After receiving a diagnosis of cancer, a mature Christian would either hit the floor with his knees and pray up a storm, or mediate on healing promises. Instead, I asked my husband to buy me ice cream, and I binged on two days worth of Jack Bauer.
While I should be going to The Secret Place of the Most High, I’ve been trying to escape from myself. (I’ve been trying to run away from myself for as long as I can remember.)
He is our refuge–our escape from the world.
Why then am I using the things of the world to try to escape the world? Not very logical, Spock.
Instead of watching two days of Amazon Prime, I could be watching two days worth of Bible Screen, or any number of Bible teachers.
I don’t feel like praying. I’m not blaming God for the cancer at all; I’m not mad at Him. My lifestyle choices are my mistakes. And it rains on everyone, the good and the evil alike.
I guess to pray would mean I’m vulnerable, and part of me is in self-protection mode: Gotta keep the walls up. Yes, that’s the flesh talking, not the spirit.
I know there are zillions of people praying for me, I can feel the prayers. So I’m acting like a four-year-old who wants to be carried even though I can walk.
There’s that old “Footprints in the Sand” picture that tells us that Jesus carries us during those times that we feel like we can’t walk…but what about the times when we decide we just don’t want to?