More Than Permission, Warrant - Thanksgiving Day

Holiday mornings make me wistful. When I've tried to sleep in while knowing my family is laughing downstairs, eventually I drop my tired feet to the floor and make my way to join them. This morning I find myself at Bethany's apartment with Zach, Grace and Emmaline - all sleeping in the living room, all up by 6:15 to watch the parade, and begging me to join them by 6:20. I'm thankful for these mornings with them. They're rare and short, so I savor them. Zach won't sit on my lap many more years, and I'm Emma's getting too cool for sleepovers with the big sisters.

B and I talked late into the night about shopping and eating and weaknesses and strengths and counseling and family. When we finally said our goodnights, I laid down aware of what I am thankful for today. All of the above. It may not be ideal. It may not even be welcomed. But I am thankful for all of them.

Let me explain.

I started seeing a councilor this year against the wishes of many of those close to me. I'm walking through the way I see myself, the way I portray my self and why. Dr. Francis, my councilor, asks about my family, my friends, my past, my hopes for the future, my perspective, my wounds. She asks not for answer or accusation, but to provoke my own awareness. And have I ever become aware of myself, my family, my struggles, my tendencies. I'm not okay. We're not okay. And I'm thankful. That reality gives permission for me to be human. More than permission, warrant.

I've been studying Genesis this year and I walk this leg of my journey. What an over-abused and under-applied book. I'm guilty of the same, turning it into an argument Text for creation. Not even for creation, just an argument against evolution. That's just the first two chapters. I'm ashamed. Read a bit further and see how God first chooses Abram and Sarai as his own. Feel the weighty hurt of barrenness and bitter tears. Stand in Hagar's shoes, a woman owned, her body given by her owner to her master and beaten as a result of her pregnancy. See God's eyes on her and her name God El-Elohim, the God who sees me. Watch as they raise Isaac and as Abram, now Abraham submissively sacrifices him. Feel God catch the knife in His hand, aware of the day when the knife will come down on His own only Son. ...

My favorite part of this narrative is when Jacob, whose name literally means "deceiver," wrestles with God. Jacob, always out for other's blessings, demands that his opponent bless him before he allows Him away. "I will not let You go until You bless me." God demands his name. He demands his name again. "Jacob," he admits. "I am 'liar'." God touches Liar's hip, dislocating the joint. God gives him a new name.

Jacob wrestled with God. And God would not let him go until he had understood and admitted who he was, and until He gave him a new identity. Jacob left with a limp, but he also left as "Israel."

I'm in a season of wrestling with God. I'm learning who I am. This season is dark and lonely and hard and painful. But I'll go through it limping if He'll give me a new name.

And I'm thankful. For all of it. For the season. For the pain. For the limp. For the name I do not yet know.