Waiting to Heal

Many want wholeness but don’t want to wait. But what if wholeness only comes to those who have learned to wait? And what if waiting is not passive but includes the most full-hearted surrender of ourselves that we can possibly imagine? What if it means putting ourselves out on the line, but at the same time whole-heartedly embracing our limits and accepting with humility that healing comes as a gift to those who are ready – and at a pace that grace determines?

…what if wholeness only comes to those who have learned to wait? And what if waiting is not passive but includes the most full-hearted surrender of ourselves that we can possibly imagine?

I have found it challenging to blog this year because my interior landscape has been roiled and shaken at an unprecedented depth and rate in the past six months. And long ago I have prayed for the grace to know when and what to write, so that I can be at peace with what I put forth in an already word-saturated world. Words can inspire and heal, but only if they emerge from a silent heart. And for the past six months, with all that has been happening inside me, I have not been able to be in touch with that inner silence.

There were some fleeting moments that happened unexpectedly during therapy sessions, when God made his presence so deeply felt that I slipped into silence so still that my therapist was loathe to break it. And incredibly it has been these sessions which have provided me with touchstones concrete enough to understand what God is doing inside me and for me this season – he is taking apart and rearranging the foundations of my identity and relationships yet again, so that I am more fully rooted in HIM.

God is continuing his work of mending me and growing me into fullness – into wholeness. And it wrecks me because the process of healing pulls the rug from under my feet again and again, challenging me to let go of old, well-worn answers to make room for new horizons that Christ reveals.

As overwhelming as the ongoing experience can feel at times, the answer is simple: God is continuing his work of mending me and growing me into fullness – into wholeness. And it wrecks me because the process of healing pulls the rug from under my feet again and again, challenging me to let go of old, well-worn answers to make room for new horizons that Christ reveals. I am learning that I cannot desire healing and greater intimacy with God without also welcoming how he chooses to reveal himself or how he goes about transforming me. It is Christ’s prerogative, not mine, and it is very good that it is so. If I truly want God, I must be willing to be shaken, undone and rebuilt – and no stone in my foundation will be left unturned unless God himself wills it.

If I truly want God, I must be willing to be shaken, undone and rebuilt – and no stone in my foundation will be left unturned unless God himself wills it.

This past week of recovering from Covid-19 has given me a heightened remembrance in my body of how everything that is good and beautiful in this life can turn to ash in an instance, and how utterly dependent I am on my Beloved for every single life-giving breath that I draw into my lungs. It has revived my conviction that while there is an incredibly rich body of knowledge out there for me to learn from about who God is and who I am, none of that can hold a candle to knowing when to be silent and still in his love for me.

Sometimes it takes a stubborn fever to render me silent and still. Sometimes it takes an illness that weakens my body and tires my mind to remind me what coming back to the heart of contemplation feels like. How long will this grace last me? Will I forget as soon as I regain my strength? I don’t think it matters – because God has me, and he will always give me the grace I need, when I need it.