The Healing Power of God

Before I write another word let me be clear--this is not about competition, you know the "Who

has it worse?" This is not about shaming anyone or placing blame. And this is not about being needy or wanting sympathy (which may sound like an ironic statement after you read it, but it's the truth). This is about a family disease.

I don't sleep well right now, or I guess I should say I don't sleep well in this house. That does not help with not being grumpy. So even on a good day, I am tired. But today has not been the world's greats day. Don't get me wrong. There have been moments of joy and laughter (always make sure to find some joy y'all). But there have also been many frustrations and the tears have been just under the surface--tears of frustration, sadness, and anger. 

To be fair, some of today has just been your run of the mill Covid stinks and makes life harder stuff--technology not working, deadlines looming, online meetings and liturgies to figure out, bills to pay, blah blah blah 

But today added on top of those things were missed phone calls (PSA young adult children around the world--if you call your mama and she doesn't answer and you're not going to be available when she calls you back, LEAVE A MESSAGE! She will, I can promise you, assume the absolute worse like you're dead in a ditch. And don't try to be rational and say then you wouldn't be able to call...), disappointing conversations or no conversations, hurt feelings, lots and lots of bad memories, and just overall sadness and frustration peppered with some good old fashion self-pity. (Let me reiterate and not because though doth protest too much but rather because if I was not okay, I would not be writing this.)

I sat at my desk working, staring off into space, working some more. A voice popped into my head, "You have to take care of yourself. Go for a walk. Find something to distract you and get your head back in the game." "First of all, it is 24 degrees, and secondly," I told the stupid voice trying to connect with me by using sports metaphors, "I don't have time." ""You don't have time not to," reality-based annoying voice retorted. 

I started looking for enough clothes to wear to keep me warm all the while muttering to myself, "I get when someone needs to get help 30-day programs are good. I understand, well maybe not entirely, how hard the struggle is. I get they need to step back and away from the world. But why can't there be 30-day programs for the family? Why do we have to keep doing life as if everything's normal? Why can't we get a break?" And this part I'm embarrassed to admit but have pledged to be transparent, so here goes, as I was kicking stuff around trying to find a large jacket that would actually zip up I thought, "and on top of everything else in our lives, we also have to deal with cleaning up messes left behind." (read above--this is not about blaming or shaming--this is about the reality of the disease). I was working myself up into quite the frenzy to the point I might not need all the layers....

As I walked down the driveway I felt something in my shoe. "Damnit," I said out loud, "Now I've got to take off my gloves and empty sand out of my shoe just reminding me of the beach." I stooped down and dumped the shoe. Nothing came out. I shook it harder, still nothing. I put my hand inside and found a silver heart charm. It took my breath away, not because it was jaw-dropping beautiful but because as I held that heart in my hand I felt the complete and total unconditional love and presence of God as I heard, "lo, I am with you always." (Matthew 28:20) That, my friends, is the healing power of God.

P.S. The charm is not mine, and I have no idea how it got in my shoe but unless someone claims it, it will be going on my bracelet.