God is enough. I am not.

posted in: Cancer and faith, ME / CFS 0

I’ve had to go away to work for a few days. I know husband doesn’t need me at home but I really didn’t want to go, like a dog not wanting to leave his post.

Getting away from the business at home is good for me. I exhaled when I arrived. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath since we were on holiday last autumn. We went straight into hospital appointments and then treatment.

The ME doesn’t like travelling though and after a long day I go back to my room at 7pm and go straight to bed fully clothed, literally whimpering I feel so bad. I feel so sick I can scarcely manage to sip water so lie praying a bit, fighting the tide of nausea and the fear that I won’t be able to do the work I need to do, won’t be able to travel home.

I listen to an audio book and something so simple yet profound hits me. God is enough. I am not. God doesn’t need me to be enough because he is. I need to rest in that – bring the tiny bit that I can like the widow’s mite or the boy’s small loaves and fishes and he will do the rest.

The temptation is to run away because I feel too small, ‘ not enough’. Yet he graciously takes our ‘not enough’ and makes it ‘enough’.

I need to remember that the life I’m living now – an imperfect, tiring, sometimes painful life – is the one I pleaded with God for last year when it looked like I had cancer.

The blessing of my cancer diagnosis was that I knew I couldn’t cope on my own, with 2 of us apparently having cancer. It’s true that we feel God’s presence most when we get to the end of ourselves – we are perhaps more open to him. When I was at my weakest and pretty much threw my hands in the air laughing at the absurdity of even trying to cope, God gave me the comfort of being so sure of his love, power and care, even though I knew I didn’t deserve it. I had no idea how it would all pan out but I knew it was in his hands and that I would be fine (better than that) even if the circumstances really weren’t.

I spent two days in bed unable to eat at all for the first day and then surviving on small amounts of dry cornflakes straight out of the box. I couldn’t face anything else. Except pain killers. I counted down the hours until I could give myself another dose. Finally it started to lift and I was able to eat a little, even to manage a short walk outside. I’ve known this sort of episode to last a week so I’m grateful that it’s passed in time for me to at least get some work done and travel home. I’m sure there’s a lesson here somewhere about work and life priorities but I still feel too tired and weak to find it.

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