For When He Pushes Past my Resistance and Holds Me Close (Word of the Week)

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November 9, 2014 by Beth Hess

I did not expect anger to be the first feeling to find its way past the numbness.

As the pumice stone of grace and truth crossed against my calloused soul, I had some understanding that sensation would someday return. I even suspected it might be uncomfortable. Painful perhaps.

Even so, I caught myself surprised when a series of relatively innocuous events left me in a rage of seething words. An avalanche of sharp edges thrown carelessly towards anyone who dared move past me. A day that left me shaking — literally, yes. But emotionally as well.

A bitterness that bubbled and boiled until hot tears burst forth. I could contain them no longer. Words and weeping flooded out simultaneously. Hurts I didn’t even know I was hiding. I didn’t edit. I didn’t numb. I let myself feel it all.

Addiction recovery is surgery without anesthesia. A deep, deep digging out of the things of life you’ve been trying to avoid by masking them. Numbing them. Stuffing them.

And when you stop masking, numbing, and stuffing, everything is magnified. Like a southerner’s first Minnesota winter, your blood is thin and your skin is raw. Vulnerable.  Exposed.

And that is a scary, scary place to be.

If flight is no longer a self-preservation technique, fight takes over.

There is an approach in psychology for children prone to rage called Holding Therapy. To wrap oneself firmly around the angry one until they settle and learn to trust and attach to their holder. It is not without controversy, and it is not my intent to dispute that here. Because my only frame of reference is that God uses it with me.

I shout and flail my limbs about, unwilling to surrender my right to be angry. I want to keep any more pain at a distance. The outrage inside is raw enough. I cannot risk anything or anyone getting close enough to pour salt in the wounds.

But my Jesus takes His chances. He is not discouraged by my flying fists or foul words. He holds. Oh, how he holds. Firmly. Tenderly. Without weariness. Without rebuke.

He takes care of his people like a shepherd. 
He gathers them like lambs in his arms 
and carries them close to him. (Isaiah 40:11)

As He gathers me in His arms, my spirit, indeed settles. And then it starts to sing. Softly at first. And pleading by the end.

Hold Me Jesus

Well, sometimes my life
Just don’t make sense at all
When the mountains look so big
And my faith just seems so small 

So hold me Jesus, ’cause I’m shaking like a leaf
You have been King of my glory
Won’t You be my Prince of Peace

And I wake up in the night and feel the dark
It’s so hot inside my soul
I swear there must be blisters on my heart

So hold me Jesus, ’cause I’m shaking like a leaf
You have been King of my glory
Won’t You be my Prince of Peace

Surrender don’t come natural to me
I’d rather fight You for something
I don’t really want
Than to take what You give that I need
And I’ve beat my head against so many walls
Now I’m falling down, I’m falling on my knees

And this Salvation Army band
Is playing this hymn
And Your grace rings out so deep
It makes my resistance seem so thin

So hold me Jesus, ’cause I’m shaking like a leaf
You have been King of my glory
Won’t You be my Prince of Peace  (Rich Mullins)

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I return each Sabbath for a fresh Word of the Week. For the God-breathed pages to come alive in a phrase or two on which to spend a 7-day feast. To meditate upon. To use as a jumping off point for whatever other words God would have me hear during the week. I would love for you to join the Word of the Week (WOW) discussion by adding your selected verse to the comments … or reflections on any scripture reading. 

Linking with Unforced Rhythms — a wonderful community of writers who gather each Monday to share with you HERE.