The sermon this week was on wrestling for blessing. Go figure. I think the Big Guy Upstairs has been reading my blog and decided I needed a little help.
The pastor used the image of a father wrestling with his child. The purpose of which is never to decide a winner, he said, but to know each other and know yourself.
I would say the goals of my wrestling at the onset are a little more concrete. Such as:
I try to wrestle fellowship from Facebook.
I try to wrestle strength from my stash of brownies in the freezer.
I try to wrestle rest from one more television program in the evening.
I try to wrestle identity and purpose out from between the pages and paintings of my own hands.
Like squeezing lemon juice from a banana I go on wrestling for what’s not there, what I’m not really looking for. When, much like my son tackling his Daddy, what I want to know really is, “Are you stronger than me?” “Abba, are you stronger than me?”
Sometimes, the possibility that he isn’t is too terrifying to even try.
Still, sometimes, we try. We try to wrestle him down to the ground with our loneliness, pin him with our doubts, trip him up with our shame, or find him too weak against our hopes and dreams.
But every time I have been disappointed, satisfied not with exactly what I’m asking for but with the knowledge that he is stronger than I. Like Jacob at dawn, when I think I may be winning, I suddenly find my hip out of socket. Like Job, I find my mouth shut in response.
It’s frustrating. “But, this isn’t what I wanted to know!” I cry, “Where is my resolution?”
And yet, I’m satisfied.