Learning to love Helplessness
I hate this word. Helpless. It immediately evokes images of those terrible animal shelter commercials-you know the ones I'm talking about-the ones with the weepy, bloodhound puppy glaring into the fish-eyed camera lens, making you believe that he will be killed at any moment if you don't run to your car to the first shelter you can find to adopt him. Helpless is never something I wanted to consider myself. I am strong. I am self-sufficient. I am in control. There's no room for helplessness in my life. So I like to think. However, the past few days I've been mulling over the times in my life where helplessness would be the only word to describe the state I was in, and it has reassured and amazed me that it was at those times I felt the presence of God most clearly and prominently.
In my second year of college, I was under the false impression that I was the solitary piece holding the universe together. I had to work five jobs to prove that I could do it on my own, while maintaining a certain GPA, while being an affective and caring RA, while being the perfect girlfriend, the perfect friend, the perfect daughter, the perfect student and so on. It wasn't any wonder that when a series of unfortunate events hit one right after the other including a death of someone very close to me, family issues that I could not resolve, the strain of a vocal chord (which was the very reason why I went to college in the first place) and other such catastrophic occurrences, my body just shut down entirely. I ended up dropping out of school with a severe case of mono, a liver infection and an emotional breakdown to boot which left me unable to even drive a car or pick up the phone on my own for close to a year. But it was that first week at home, the feeling of failure looming in my sickbed, when I felt God whisper that I was still his beloved.
How could that be possible when I was so helpless? And I remembered that it was in my weakness that He was strong- not the other way around. Something simple that I learned in Sunday school- that I would tell others on a regular basis-I never really got it until then.
It was in Brazil when I became incredibly ill and the fear of it consumed me when it was clear to me that God was the same God in Brazil as he was back home in the states. I didn't have to speak Portuguese for him to understand me. I didn't have to worry about whether or not I needed to go the hospital, how we would pay for it, etc. I was comforted in my helplessness, knowing that there was nothing I could do- thus, God must know how to provide.
When we lost a baby last summer, I fought the helplessness. I held on to hope. I refused to believe the obvious until my doctor had to compassionately show me the sonogram to prove that there was no child inside my womb. Even then, I was skeptical. I refused to feel helpless. Until, I just couldn't do it anymore. And I let it go. And it was then, that God spoke words of peace to my heart and I accepted that I was only hurting myself by believing that I have control over things that are completely out of my hands. That it was so much better to believe the promise that He works all things out for the good of those who serve Him.
This is officially, my third day out on maternity leave. My feet have blown up to massive, hot air balloon proportions. I've got this itchy, gross rash covering my body that prohibits me from moving very much- let alone leaving the house looking like a leper. I will admit, I've cried more than once a day filled with self-pity, frustration and helplessness. But it doesn't last as long as it usually does. Because I recall all the other times in my life where helplessness has always brought me closer to understanding that I do not control a single, thing. That my life and the world at large is better left in God's hands. So, I'll be sitting on my couch, covered in calamine, eating ice pops waiting for this baby to make her appearance and trying to learn how to love helplessness- because it is only then, that I can truly be strong.