I think Mary wrestled, too

A writer friend asks me a question about that Mary story when she responded to the Angel Gabriel after learning she was about to birth God's Son. She asks me:

"Did Mary really simply reply to God with,
     'OK, Lord, I trust you. Whatever you think is best. Do unto me as you see fit'?

"Or was there more of a discussion?"

"Because, that was a pretty big dream God was inviting her to join, you know?"

And I do.

I can see it now from the other side of where Mary was standing. I'm smiling and I'm just so grateful for her willingness, yet I am certain that there was a wrestle.

Right away I think about a private book group conversation I'm a part of around vulnerability and shame.

I suggest to my friend that maybe the people of the Bible wrestled just like we do, keeping their wonder and doubt and insecurities all tucked inside deep.

I'm sure the Biblical heroes wrestled. Jesus hadn't been resurrected yet and they didn't know the peace His Spirit would bring. They were faced with a choice to believe things there was absolutely no evidence of yet (from their point of view) and it was so different from what we have to base our faith on.

Latching onto dreams is plain risky business. 

How we come to live by faith is so profoundly personal and I venture to guess we all have faced a moment or two (or twenty gazillion) where we've wondered if we're the only one with the doubt.

Vulnerability can shame us.

I like to think Mary wrestled hard and fought the same questions I fight so often. Yet, I consider a different view.

What was she to do? I mean, pregnant?! Mary knew that wasn't of her own accord and so the reality of what was happening was the evidence she needed.

Some. Thing. was happening. And it was profound.

When you know without a shadow of a doubt that you had nothing to do something, you kind of have no choice but to believe. As crazy as that something may seem, you find yourself saddled up for the ride because there's simply no other explanation and really, how can this be? I've not . . . 

And so, you believe. You say, "OK . . ." {gulp}

So I started out thinking Mary wrestled. And I still think she did. I think her wrestling was more with herself, though, and her enough-ness.

I'm sure Mary thought: Really, God? I mean, REALLY?!????!!!

(Just like I do.)

The God of the Universe chose this seemingly-average woman to do a not so average task: to birth the Messiah. The awesomeness of this is more than profound. It's exhilarating. And Mary had to wait to see it happen.

I can imagine Mary's excitement was probably tucked down deep and her confusion swirling tight around as she deliberated her good enough-ness.

     People will question.

          They will wonder why her. 
          They will scoff.
          They will envy.
          They will peer in to her life with hands cupped around their eyes
          They will whisper nonsense . . . all in the name of Wonder.

Mary did just what God said would happen. She saddled up and lived the life called for her. 

I think vulnerability was the same then as it is for us now, it just wears different clothes and fashions different colors. I also think God still assigns miraculous dreams to the seemingly-average folk. Big ones. His size ones that seem to come from left field and don't appear to make a bit of sense at the moment.

Our wrestling is accepted.
Our wonder is encouraged.
Our good enough-ness is allowed to be questioned.

And in the end, we'll realize we have no choice but to believe because it's happening -- our uniquely crafted story, His will -- whether we've given Him permission or not.

: : : 

I breathe in deep and hold my mug of tea as I look out my office window at the sunshine and chirping birds. Life *whirls and twirls* around me.

I think about how I scavenge for answers and dare to question the very likelihood of dreams coming true. Still, it's happening -- my God-made life -- and my gathering of answers doesn't make a bit of difference.

: : : 

Suddenly I smell leather. I hear the snort and heavy breathing. It's time I saddle up.

Share your heart . . . add a comment below.

_______________________________________________

Follow A {Grace} full *life* on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest.

You might be interested in this:

learning to trust even when it doesn't make sense

on noticing grace

the pursuing

itchy

I find myself saying it over and over again.

How I want to jump out of it. My skin.

The excitement is palpable. Itchy almost. 

I want to get there -- to where my visions lie.

But this process is necessary.

And I'm not so anxious that I dread the Now.

I'm just excited for what my heart knows deep inside.

Every single moment of my life has led up to this one.

The truth of this is incredibly overwhelming.

I tell two people and they both say the same thing, "it's almost scary."

And yeah, it is. But, I think . . .

What if I didn't do what I did all those times?

That's where it's most scary to me.

What if I didn't say Yes when I was invited to do this or that?

I can see how all those willing moments connect to each other. 

Glimpses of God is what I see.

Almost like a little boy crouching behind a fence, scurrying from one corner of someone's lawn to another.

Smiling. Spying. Scheming.

Excited is my God. For the plans He has for me.

Just like a Boy-Man who has a fun game to play and wants everyone to play along, too.

It's not trickery. It's joy-sharing.

This is a metamorphic moment in my life.

For now, I'm crawling low on the ground, scurrying and slinking.

I admit how I reach for everything and anything to feed me, to fill the gaping holes in me.

It's obvious to me how He wants to be my Food. My Fill. My Whole.

He wants me to trust that great things can come of broken, prideful, dangerous me.

I think of David and how he was so far from perfect. And yet, God chose him and used him.

He tells me my story is for purpose and every moment allowed to make way for beauty.

I remember how brilliant colors are most pronounced on dark canvas.

He shows me how Holy is already a part of me.

I think of David and how he declared. Even though he doubted, he declared.

His love for me is so overwhelming. How He keeps on working at me.

I'm headed to more declaring these days. For the hope I am certain of.

And I'm doing more grace-receiving. For me. Just as I am.

Share your heart . . . add a comment below.

_______________________________________________

Follow A {Grace} full *life* on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest.

You might be interested in this:

uncertain

opportunity

hearing

Kris Camealy is a writer who God has made my friend and who recently launched a book called, Holey, Wholly, Holy. I devoured her words with a hunger to be ever closer to Wholeness. I keep going back to it these days, sipping the truth and steeping in the richness of life that death to self has to offer. I have so much more to say about this book -- it isn't for everyone at once, it's for everyone at different times. Because, truly, there are seasons to life and we are wise to let Him percolate willingness in us to really begin to see the depths of His love; to go there really is transforming and awe-embarking. 

dive

We've been talking about Dreams in this space and many of my writer friends are, too.

It's a dreamy sort of year for me. As an *ideation* and *futuristic* girl (according to StrengthsFinder*), it's usually dreamy for me a lot of moments wrapped up in a single day.

I've so many dreams that I sometimes don't know where to begin.

And so, I begin here, at my heart. Right where He first swept me up and spoke my name, Beloved.

Any. Thing. and I am willing have been two sentences I've prayed in the dreamy places, as I've been uncertain of even my faith. As I've questioned His truth. And just Him.

He gives me permission to doubt. Freedom, actually. And it's a gift. I'm seeing He uses those moments to bring me closer, ever closer.

I'm seeing purpose here.

So I'm going to dive, right into this gift of Me, just as I am . . . doubt covered and all.

This choosing -- this "Yes!" -- is freeing. It's {Grace}.

Today's post was part of my friend, Lisa-Jo's fun challenge each Friday to take five and Just. Write.

     "...for five, short, bold beautiful minutes... unscripted and unedited...

     without worrying if it's just right or not."

Share your heart . . . add a comment below.

_______________________________________________

Follow A {Grace} full *life* on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest.

You might be interested in this:

uncertain

opportunity

hearing

*StrengthsFinder

an exhausted fight

Six days ago I last wrote.  Six days.  It seems like forever ago in so many ways.  And yet, I almost made it even l o n g e r.  Because, sitting down and sharing just seems so hard.

I almost closed my blogger account and tried to cease to exist.

I've decided that people who call me their friend don't really care about me, and so I chose to delete them as my [facebook] friends.  I think it's that easy to remove myself from people's lives.

I don't want to go home today.  And I almost want to cancel my scheduled vacation day tomorrow, and next week.

Everything I thought I believed has become tangled up with confusion.

I doubt Every. Thing.

I've hurt my throat with screams at my husband.  I've not liked him.

For two days I was away from our house, traveling for work.  I couldn't wait to see my son.  And then he heard me yell and saw me act like a two-year-old pitching the biggest fit ever, and I miss him more now than I did for those two days.  He seems so much further away now.

And my husband...well...I'll be fortunate if he's still living at our home when I get there at the end of today.  I was supposed to have a work-from-home-day today, and I couldn't leave home fast enough to retreat to work.

It's one of those days.  I'm sure most everyone has 'em.  But, knowing that doesn't make me feel any better.

Still, though...I write.  And I breathe.  And I believe.

Even in spite of my unbelief, I can't help believing.  

And I can't help living.  And I can't help writing.

I breathe in air, deeply and fully.

I have hope, even when it doesn't seem to make any sense.  And I think of all those who say they deny Him, and I think of the exhaustion of fighting the faith.

It is truly exhausting to keep up the fight.  Instead, I find myself surrendering today.  I put down my gloves and weep.

Tell me about a time you were rescued from your own fight...