Grinding the Wheat

I’ve been preoccupied with mortality lately.  Everyone I know has some sort of health issue or ailment; most of them are in my age group, but some of them are young – too young to be in so much pain.  Some of the ailments are physical, some are psychological and many are both; and sometimes interchangeable.

I’ve had asthma/COPD since the age of four, which is considered to be a psycho-somatic ailment.  As a result, I learned early on about coping with illness and not being able to do things that “normal” kids could do, like run and jump and BREATHE.  But it seems I’ve always tried to do things in spite of my illness: to tell myself “Yes I can.” It was as if I was trying to convince myself that I could do anything anyone else did.  I could conquer my illness and be just as hale and hearty as the next kid on the block.

The medicine I took for allergies tasted so disgusting that I’d wedge myself between the wall and the refrigerator and plead with God for mercy.  Inevitably, my mother would discover my hiding place and pinch my nose so when I opened my mouth to breathe, she could pour the milky green liquid down my gullet.  It may not have been so bad if I ever noticed any positive results from it.  But usually I would continue to wheeze and cough and hack up phlegm.  The only time the medicine made it “all better” was when I actually vomited, causing much of the congestion in my chest to loosen too.

What I’m getting at is: because of these uncomfortable moments, I learned to shy away from medicine for anything.  Later in life I realized that sometimes I would walk around with a headache for days before finally reaching for aspirin. I had been unwittingly conditioning myself to push through the pain.  This “conditioning” came in handy for me later in life.  Not only did it save me from succumbing to a life of drug-dependency; it also prepared me for life’s more difficult challenges by giving me a “thicker skin” in the face of adversity.  

Oh, I’m no angel; I tried some street drugs in my youth.  What child of the 60’s didn’t?  But the thing that separated me from the addicts and junkies was my ability to lay them down: to put them aside until the proper time; or forever if necessary.  I was never even addicted to nicotine, which irked most of my siblings who developed full-blown smoking habits.  For a time in my 30’s I became a heavy drinker.  I thought for certain I would be able to put it aside if and when I wanted.  I was miserably heart-broken at the death of my father and a love affair that had ended.  I was aware that I had a death wish and didn’t care what happened to me, so I pushed the envelope pretty hard.  It was most difficult to get that genie back in the bottle, but I did. 

I came to thank God for my childhood affliction because it provided me with a type of built-in lifeline – an innate ability to push through the pain – without props – to push on through to the other side.  Indeed, it is a blessing because I could have so easily gone down the tubes with so many others from my generation who were struggling with identity and purpose in those troubled times of war and political corruption.      

As I was doing my devotional this morning, something I read reminded me of days of old when I was that sickly child.  But something – something about my character suddenly came flooding back, too.  In my innocence I was bold to stand up for what I thought was right in any situation, whether it was in defense of someone being teased and ostracized by the rest of the gang, cleaning a working mother’s house; or, comforting playmates who lost their mother in childbirth.  I didn’t have a textbook of things to say in those situations; but I said what was in my heart nonetheless.  As I was reading, I was overcome with sadness from the realization that somewhere along the way I had lost touch with the essence of the child that was me.  I had been fearless; always speaking truth and defending the defenseless.

Don’t get me wrong: I take no credit for it.  I give it all to my Lord and Savior who, I believe, predestined me to become the person I am today.

Of course, in my adult life I fell far below that standard for living.  But having come back to my first love – Christ – I now struggle with what I’m supposed to do with my life.  Where do I find purpose in the Body of Christ?  How do I use the knowledge I’ve gained?

No matter how brightly “Child of God” is emblazoned across my chest – no matter how righteously I stand on principle – no matter how compassionate I am for the poor and the sick – those works will never let me forget the trail of broken hearts left in the wake of my sinful past; or the affects that my sin had on innocent lives.

Now I know God designed this particular wilderness specifically for my stubborn self.  In my rebellion He allowed me to carve out my own path, even though it took me to the pits of hell and back; because He knew that was the only way I was ever going to find my way back to Him. But remembering all those things affirms that He has had a plan for me all along.  I thank Him for all the safety valves that He built into my life, knowing I would need to learn how to utilize them in the troubled days to come.