Stop reading now if quoting Bible verses creeps you out.
I totally get it. Christians are SO WEIRD. (I think I’m a “with-it” one, and if you don’t like Christians, you’ve probably met an “out-of-it” one, but ANYWAYS, I hear you. You don’t need to explain yourself. Just stop reading.)
But man, this is some serious shit I’m going through. God HAD to come up at some point, ya know what I’m sayin?
So here we go.
And stop reading…. Now.
Jesus. Bibles. Verses. Damn.
It hit me across the head yesterday. My devotional read:
“A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.”
Proverbs 17:22, ya’ll.
You see, BJ has that wonderful, Biblical, cheerful spirit. (God bless him.)
But I just have that extra dose of drama. I’m a worrier.
A crushed spirit, as they say.
And the verse hit me.
You see, as much as I love to emote, I don’t think my crushed-ness is good medicine.
I don’t think it’s going to treat the root issue.
And it isn’t going to bring healing.
Now this doesn’t mean I think this verse is saying ANDREA, PRETEND LIKE EVERYTHING IS FINE AND PLASTER ON A SMILE AND FAKE IT TILL YA MAKE IT. HAVE A CHEERFUL HEART AT ALL COSTS.
Hellllllll’s to the no.
I know it’s FINE for me to worry and be crushed. I can be honest with my life, my circumstances, my shit storm.
But I do think it’s reminding me that my crushed spirit isn’t good medicine.
Now I know what you’re thinking. If I’m saying it’s OKAY to have a crushed spirit, but ALSO saying that a crushed spirit doesn’t bring healing, doesn’t that contradict?
I don’t think so.
Because there has to be a pathway FROM a crushed spirit TO a cheerful heart.
And that journey brings healing.
So what’s the path? What’s the journey? How do I actually move from CRUSHED to CHEERFUL?
I think the answer is trust.
And it’s something I’m notoriously bad at.
Brings me back to my year of counseling, where it seemed like EVERY problem I had looped back to trust.
I read this:
“Does the clay say to the one who fashions it, ‘What are you making’? or ‘Your work has no handles’?”
And I just imagined myself as some clay. And I really believed that God wanted to make me into something masterful, splendid, and more beautiful than I could imagine. And I really believed He didn’t want to destroy me, He didn’t want to ruin me, his little clay pot Andrea.
And I remembered He’s like GOD. And He MAKES THINGS. Things like mountains and hydrangeas and ocean waves. Like REALLY cool things.
But that because I didn’t have trust, I’ve been over here with my crushed spirit being all
WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME???
And UM GOD, YOU FORGOT TO GIVE MY CLAY POT HANDLES. DID YOU REALIZE THAT? GET WITH IT.
And I’m sitting here annoyed, complaining to God LIKE I HAVE ANY RIGHT TO CRITICIZE HIS CRAFTSMANSHIP! LIKE I KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HOW TO MAKE CLAY POTS.
(For the record, I don’t.)
So I’ve had a dose of reality. And I’ve reclaimed my trust in God.
Because when I really think about it, I believe, I mean, really believe, with EVERYTHING in me, that
God is up to something with all this.
And I really believe He is making my clay pot of a life SO beautiful and SO intricate (I’m thinking cancer makes your pot REALLY fancy and intricate) that I am going to look back and say
HEY, GOD, YOU MAKE THINGS THAT ARE LIKE AWE INSPIRINGLY PHENOMENAL AND YOU KNOW THINGS BETTER THAN I DO AND YEAH, MY CLAY POT LOOKS INCREDIBLE, SO THANKS, DUDE, GLAD YOU GOT THIS.
And that trust makes me cheerful.
Like God’s got my back.
Or at least my clay pot.