food and eating.
           "When I waked" today, I again felt little closeness to God and no specific direction. I exercised inside on the treadmill, because of unusual summer-downpour rains, rains, and more rains. Walking the treadmill is like spinning in a hamster wheel that leads to nowhere. It is as exciting as yesterday's discipline. I hate it. So I either watch TV or listen to music. I NEEDED to be encouraged, so today I opted for energetic music. An epiphanous thought struck me as I listened to Kirk Franklin's CD (songs to which I had not listened, for years).

A clear line of thinking came, like an "aha moment," a revelation from out of the blue, similar to the way Author Virkler says God speaks. It was a spontaneous impression rather than meditated. I already thought that the past 5 years have felt like tests. Actually, more like a comprehensive final exam, covering everything I've ever learned in my 159-7/8 years of life:  IF love wanes through what I perceive as repeated "failures," this test reveals selfish and ugly things--that the main reason I love is because of things done for me or given to me...

           ...and then, the stinging curve ball: Which.Reveals.My.God-Relationship.
What?  I am prone to follow God only because of what He does for me. In other words, to use God rather than love Him. Grow up. Ouch! The dreaded "gimme, gimme syndrome."
           Approaching a notable birthday, as well as 39 relatively steady years of marriage, this lengthy test uncovers... my vulnerable-side. How do I react to repeated dead-ends? How much do I really trust my husband... and God? During an unending season of ego-smashes and challenges to our identity, I can't help but think in the education mindset and hope for an A on the comprehensive exam.
           My fictional Prince Charming is intelligent, kind, strong, and courageous. My husband is all that and more. We are a team. Like George and Barbara. Jimmy and Rosalynn. Ronnie and Nancy. Appreciation-roots actually seem to be deepening. I love my husband in sickness, and in health, and now through... career strangulation, with pinnacles being re-adjusted as well as the eventual follow-through. Through lightning strikes, floods, and chemo fire with under-pixilated brain fog. There is a collapse of ideal dreams. Our imagined Lego structure might be only 12 bricks high instead of prime 13. And then the self-searching question: Did I prolong this never-ending season?
           Faith and trusting God. Active and circular. We trust God, and God trusts us enough to allow a decade of back-to-back and bamming ego-busters, for refining; for our benefit and our good. Resist natural responses like Wealthy Job's proud, despairing, (possibly realist) nameless wife "Mrs. Job" [after experiencing unimaginable, rapid-fire personal losses in one day... and then, to top that, on "another day" came Job's loss of dignity; losses that we would never wish on our worst enemy] who wailed to destitute Husband Job, "Are you still holding on to your integrity? Curse God and die!" (Job 2:9).
            I sense Mrs. Jobs' tears, dramatically-flailing arms, and maybe even a touch of hopeless cynicism. She was vulnerable. Like newly-planted, tender grass shoots or seedlings. They are bright green and glaringly easy to spot. It seems appropriate that since the Bible mentions her in a negative light, her name was withheld. Her soul was deflated. She had an understandable weak moment and needed shielding.

Thank you, Father. Despite my wavering ways, You personally call my name. And You do intimately communicate. God carefully cradles an awkward set of size 10 extremities, but what does He see? A little set of feet. A beautiful asset which is precious; and, kindred to this transparent blog post, vulnerable.
           And, too, my husband and I represent that same set of feet; compadres; a pair. We are one. We fight the good fight of faith separately, yet together. And, today, I am humbled. Despite feeling disillusioned, our relationship is precisely where it needs to be: In God's loving and settled hands.

           Happy soon-to-be 39th, Sunshine, and many more.