Recently, I’ve been wrestling with the Lord over some big issues in my life. As a victim of fraud and deceit, I’ve been wondering what justice looks like this side of heaven. With so many wars and genocide in the world, and with so much anger and hatred in my very own neighborhood, I’ve been questioning whether love, even Christ’s love, really can prevail. And as I negotiate relationships of various kinds, I wonder whether the the fruit of the spirit will ever be ready to harvest in my life.
The Lord and I have been wrestling in lots of ways over these issues. I shout at Him in prayer; He directs me to a Psalm to remind me He’s in control. I make compromises in my behavior; He brings pain and discipline to my life before I get too far off track. I weep uncontrollably; he whispers my name. I make a small step of obedience; He fills me with the joy of his presence.
Last week, I was thinking about this wrestling, how audacious it feels to be wrangling with the God of the universe. Then I recalled several of David’s Psalms which seemed like a bit of cosmic grappling in their own right. “How long, O Lord?” and “Why do the wicked prosper?” I also remembered another God-wrestler who wouldn’t let go of the Almighty until he got a blessing: Jacob.
The part of the story that came to me a bit later, however, was that chronic limp Jacob received after his all-night match. God gave him the blessing he asked for, but he left him with this reminder that blessings come only from the Lord and often on the heels of pain and suffering.
This wrestling I’m doing feels somehow right at this stage in life. If I weren’t wrestling, I would probably be despairing or giving up. And the fact that God is fighting back, working hard to keep me engaged and involved with him, is worth whatever limp I end up with.
This is the blessing I guess I’m really looking for, after all. Just to know He’s with me.
23 Degrees — What a poignant comment you have left. I especially love the Julian of Norwich quote, which I am going to copy down as soon as I finish typing this comment and memorize as food for my soul. Oh that prayer is going to hurt, and so is the answer. But Jesus will turn that pain for my good and his glory. And it will certainly be worth it. Thanks for your insight.
This was written for me. I could feel these words in my bones.
I am struck by the idea of wrestling with God and of not letting go, not giving up until we are blessed…not in a name-it-claim-it fashion but holding on through suffering with the strength he promises (to inherit the Kingdom of God right here, right now.)
Going through the most difficult times in the last two years I have hung on to the idea that in our woundedness is true strength. The famous Julian of Norwich prayer of asking for three wounds speaks to me: “the wound of true contrition, the wound of loving compassion, and, and the wound of longing with my will for God” but these come with a steep price.
Trusting the Lord for justice is part of it, it will come. I have found my heart has changed towards those who have hurt me and sounds crazy but I find myself hurting for them and crying out to the Lord to help them, to change their hearts and to have mercy.
Maybe this was His goal for my heart all along.
Praying for you to keep fully engaged and fully alive. You don’t get hurt if you don’t play. Play hard!
Thanks for sharing.
Christianne — I think the spiritual discipline of remembering helps me relinquish control a little. As you said, we have so many experiences to look back on to know that God is faithful. I find that I have to remember specifically, to allow my mind to return to that time, if only briefly, to experience the joy of losing control to God.
Charity, what you shared about losing control rings so true with the way I, too, experience those wrestling sessions. It is the loss of control that I’m grieving, for it is a quite frightful thing. I don’t know why I cannot, after all the many years and times He’s proved Himself far more capable than I am and so, so faithful to me, give up the control more freely. Why do I still question His ability, faithfulness, and goodness?
I didn’t realize when I said you were grieving that it was a grief over this loss of control. But your response here made me see it more clearly, too, and to recognize it as the thing I grieve in those instances, too.
Christianne — I thought your comment about grieving was insightful. At first I thought, “no, I’m not grieving; I haven’t lost anything.” But the more I look at my situation, the more I see that I am slowly losing control, and the that is causing me to grieve. Thankfully, I’m losing control to one who’s far more capable. But somehow, being in control still seems like something I want.
Ted — Thanks for your encouragement. Yes, the Lord does in fact seem to help us wrestle, even when we’re wrestling with him.
LL — I love your point that Jacob’s lame hip may have been his own doing in keeping on. But I wonder if he thought the blessing was worth it after the fact? I’d tend to think yes. And you’re also right about the intimacy of wrestling — when your grappling with someone, you learn the contours of their body and the strength of their individual limbs. I am certainly learning more about the Lord as we wrestle.
I’m so sorry you’re walking through this dark space. I love the picture you give of your relationship with God, though, which shows you have an intimacy that permits your railing and your weeping. It sounds like you are grieving.
I’m camping out in the Psalms lately, too. Been reading a lot of those “How long, O Lord?” letters David wrote. Wrestling with my own angels and the demons that encroach so quickly in order to steal His prevalent joy.
It is interesting to consider why God wounded Jacob, or even if He really did (what I mean is, I know that He dislocated the hip, but whose choice was this ultimately, seeing that Jacob kept on?)
Yet, in some things, we really can’t help but wrestle. It’s part of our process. Wrestling is an intimate sport, come to think of it… a little different than just hauling off and giving someone a whallop!
I see it, you and God rolling down the hill. How He loves you, Charity.
Charity,
I really love this post. I can’t remember reading a better expression of one’s wrestling with God.
I agree with everything you say here, and also add, may God continue to help you in this, and help us all in our various wrestlings with him.