As a little girl, my parents, like most parents, we're mindful of what I watched on tv. However, if the tv was left on long enough into the evening, a tantalizing show came on-WWF. Sometimes I got to watch before they realized and turned it off. "Oh no. We need to turn off that trash." I loved the trash. I was immediately drawn into the drama, loved the colors, the action, the ridiculousness that seemed so real. A real snake, props, throwing chairs, excitement.
Fast forward a few years. I worked at Gold's Gym every weekend. (Which sure beat my other high school jobs, including measuring trees for NASA. Sounds cool. Think chiggers, humidity, and sweat running down your legs. Not cool.) One weekend, Rick Flair came to visit. He owned our gym apparently and ducked his head in. I was expecting drama, excitement, maybe a little flutter in my heart. Nope. Sorry, Rick, but what I saw was a man past his prime, still fit, but a tad waa waa waaaaa. No bling.
I write this because my girls have a taste for flair. Not Rick Flair, but the drama of wrestling. How do I know? We can't seem to get past the story of Jacob wrestling God. They want me to tell them the story over and over. I found a video of the scene tonight and they watched, open eyed. Did that really happen? Did God really have bones? (a question tonight from my youngest) Was Jacob turned Israel really injured? For life? What did he tell people when they asked him what happened? That's one heck of a battle scar if you ask me. "How'd my hip get hurt? Well, one day God and I wrestled."
I have one scarred up belly. I have these animal like stretch marks on my sides from my first pregnancy. I like to call um, "Tiger tried to get me, but I was too fast, and I got away." I like to describe these with frantic hand movements. The other set is from my string bean yet hugeness of a second baby. I like to call those my "Drop it like it's hot like a baby" marks because she kept dropping and it was summertime and I thought I needed a belly bra. Two sets of c-section scars. Then comes the last set. I had my gallbladder removed, with an extra set of scars, as I had an additional needed surgery. That one is a sad, bizarre story, and one of the biggest blessings of my life. That surgery saved my life and has since drawn my husband and I closer together, and closer to God.
Have you felt like Jacob? Pursuing God over and over to where you are one heck of a tired soul? I sure have had my moments. I actually had a day like that today. Parenting is hard work. Maybe physical exhaustion comes into to play here (might I interject I married a night owl who finds the most hilarious things to watch so that we go to bed way too late? No babe, not your fault, just sayin I'm giving you a curfew. For real. Or else.)
What I am saying is that the battle scars we have, whether physical or spiritual, have the potential to be our greatest change agents. Jacob was changed. His name and future were crazy changed. He was blessed by his persistence. I can imagine him telling the story. I would have cried. Every single time. God could have killed him. But he didn't. It must have been hard for the God of the universe to hold back his power while wrestling. It must have been hard to send his only Son, confined to a physical body, to a world where he knowingly would be rejected, tortured, and hung on a tree. But God wants us. He desperately wants us to enjoy him. Fully. Housing the Holy Spirit as a vessel until he returns in all his glory.
I'll get a new body in heaven. But these scars tell my history. I don't mind them one bit.
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