Touching the Untouchable

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, and I have a good excuse. Several, actually, but the youngest of these is only 4 weeks old, and requires every ounce of my extra time. (Wait… did I just say extra time? HA… HAHAHAHAHA) Yep - things have changed just a tad since I last wrote!

*Ehem*. However, it’s time to write something that’s been on my heart and stirring up in my spirit lately, despite the lack of sleep, the business, the exhaustion and everything else that typically prevents such things from happening.

Our precious little son was born a month ago and is absolutely beautiful. It’s always so amazing to me that I can love each of my children so much, and yet still have enough love left to brim over with it when the next bundle arrives. I guess that’s God. Real love can’t be divided up and evenly dispersed as if there is one set amount that we have to give. We cannot run out of it if we are connected to the source… it is immeasurable. I guess that makes sense when Christ is the source, because he IS love. And he describes himself as a well of living water that never runs dry.

After my son was born, we went through a bit of a ‘storm’. (See the last post re: lulls and labor pains… I knew it was coming but I didn’t count on the severity of this storm!) The birth was really good, but three days later I encountered a 3^rd degree uterine prolapse. If you are like I was and have no idea what that is, Google it. It’s not pretty. In the terms I gave to my 7 year old, my uterus fell down, and the surrounding organs (and my pelvic floor) followed it. I refrained from telling her how far down it actually fell. I’m not even 30 years old yet, very healthy, and always have extremely healthy pregnancies and great birth experiences. My recovery time is always fabulous with no complications, and this birth was no different – I had no tearing or soreness, felt great after the birth, plenty of energy, etc. So you can imagine my surprise when a regular trip to the bathroom a few days later led to an anatomy lesson as I got to see what my uterus looked like OUTSIDE of my body. Needless to say, this was a huge shock. After the initial first hour as I mentally calmed down after absolutely freaking out, and recovered from the panic of that moment, my husband and I began praying and believing the Lord for healing. In the area that we live, we were told that if I had gone to the hospital at that time with a severely prolapsed uterus, I would have been rushed in for an immediate surgery, and they likely would have performed a hysterectomy. I have my reservations about hospitals in general – that’s why I have my babies at home. But given this information, you can bet your boots I was not going anywhere NEAR that hospital unless otherwise forced.

The next day, as per the Biblical instructions, I asked my husband if he could call the church and have a few of the elders come and lay hands on me and agree with us in faith that the Lord would heal my body. He agreed and we had our pastor and another member of the church come over. While we were praying, my husband put his hand on my belly and I felt something move upward. After that, I believed God had healed me and that my body would continue to come back into order. After all, God is not a God of disorder or of chaos, but of order. And I belong to Him. Not only that, but according to the Bible, this body of mine is actually named a temple of His holy spirit. So I just figured that a God of perfect peace and order would rather not have a home that’s all messy, weak, and out of order… right? Therefore, coupled with the fact that I am His child and I know that despite all my weaknesses and failures, He loved me enough to send His son to die for me, make me whole, and call me His own, I assumed it must be His will for me to get better.

The following 4 weeks have been testy for me. I’ve been on semi-bed rest; with more physical restrictions put on me than I would put on my 3 year old child as far as daily activities go. That is extremely tough for me. Partly because there’s a lot to do in my house, partly because I feel bad for my husband who was doing everything for me after a long day at work, and partly because of my own pride. I like being able to accomplish things, and I like helping my husband, and I like being a fun, able bodied mom to my kids. I do not like being told that I can’t do things. But despite being stubborn and prideful, I’m not into self sabotage and I’m not a complete idiot, so I’ve been careful to stick to my orders as much as possible and take care of this temple of mine, because it is actually not mine – it was bought with a price. I know I need to respect that if I am to have enough nerve to expect the Lord to heal it, so I have tried hard to submit myself to the authority of both my medical practitioner and my loving husband, and take care of myself. So, here I was on bedrest and trying hard not to hate it. To take my own advice and seek the Lord during this time of waiting and resting. To quit feeling angry or sorry for myself and start being thankful for all my incredible blessings, including the tiny, brand new one in my arms – and fix my eyes back on the one who created him. Ironically, this period of bed rest has not been very restful for me. Along with the prolapse came a whole slew of other consequent issues – the most notable one being a blow to my endocrine system, which caused my milk supply to plummet drastically. My baby was not getting enough food, and was losing weight fast. I was determined to get my supply back up, but in order to do that I had to sacrifice many hours of sleep, the rigidity of my home school schedule with my older children, and the majority of my sanity as I dealt with him relentlessly crying out for food and frantically feeding from me, almost without cease. It is such a hard place to be in, knowing that your baby is always hungry, never really satisfied and never full. I tried supplementing him with formula and his reaction was violent. So, I bought all the special milk boosting herbs, I ate like a cow, I drank water like a fish, I pumped between feeds and did everything in my power. I kept on feeding him, but I noticed that despite constantly eating, he was getting so little at each feed that he would fall asleep from the exhaustion of sucking, still hungry and in need of calories. As his body began shrinking, his cries became weaker, and when he wasn’t attempting to eat, he was sleeping. He was tired, and so was I. I knew I had to go back to my source, and remind myself about this God I serve – the one inside me. This same God who made my body could not only heal my prolapse, but also replenish the milk supply he had given. In a time of very little rest for my weakened body, I needed to quiet my restless spirit enough to hear his voice and seek His face. 

Some days, after getting out of bed without being really sure if I’ve slept at all the whole night through, gripping on to a crying, hungry baby as I clumsily pour cheerios into 3 other bowls (for equally hungry -though much quieter - little mouths) with one hand, I feel a little dry. Ok, I sometimes feel REALLY dry. As in… ready to snap, dry. But then I remember who my source is, and I remember that this body I’m living in is a temple that holds a spirit flowing with living water. A very holy spirit. The source is already inside me! When I’m feeling dry and thirsty and I’m running on empty, the Lord is reminding me that I need to stop and refuel – not just on sleep, or on food (though I need those too!) but on Him. I need His word – and LOTS of it. When my spirit is replenished, it washes over every part of me, starting from the heart - and my whole body is strengthened. Without that pure milk of God’s word, I become one miserable, desperate woman in no time flat. Yet when He fills me, it’s incredible how fast things are put into perspective and how satisfied I am in Him.

After observing my hungry baby day and night for the past month or so, I began to see myself in his little face, and started to understand the Lord’s heart for me as my loving creator. Anyone who has ever nursed a newborn can probably relate with the emotions we feel as we witness them crying out to us in utter need, recognizing that we are the sole source of their comfort. I believe the Lord has been using this trial to remind me of a few key things regarding my need for Him and His Word.

1    
      His word is the purest, most nutritious source of spiritual ‘food’ I can get. Sure, I can supplement with other books, fellowship, sermons from Christian pastors and speakers, etc etc and get partially fed from that, but I need the pure milk of His infallible word to truly fill, satisfy and nourish my hungry soul. The ‘food’ we get from other sources is not what God means by pure milk (1 Peter 2:2). In many cases, this so-called 'food' can poison us and make us sick - preventing growth altogether. There are many other great 'manmade' sources that can inspire us, sharpen us, and encourage us in our walk, but these spiritual 'food sources' are at the very best only a poor replica of the real deal.  No matter how much they enrich such sources with Biblical truths, we have to know that it is still only manmade ‘formula’. We aren't going to grow the way we’re meant to if that’s all we eat.

2   When you’re hungry enough to recognize your lack, it hurts. You’re desperate, you feel abandoned and afraid, and you’ll cry persistently until you can be fed. You know you are dependent on your provider, and you know the only way to get what you need is to cry out in pursuit of that nourishment that you so desperately need. If you're a healthy child of God, you're going to keep crying out to Him until you are fed, because you realize you're His child, that He loves you, that He has what you need, and that He wants to fill you up.

3   Sometimes, our need for God is a subtle downhill slope that drains us very slowly. We grow tired and weary, or busy and distracted, and we don’t notice that we’re getting less and less nourishment from Him. The less we get, the weaker we become. Our cries are half-hearted, and our prayers are faint. We become tired and lazy, to a point of complacency. But we don’t recognize that we are slowly starving and in desperate need of Him.

Through this whole experience with my son, I have witnessed his struggle with great heartache and great hope. I’ve recognized his need for my milk and the strength that it gives to his body. And I’ve felt an intense, passionate desire to fill up his little tummy and keep him satisfied at all times, no matter how often he needs it. To show him that I love him, I’m here for him, and that I never want to see him hungry. And no matter how much it takes from me, I want him to keep pursuing, keep eating – day or night – I never want him growing weary and giving up… I want him to grow, and live, and be strong! And you know what? It makes me proud to know that he is growing and getting strong as a result of this milk that flows from my own bosom.

This is the way I’ve come to see the Lord.

He sacrificed much to meet our needs. He gave up everything for us, and as a result, we have life – and life abundant. After His sacrifice on the cross, He left behind his holy spirit to dwell inside us, making us brand new creations… born again, spiritually speaking. And this new creation cannot live on physical food alone. He left us His word – the Bible – pure, spiritual milk flowing from the very bosom of God - to feed us and make us strong. And He is glorified in that! He gets the glory for our strength, growth, and new life in Him. He loves to see us thriving on the nourishment he provides for us. He’s a proud dad, and he loves us immeasurably, sacrificially, and unconditionally. He knows how much we need Him, and His heart breaks when we become too tired, too lazy, too distracted or too weakened by this world to recognize our need. Or worse yet – when we recognize our need, but in our weakness give up, and stop asking.

He wants us to see that need for Him, and cry out to Him with all we’ve got. If we’ll get the guts to muster up that first, desperate cry, and pursue Him, He will fill us up, and makes us strong. Once we’re thriving in Him, we’ll be aware enough of our need to lay down our own pride, recognize our own weakness and dependency on Him, and go to Him as the constant source of our strength, our life, and our health.

So after all of these life lessons from the Lord, I found myself in church last week during worship time, praying for continued healing of my body and a touch from Him. I had been refueling with His word and was just basically crying out to Him to see me, hear me, and restore me. All of a sudden, while I was trying to focus on the Lord, the dude behind me began speaking out very loudly, which I found a little annoying. I was trying to hear God, not Him! First He addressed Jesus of Nazareth. For any who don’t know, Jesus was born a Jew. Lived in Israel. Spoke Hebrew. Ok, moving on. So over and over, he was proclaiming “Lord, thou art holy, and thy train fills the temple!” (Insert mental eye roll) Was he being overly Christianese or what?  Why, pray tell doth this modern man feel that he must speaketh in the Shakespearean tongue when addressing Jesus of Nazareth? My mind was quickly moving from worship mode to annoyed, borderline rude mode, and I knew it. Gosh, I felt like a jerk. So then I had to stop and repent for being overly critical and judgmental of this guy who likely was raised on the King James Bible and was simply worshiping the Lord in the way he felt was most appropriate and most respectful. I asked God to help me focus on Him and not brother KJ behind me. But there it came again, even louder. “LORD, THOU ART HOLY, AND THY TRAIN FILLS THE TEMPLE!” This time it seemed to stab me – right through the back and into the heart. Immediately I got this mental picture of the woman addressed in the gospels as having “an issue of blood”. If you’ve never read this account, or need a refresher, you can find it in Matthew 9:20-22; Mark 5:25-34; Luke 8:43-48

Basically, it’s about an unnamed woman who was known for her incurable illness (involving ongoing bleeding for 12 straight years).  I assume she was likely anemic, weak and sickly, depleted of all kinds of essential nutrients; but beyond that, based on the way things were at that time it is probable that she would have been labeled ‘unclean’, not permitted to live normally in the town the way other women would – she would probably have been rejected as an outcast due to her condition, and forced to live in a degree of isolation for fear of spreading disease or contamination. I’m sure that after that many years, she must have been beyond desperate. She had spent all of her money on doctors who could not help her – her body was wasting away, she had no money, and probably no support. Her only hope was this seemingly ordinary man from Nazareth, whom she believed to be the promised Messiah. She had determined that because of His great power, all she needed to do was touch the hem of his garment, and she’d be healed. She planned to do this without anyone else knowing; running up behind him and pushing through a mob of other people until she finally could reach out and touch that robe. And sure enough, the faith she had in reaching out to touch him was enough to make her completely whole and healed. Jesus, who was on his way to heal Jairus’ daughter at the time, felt the power flow out of himself and into her. He stopped what he was doing immediately and would not continue on until she had shown herself and confessed what she had done. Fearfully, she came to him and told him her story, confessing it to him in front of the crowd around them. She was afraid of him, and yet he was so pleased with her that he commended her for her great faith, called her ‘daughter’, commissioned her to go in health and in peace, and felt it necessary for her story to be included in the Bible for you and I to learn from.

All of a sudden as I pondered this story, things clicked into place as I thought back to the passage that this man behind me was referencing when he spoke of God’s train filling the temple. In Isaiah 6, the prophet Isaiah describes a very lofty, Kingly God who sits on a throne surrounded by angels and celestial beings. His presence is awe inspiring and fear-inducing. His holiness is astounding and untouchable. Simply being in his presence caused Isaiah to fall to his knees in fear and shame, proclaiming himself as a man of unclean lips – not worthy of even speaking His name. Historically, the length of a man’s robes would indicate his level of honor or importance. Only the most prominent, such as royalty, politically prestigious, high priests, pure brides (hence the long trains that brides wear on their wedding days), etc would have long trains attached to their garments – symbolizing their clout and the fact that they are too lofty to work like regular citizens – instead, they were to be esteemed and served. So when we imagine the Lord God with a train so big and so long that it fills up the entire temple, we see a picture of the most holy, most kingly, most highly esteemed being imaginable – one who would cause any man to fall on his face at the sight of him, with fear and trembling, with honor and with worship for his majesty.

Fast forward to the man who Isaiah would later prophesy about with those same trembling, ‘unclean lips’ he had cried out to His maker with in Isaiah 6. The man who would come as our redeemer, bringing salvation to the Lord. God Himself, in the flesh – our restorer, our savior, and our very humble, very unpredictable King of Kings. Yes, there’s quite the contrast between these two pictures – and yet both images refer to the same, unchanging God. This untouchable, Holy of holies, King above kings, unimaginably awesome God who made you, me, and all the Earth – came down to this world he had made, born into the body of a man, and walked the earth as a perfect, yet humble servant. He chose a body that was nothing special to look at, a family who had no worldly nobility, a life that was short and difficult, and a death that was lonely, horrifying and brutal. He wore normal clothes, with no train to tell of His true kingship and holiness. Yet here was this woman, who knew he was the Lord. He knew He was her only hope for healing and her last chance for salvation. In her heart, despite failure after failure from doctors and medical advisors, she knew that her body could be healed – if only she could reach out and touch the hem of his garment. She pursued him with all the faith and all the hope she could muster up, and when she grabbed hold of that robe, she was instantly healed.

You see, God has been teaching me since my modeling days (contrary to what we see demonstrated in that world) that this body I live in is to be respected and treated as something that belongs to God, created as a vessel that can honor Him. He has taught me that my body is a temple, bought with a price. And in this moment, He showed me that this body is the temple that my Lord – this Holy, incredible, perfect and sinless Lord – actually lives inside. And that train He wears, that this woman needed only to reach out and touch to receive complete restoration and healing? -That train fills the temple.

He is inside me, along with his holiness and his goodness, his great love, and his healing power that can, will, and already has restored me.

The end result?

My midwife has since declared my prolapse resolved, and my body back in proper order.

Not only that, but my baby who had lost almost a pound two weeks ago has gained it all back, and more – he is now over 9lb and gaining by the day.

My physician’s name?

Wonderful counselor.

Mighty God.

Everlasting Father.

Prince of Peace.

Emanuel – God with us.

Savior and Healer.

Redeemer and Restorer.

Risen King.

His name is Jesus Christ, and His name is above EVERY name.

...Man does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord. - Deuteronomy 8:3

Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up in your salvation, now that you have tasted that the Lord is good. - 1 Peter 2:2-3