Hi, My name is Elizabeth, and I'm a Hypocrite...

The one two punch of a disjointed summer and the ever bleeding uterus has made me realize I’m a hypocrite.  Let me confess that again.

I’m a hypocrite.

No.  Really.  Not in a tongue in cheek “aren’t we all?” kind of way.   (Because, yes.  If you are human you are either a hypocrite or a liar.  Deal with it.)  But in a “I’ve been saying one thing and completely doing something else” sort of way.  (So, you know, in the “definition of hypocrite” kind of way.)

Here is what I’ve been saying:  I trust God.  I trust that He loves me and is for me.  I trust Him to fight for me.  I trust Him to provide for my family and me.  I trust God with my health.  I trust God that even if the worst happens, He will use it for my good and his glory.

Here is what has really been going on in my mind:  If this is God loving me, I wish He didn’t love me so well.  If he made me, then why the hell am I falling apart?  Maybe this darkness I keep running into in the hall will go away if I just write about it and then writing will be my Savior.  Maybe if I can just cram my days with freelance writing gigs I can slowly 8 cent a word my way into financial security.  And if my savings account never dips below a certain amount then it will all be okay.  Maybe if I just get my darn uterus ripped out, I won’t be in pain and then snap! Everything will be great.

But, as it turns out, none of the things I’ve been putting my faith in have brought me squat.  In fact, instead of bringing me life, these idols of money and self-reliance are most likely the culprits behind my life slowly and painfully draining out of me. *

When God said, “Thou shalt have no other gods before me,” it wasn’t the shrill request of an insecure spouse.  It was the stern warning of a loving Father.  A Father who knew that not only would faith in other gods not give life, but drain it.  And, ultimately, kill.

OUCH.

Someone once explained to me that placing faith in God is like sitting in a chair.  Faith is the trust to put one’s full weight into something.  The faithful posture is one of swinging legs.

But instead of sitting back into the lap of God, trusting Him to hold me, protect me, to be God to me, I’ve perched.  Like a Varsity cheerleader on her boyfriend’s lap.  Abs and thighs clenched.  Hovering more than actually sitting.  And while it may appear to be a faithful pose—it’s just that: a pose.  A full 80% of my body, heart, and soul is clenched up and resting in my own strength.

My thighs are burning.

I suppose I should be grateful all it has taken is a crappy summer and a faulty uterus to show me my own hypocrisy.  

May God be so gracious the next time my wandering heart hovers.