He reaches from behind me, encircling me with his man-sized arms. The hug is huge but purposefully gentle. And longer that I'd hoped for. He's been thinking on that.
I turn to face him, to kiss the cheek I suddenly have to reach up for. No more stooping for embraces with this one.
The stubble on the cheek continues to surprise me. Not sure why. It's been there a while. It's prickly, but I enjoy the newness of it, the difference. And I struggle to breathe without tears.
He's having to deal with hair growing. And I find myself in a place where I'm dealing with hair leaving.
The doctors have tested. The handfuls of hair that have been coming out for weeks seem to have started from stress. Just stress. (you think? want to tell me something new?)
I have the sweetest family doctor. Younger than me, which is no longer uncommon at this point of the timeline (ha!). I don't think he knows the Lord, but he has been graced to be one of the kindest people.
His recommendation? "Now, I know you! I know you hate to take anything [I consistently question his prescribing of antibiotics]. I know you are very spiritual [well, Hallelujah!] and don't want to take medication to help you. I just want you to know that there are things that can help you andyouhavesomuchonyourplaterightnowblahblahblah..."
I just smiled. Told him I would exercise more, eat better. And I would be fine.
For the record, I don't believe that a person should NEVER take medications to help them cope. I know of one person in particular who is on depression meds and should probably stay on them for the rest of their life. Sin affects all of us, including our brains, and some people's hard wiring is in such a bad place that medication is absolutely necessary for them to think clearly.
I just think that so many (most?) people are medicated, by their choice, because they don't want to face their problems, and because they think life should be comfortable. Easy(ier). That pain is unacceptable.
And that's bunk. Life is wretched, often, because that's what sin does to everything. This is NOT supposed to be Heaven, because it ain't! And while we are supposed to count our trials as joy, this life is often full of heartache & trial because it's Life-On-Earth.
Jesus' life was full of heartache and pain. His death was the most horrific account of that. Why would any of us expect any less?
And trials are where my faith's rubber meets the road. Stress brings opportunities to cling ever tighter to Jesus. To look to Him for ALL that I need. To learn to trust Him more. To be reminded that this place is not my home.
So I lose my hair right now. Alarmed? Yes, a bit. What woman wants to lose hair at 46? (heck, at 86?) But I am also mindful that each lost strand is a reminder to cast my anxieties on Him; that He knows the numbers of hair on my head and is intimately sovereign over each second of my life; that He loves me and will never leave me; that my pain will not be wasted ~ that it is being used for my good and to press me to be used for the good of others around me.
And as I brush my cheek against the stubble on my first son's, I will choose (over and over) to put him (where he stays, anyway) in God's hands. I will remember that I have no control over anything at all! And I will remember that, even when I have no idea what God is doing, I can always trust that it is good.
And I should rest.
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