I love the lyric from this song, “sweetly broken, wholly surrender” by Jeremy Camp. Saturday I was sweetly broken, but Sunday I will wholly surrender.
This isn’t one of those happy sappy posts. This is straight from an honest heart and saddened spirit. I want to be just as transparent in the valleys as I am in the peaks. Trust is built through transparency. And I have found that the most intimate relationships in my life have been with the people that I trust, and the people that I trust are often those that are willing to share their hearts in the good times, and the bad.
As we walk through the hard times, and dark valleys of our lives, we should be just as willing to share these times with others. If we aren’t, it’s simply our pride that is robing us of intimacy in relationships.
I crave intimacy and authenticity in my relationships, so I strive to share my weaknesses with my strengths, my defeats with my triumphs, and my struggles with my sappy’s. I want to be real.
An analogy that I read in a book a long time ago referred to honest and transparent people as people that, “walked with a limp.”
The author was illustrating how we are more likely to trust people when we can see the “limp” in their lives.
Meaning, when they are up front and honest about the crappy’s just as much as the happy’s (a young life reference for “highs and lows”).
So here is my crappy…
Saturday morning I was out running on the trails in Corvallis with three of my beloved teammates. We were about a mile from the parking lot.
And just like that…
I’m in the dirt, covered in mud, staring at the softball that emerged on my ankle within a matter of seconds…
I couldn’t help but what to scream. But more out of heart break than out of pain..
By the grace of God we were right by a creak that provided immediate access to an ice bath. The creek water numbed the pain, but not my racing mind. I couldn’t help but go there. From the moment that I fell I couldn’t help but think, “welp that’s it. I’m done.” I struggled to pray and get it together in front of my teammates, but I was a mess. A humbled mess at that. I couldn’t walk, my once neon rain coat now completely brown, and my eyes fighting back a dam of tears ready to burst.
I had no way of getting back to the parking lot except to be carried. Physically, carried. So my teammates sacrificed the rest of their run, and carried me at least a mile back to the car. I’ll I could do was cling to their necks in helpless humility.
They carried my burden that day. In more ways than one.
As we were slowly making our way through the forest I had this picture of God lifting my burden. It was as if He was bringing me to a place of humility, so that he could carry what I could not carry on my own.
We eventually made it back to the training room and my trainer tried to assess the severity of my injury, but my pain level didn’t permit her to offer an accurate diagnosis. She hooked me up to the ice/compression machine, and I laid there contemplating the text to my coach…
Then one of my teammates, Emily, came in to the training room and walked over to ask what had happened. I had no words, and that’s when the dam of tears decided to burst forth. She reached for my hand and immediately began praying.
Yet again, my burden was carried that day.
Sometimes in life we find ourselves lacking the words to pray, and we need someone to pray for us.
There was a time in my life when I was really sick, and I needed people to pray for me because all I could do was cry out, “Lord I know your mercies are new every morning. Have mercy on me.” I prayed this prayer every morning. It was could get myself to utter after relentless redundant requests for healing.
During the time when I was sick, I began rewriting the Psalms (which is where I spent most of my time in scripture) in my own words. I began rewording the cry’s of David’s heart with the cry’s of my own. Some of these rewritten Psalms are in my old blog posts.
Later that day when I was home laying in bed, exhausted from tears, I was compelled to read the passage in 2 Corinthians 4:8-9.
It says this:
“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 9 persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.” (NIV)
I recalled my times spent rewriting the Psalms and felt an urge to rewrite this passage in Corinthians. So I did.
This is the Audrey International Version (AIV):
I am attacked on every side, but not defeated. I sheed tears in solitude but they do not go unseen. I am hurt by oppression, but not without the hope of healing. I fall, but am not left to crawl. I am carried. I am cracked and crippled, but not crushed and crumbled.
Always remembering that in my bodies I am subject to suffering just as Jesus, but not without the gospel of grace renewing my body through revival.
I hope that my “limp,” both metaphorically and physically, might offer a transparency that could lead to trust.
Although I might be always broken, my heart will always surrender to my God.
But surrender must always be followed with trust, or it is not true surrender at all. My mentor always tells me this. “Surrender and trust Audrey.” The words ring in my ears every time my heart feels heavy or burdened.
It wasn’t just my teammates that lifted my burden that day, it was my God to whom I surrender and trust all of my days.