Divine Intervention; A Lesson on Failure and Scars.

The taste of failure is bitter.

I remember the first time I took a dive on my bike. It was as if the whole world shifted off its axis and threw me off my wheels. The shot-putt trajectory was aimed directly at the pavement. I can still taste the metallic sting of blood in my mouth and see the fried nerve endings retreating back into my gaping knee. My skin still bears these scars of failure, those ever-gruesome moments a faint memory as the skin has healed and by divine design the flesh resolved to renew itself.

I carry failure with me in these scars.

I believe that this physical world shadows the spiritual. Just as our skin bears wounds, so do our hearts. Several months ago, I maxed out. Hit the proverbial wall. Burned out. Fried. I was working 42 hours a week, churning through a full semester of accelerated college courses, all while trying to balance worship band and odds and ends at church. My plate was so full, it was overkill.

It was all about me.

As I look at all the "stuff" I tried to accomplish, I cannot help but laugh at myself. What was I thinking!? Once I felt the fall coming, I paired down everything I could. I stopped bringing snacks and coordinating the welcome team, I said goodbye to my fellow bloggers and fired myself from all of the superfluous. I thought bare bones would be enough, but when the world tilts, and your balance is shot, sometimes the only way out is down.

My failure was blindsiding.

Finally pastors came to me, lovingly and gently. With courage and great strength they told me I could not help them in this season. I was too busy. I was too weary. I was already bloody. I just couldn't see it on my own. They helped me see my failure and face it head on. They apologized for not leading me well and allowing me to overextend. They shouldered the weight and cushioned my fall. After we sat and cried, I left the room and for the first time in months felt freedom.  My heart was relieved, as I fully felt ok to be broken.

Let me repeat: the physical is indicative of the spiritual.

My failure was painful. This cost more than a simple swallow of pride. I extended every ounce of energy into this monumental breakdown. My body revolted and the wound reverberated into every area of life. A visit to the doctor was just as revealing. He told me abruptly that he couldn't give me a pill for a lifestyle, and if I was trying to take my body past the point of its capabilities it would shut down. His diagnoses (not surprisingly) was that my adrenal glands were fatigued. I needed to make some radical lifestyle changes or there would be no healing of my ailments. I realized that my physical condition mirrored well the taxed state of my soul.

"It's ok to break, but it isn't ok to stay there."  -Matt Chandler.

As I took a look around at the aftermath of this failure, I realized that the very things I wanted to do most were the first things to go. My failure cost me my passions. This recognition hit me very hard. I retreated as, introverts are prone to do, and I faced off with my oldest foe: depression. But as all seasons change, so did this one. In the Spring, I felt the surge of new life and realized that I had to make a significant step.

Trust.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
    and do not lean on your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge him,
    and he will make straight your paths.
Be not wise in your own eyes;
     fear the Lord, and turn away from evil.
It will be healing to your flesh
    and refreshment to your bones. Proverbs 3:5-8 ESV

God woos. This is a repeating pattern in my life. As I was nursing my broken spirit and my bruised pride, he gently began what he is always best at: restoration. My passion was redeemed and I finally was able to face the depth of my failure. “Do not lean on your own understanding.” It is one thing to see that with your mind, it is an entirely other thing to actually live it with your heart. Like a bull in a china shop, I followed my instinct, relied heavily on my own understanding, and let my life become more about the doing and less about the being.

Redemption is a relationship.

It takes more than I possess to live out my calling. As I realized the loneliness of my failure, I found again the refreshing life that comes from the ache for my Savior. I began to dig into Scripture and pray that He would guide my steps and fashion my days. As I realized more and more what direction I wanted to take, I realized that only he could make it a reality.

When walking hand in hand with Jesus, the burden is light.

Suddenly, my life was simple. Though I am still battling with my health, I am no longer stressed by the "small stuff".  I trust implicitly that God will take me where I need to be. He has intricately juxtaposed my life with certainty. The act of living out the call he has placed on my life became so simplistic, I barely had to lift a finger. Through his guidance, I am now a paid intern at my church, through his leading I am now a business owner, through his softening I am getting paid to style hair and help others feel the inherent beauty that resides deep within. Through his guidance, the things that I am most passionate about are the not getting swept aside. God is using the past to redeem the future. None of this would have happened on my own accord and none of this would have happened if it were not for my failure.

Failure happens.

It is messy and painful. But as I stand amazed at the renewal of redemption, I realize that this failure was a tool for God's glory. I am honored to bear this scar on my heart; I am better for it. I pray that this broken moment would shine brightly of the exquisite nature of my Beloved. I pray that the scar of this failure would be an ever present reminder of how much I need him to survive.