Wrestling with God ~ When Letting Go Would Hurt Less

Throwback Thursday!  I decided to share something that I wrote back in 2010 about blood draws and how we chose to wrestle with God...

Evie had a blood draw yesterday.  As much as she tries to be brave, I could see her face go pale when I picked her up from daycare early.  She said in her breathy, weak voice, "Are we going for a blood draw?"  

"Yes, Sweetie, we are." 

 "And we'll get ice cream after?"   

"Yes, we'll go to culvers."   

"And we'll take it home and watch Newsboys?"   

"Absolutley."

We get to the Mt. Horeb Clinic, and the real fear sets in.  She walks her way back to the room, and I feel as though I'm ushering my five year old down the plank to uncertain doom.

As the door closes she crosses her arms, clasps her hands around the inside of her elbows and screams, "No, No blood draw."  Her teeth are clenched, her eyes pinched shut, her body trembling with her effort to prevent the inevitable draw to occur. 

 

As the lab tech presses around feeling for a vein, the other nurse and I try to keep Evie still...I'm secretly wishing the tech could just jab the needle in and go for it.  Meanwhile, I'm trying to sooth Evie with a calm voice, singing, "I was walking outside it was a quarter to three and I heard my popcorn calling me..." (Laurie Berkner).  Evie's screaming too loud though...how can I soothe her if she can't even hear my voice?  However, I can't yell the song, it will loose all potential for creating a soothing sound. 

The tech says those dreaded words, "I can't feel anything in her arms.  You'll need to take her into Madison to Mineral Point Road."   

Ah, Mineral Point Road.  The Urgent Care.  We know it well. 

 

Reluctantly I pack up our things.  Evie, of course is believing that her 12th hour pardon has come in!!!  "All done, Mommy?  Go for ice cream?"   

Oh, Sweetie, we have so far to go...

Let's make lemon-aid with our lemons, I decide.  We make the 20 minute journey to Madison, all the while singing to our Newboys, raising our hands to the Lord and singing our praises.  We check in to the urgent care, and I say a silent prayer that all the masks the people are wearing in the waiting room can really protect us from whatever ailments they are suffering from.   

Evie and I wind our way back to the lab and sign in.

 

One of techs looks out at us, "Diane, before you go, can you help me with this one?"  The tall, slender blonde swiftly re-cloaks herself in her clean white lab coat.  We sit down and peal back the second set of band-aids with emla cream on them that Evie has worn for the past hour.  

Evie begins to cry again.  She's not wrestling as hard this time, but still is tensing her muscles and struggling for control of her arms, her self, her body. 

 

The tech had a little difficulty finding the vein, but not much, as I saw her pivoting the needle one, two, three times, I started praying to myself, "Oh, Lord, find it, find it, find it...."  

I started singing to Evie, "Here's my Devotion, all that I have, to give..." (Newsboys)...but she was still too loud, she couldn't hear me...it was no use.   

The techs were busy collecting the blood that had finally been tapped.  It made me consider how one might feverishly collect  oil as it finally pooled forth from a well. 

"Evie, if you stop struggling, this won't hurt so much..."

Wow...Let's think about this...how often do we do that with God?  How often do we push, and struggle and fight--and all he wants to do is calm us, and hold us, and comfort us?  How many times is He trying to sing us a love song, or trying to speak gently to us...and we just continue protesting and screaming and yelling?

Don't fight God...don't wrestle with him.  He loves you, he wants what's best for you.  Just be silent...sit still.  It might be uncomfortable while he works, but he's holding you...he's rocking you.  Don't force him to pin you in order to make His will be done, rather let him be victorious and show His glory through you. 

Jesus went to the Garden of Gethsemane to silently ask his Father not to lead him to the cross.  He cried out to him, "Take this cup from me, but not my will...yours."  He surrendered his will.  He let God hold him in that moment and gently rock him in that Garden.   

What a beautiful surrender it was...open armed, pouring out his love for us. 

Remember, in your next moment of testing, to remain still.  Listen to God move, listen to him sing.  I promise, it will hurt less if you choose NOT to wrestle.