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And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
2 Corinthians 12:9,10 (NKJV)

I think I’m starting to understand
what makes the terrible twos
(and possibly even the threes and fours)
so very terrible.

It’s the natural tension of life.

This overwhelming desire
to do – (whatever it may be)
in your own way,
in your own time,
in your own strength –
coming face to face with
the limitation of
your knowledge,
your ability,
your control,
your just-not-quite-there yet.

And, it’s frustrating.
It’s upsetting.
It makes you want to fling yourself on the floor
and throw a tantrum the size of Texas.

I get it.

And while I am well past the age of two,
this place of life I find myself now,
two years into widowhood,
has me feeling the exact same tension.

The natural flow of life has me
desiring to
do more,
be more,
accomplish more,
figure out more,
but the age of my grief
and the short amount of time
I’ve lived in this new season
leaves me coming up short
time and time again.

I feel stuck.
Frustrated.
Just like a two year old.

I feel the pull of life
tugging on me to be a part of it,
only I’m not quite “developed” enough
to live it
without frequent messes
and constant meltdowns.

And yet,
it is in this “not able to” place
I have come to know God
as never before.

Like a parent
lovingly tries to come alongside
and lend a helping hand,
providing the “extra” their two year old is needing,
God is here for me.

In every “I want to but can’t quite do it”,
He steps in and helps me,
when I let Him.

Because –
like a two year old –
I have to admit,
I don’t always admit my need,
give up my “me do it” attitude,
or willingly surrender to the help
I so desperately need.

No –
I fight,
I struggle,
I try and try and try,
until
in frustration and desperation,
I throw my incapable self on the floor,
tears flowing down my face.

Thankfully,
no matter how loud my tantrum,
or how messy my emotions,
God always stoops down
and picks me back up again.

He never leaves me in the middle of my mess.
He never turns His back on my sorrow or grief.
He never walks away
when I sometimes
(in pride and arrogance and anger and frustration)
push Him away.

He comes.
He stays.
He extends His hand.
He wipes my tears.
He lifts me back to my feet.

He understands the tension I feel.
He more than gets the struggle at the root of my actions
and He keeps loving me through it.

And, I’m starting to understand –
as I never have before –
that realizing our need
doesn’t make us less,
it makes us more.

For unlike a two year old,
who will become less and less dependent on their parent,
I am becoming more and more dependent on my Heavenly Father.

And, it’s a beautiful thing.

This widowed girl needs her Abba Father –
and
always,
He is there.

Oh, Father God,
You know us better than we know ourselves.
Lord, you see our heartache.
You know our struggle to pick up the pieces of our life and get back to living.
Help us be willing to admit our need, reach out, and accept Your help.
Thank you that when we do, You are always more than enough.
In Jesus precious, powerful name we pray, Amen.