When I started this blog almost two years ago, I envisioned it being many things. I had just begun to experience some health problems, for the first time in my life. One of my purposes in writing was to both vent my frustration at not being “well,” and catalog my journey to wholeness. Because I was sure that “wholeness” was where I was headed. I had confidence in the wisdom of doctors and the power of God to heal.
I haven’t published nearly as many posts as I’ve written, in my head, or uncompleted in my drafts folder. I became weary of chronicling every dead end I encountered. Trying to escape my tunnel vision, I wrote about other things that God laid on my heart.
Sometimes my brain is screaming with all the things I want to write about what I am going through, but I silence it. Because it is redundant. Because it is whiny. Because the world doesn’t need one more pity-party.
The other day I was feeling so stuck, and stifled, and wondering why blogging about my “journey to wholeness” had become so stale. I thought about my previous posts, and I suddenly saw a pattern. They were all about hope, followed by hopes dashed.
I put hope in everything…..
Hope in a “miracle” supplement, supported by hope in a TV doctor.
Hope in a nutritionist-to-the-stars and her metabolism-healing plan.
Hope in coffee, which I had never drank before, to combat fatigue.
Hope in a new doctor, and then another new doctor, to not give up on me.
Hope in WebMD, or an online survey, or some other method of self-diagnosis.
Hope in natural remedies to treat my self-diagnosed conditions.
Hope in another blood test that will surely reveal the elusive cause of my misery.
So many times, I was sure that wholeness was just around the corner. But it wasn’t. It still isn’t.
As I thought about this pattern of hope, I heard in my head, softly and slowly:
My hope is built on nothing less, than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.
Through every instance of building up my hope, putting it all on that one thing, I was still praying….still trusting God. But He wasn’t my focus. He wasn’t my source. And when that one thing turned out to not be the thing, my hopes were shattered. By losing focus on my Savior, I set myself up for devastation, again and again.
This realization comes on the cusp of new hope. A new doctor. A fresh view. A different approach. But I am very consciously fixing my hope on Jesus. And turning it back to Him as often as I need to.
My hope is built on nothing less, than Jesus’ blood and righteousness. I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name. On Christ the solid rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand. When darkness veils His lovely face, I rest on His unchanging grace. In every high and stormy gale, my anchor holds within the veil.