The Helper of My Life
Couldn’t get out of bed this morning. The possibility of failure exhausted me before my feet even touched the floor. From bed, I texted Evan that I needed him to come pray over me (perks of marrying a pastor). Three minutes later, I heard him creaking up our steps. Then, he was beside me.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
“I’m scared I’m going to fail today - as a wife, a friend, a Christian, an editor.”
I thought but didn’t add: And there will be no mercy.
He is the only one who sees me in this state – helpless – like a child. It’s humiliating. And yet, his love for me during these moments is the gospel; a mirror of God’s mercy, up close, holding me in the early morning.
Do you ever worry that if you make one wrong move, all the people who say they love you will leave? Turn from you? Reject you? Maybe that’s just me. Maybe that’s just residual fear coming off a moment when the person who knew me best looked me in the face and admitted he was no longer in-love with me. Maybe knowing that I could try so hard and walk so softly on egg shells and still be someone that someone else fell out of love with has forever screwed me up.
Evan stroked my hair and prayed. The part I remember: “God help Rachel know that you didn’t create her to get everything right. And remind her that you will never stop loving her and neither will I.”
I tell people that we don’t earn God’s favor - that Jesus did that. I tell them obedience isn’t about securing Gods’ love. That there is no such thing as commissions-based righteousness. But I live like I am my only means of grace.
And I exhaust myself trying to get everything right the first time.
It’s why I hate new recipes, driving in a new city, and why I’m terrified to ever become a mom.
I don’t have a conclusion for these thoughts, only a prayer:
“God, send your Holy Spirit, the Helper of my life.”
