Grace

This summer, nearly everyone I know has been through loss of one kind or another; it hurts, and it’s been hot, and dry.

A song by Twila Paris has been with me for weeks, The Warrior Is A Child. “Even winners can get wounded in the fight,” is the line repeating in my head. I know some precious winners who are crying out for understanding over the loss they are suffering. I’m one of them and yet, like a robot, I keep doing the next thing in front of me.

During the Waldo Canyon Fire I got sick – scarily sick. When I was finally able to get to the doctor my breathing wasn’t great. He gave me suggestions and sent me home, but I felt myself losing ground. I went to church a few weeks back and had to move away from perfume for the first time since last August. I cried.

There’s this thing I call my flux capacitor. It’s a Peak Flow Meter that tells me when my lungs are good and when I need to get to the doctor. My flux capacitor numbers had gone from 600 before the fire, to 480 when I saw the doctor, to 450 on Monday.

Tuesday I saw my chiropractor. As she adjusted me we talked. Towards the end of the session she smiled and asked if I was aware of the connection between the emotions and the lungs. In my head, the skeptic’s voice was saying, “Reeeally?” I smiled back while raising my hand to wipe away the tears rolling down my face.

Driving home I wondered at the incredible intricacies of God’s creation, still skeptical. I was scared. Was God lifting my healing? Would allowing the pain to wash over me as I grieved make any difference? I absolutely, positively did not want to give up my healing. Then I heard my husband’s voice in my head, reminding me to apply what he calls the Manna Principle. I am healed today and I will trust God for tomorrow.

I’ve made time to grieve, and although I’m still in process, today I pulled out my flux capacitor; it’s 500. As the tears fall my lung capacity rises. The skeptics voice is fading into the hmmm of wonder.

As we study James this summer, Beth Moore is challenging us to allow God to fill our wounded places with grace. While our drug of choice may bring immediate relief, it’s temporary and that band-aid falls off so easily. His grace heals from the inside out. The process may not be comfortable, but the results are beauty, freedom – a transformed child of grace, a precious child of God.

They don’t know that I go running home when I fall down

They don’t know who picks me up when no one is around

I drop my sword and cry for just a while

‘Cause deep inside this armor, the warrior is a child – Twila Paris

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