“Thy compassions, they fail not.” – Thomas Obediah Chisholm
The phone rang out in the night, a shrill call at 2:18am that had me instantly worrying about my children. No one calls in the middle of the night unless it is an emergency. So I jumped out of bed. I stumbled around, thumping my toes on mysterious objects, as I reached out into the darkness for the loud ringing noise. My husband found it before me. I listened in the darkness. He finally spoke.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He said. “Wrong number.” And all I could do was stand there; feeling like someone who has belly flopped onto the ground and is waiting for the oxygen to return to my lungs.
I climbed back under the covers and eventually I must have dwindled back to sleep because I woke again at 4:58am with that dread that comes with not getting enough sleep. The day stretched out before me like a tightrope I was not prepared to walk. And I have to be candid, the first few steps were quite a doozy.
I have been ill all week. I cover my illness to the best of my ability and try not to complain, but the weakness has settled deep into my bones. I try and will it away, but my body doesn’t cooperate. I have taken hot baths with lemon and Epsom salt to kill harmful bacteria. I have taken medications to stop my sinuses from exploding. I have even tried rubbing homeopathic remedies on my feet! (I still feel weird about that). But I am no better than I was on Monday. Sometimes we do everything we can to alleviate our sickness and still, healing does not come.
Some Christians will say that I’m failing. They might say my faith is not big enough. Or maybe I have hidden sin. Some might even get tired of reading this and “change the channel.” After all, sadness and sickness are unpleasant to be around. Walk into a crowd and start coughing and see how people react. I would bet no one comes close to pat your back or offer a comforting touch. We are all so afraid of being infected.
This morning, as I struggled through my morning routine with intense physical pain and nausea, I felt a mystical joy well up inside of me along with a snippet of a hymn. I probably sang “Great is They Faithfulness” about a thousand times growing up, but it has taken on new meaning to me as an adult. Today God told me very sweetly that his compassions will never fail me. Even in weakness. Even in pain. Even in depression. He is with me. He brought the big broom and swept away any thoughts of failing or not doing life the right way. It was as if he touched my arm while I was coughing and said, “Peace. I am here. I will never leave you.”
There are people who will tell me following Jesus is crazy. They will say he is too narrow. Or maybe they will even say he restricts me from living life to the fullest. To them I would say this; He is the giver of great peace in the midst of life’s most turbulent storms. My weakness reminds me that I can never be enough in my own strength. And just like Peter, that apostle of old, who stepped out onto the waves and began to sink, Jesus takes my hand and saves me from the waves. May everyone reading this today know that kind of reassurance.
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