Overwhelmed? Or Overcomer?

Overwhelmed:  To be subjected to incapacitating emotional or mental stress; defeated

Overcomer:  a person who overcomes something : one who succeeds in dealing with or gaining control of some problem or difficulty 

For the past month I have been struggling with putting thoughts on paper (well, on the keyboard, anyway)--to try to put into words what we are going through. Feeling overwhelmed, blind-sided, and struggling with so many emotions and situations.  Like I am drowning.   Trying to be an overcomer, to handle new challenges and life's punches on my own.  So, initially I thought contrasting being overwhelmed (i.e., defeated) with being an overcomer (i.e., a victor) would be the right ticket.  But the more I tried to justify this position, the more stuck I became.  I got frustrated, and thought, why is this so hard?  Because the whole premise is wrong from the outset.  Look at the definitions again--overwhelmed implies a situation is beyond our control, but the most popular definition of "overcomer" says the person gains control.  

Light bulb moment.  

I was looking at it all wrong.  Yes, the one being overwhelmed has no control over the situations that are overwhelming--shit happens, things go wrong, stress is a fact of life.  Yet the world view of being an overcomer is to take the reins, to gain control of the problem.  Go from being the victim to the victor.  But we are no more in control of the solution than we are in control of the problem!  So many times, when troubles befall me, I look to God and throw up my hands in despair, asking Why?  Why me?  Then, I put my head down and try to figure it all out, to gain control of something I had no control over to begin with.  I blame Him (or others, or even myself) for my problems, yet I want to take credit for fixing it, for finding a way out.  How screwed up is that?  Not take the blame, but wanting the glory.  

I know better.  I let the situation overwhelm me, forgot the basics,  looked inward instead of upward.  Walked by myself instead of holding on to the hand that formed me.  

Yes, we are going through a lot right now--have been for three years.  Some sad, some joyful, some unexpected, and some expected.   This last twist seems like God's big practical joke on us.  I doubt my ability to handle it, to make it through this.  Yet, the operative word is there...through.  Meaning there is a beginning, a journey, and an end.  And the more I hold on to His Word, and trust in Him, the fewer wrong turns, dead ends, and obstacles I'll encounter.  

Hear my cry O God, listen to my prayer; from the end of the earth I call to you when my heart is faint.  Lead me to the rock that is higher than I for you have been my refuge, a strong tower against the enemy.  Ps 61:1-3

When my spirit was overwhelmed within me, Then You knew my path. In the way in which I walk They have secretly set a snare for me. Psalm 142:3

The one who conquers, I will grant him to sit with me on my throne, as I also conquered and sat down with my Father on his throne  Rev 3:21

For everyone that has been born of God overcomes the world.  And this is the victory that has overcome the world--our faith.  Who is it that overcomes the world except the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God?  1 Jn 5:4-5

Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.  Rom 12:21

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.   2 Tim 4:7

I have said these things to you that in me you may have peace.  In the world you will have tribulation.  But take heart; I have overcome the world  John 16:33

Obsessing

‘Twas the week after Christmas and all through the cabin, not a child could be heard...after 45 days of family visits, we would have the house to ourselves.  Not that we don't love family visits.  We do.  But my introverted, OCD self was stretched to the max. Peace and quiet. Finally. Wait...What’s that?  My phone is ringing.  Dad’s going to the ER. I’m needed in Knoxville right away.  To pick up my handicapped brother. To come stay with us. For however long is needed.  Get dressed.  Hug remaining daughter and grandkids. Drive drive drive.  McDonald’s for lunch. Then the ER. Critical care unit. Spend time with parents. Pray. Run errands, calm down my brother.  Arby’s for dinner. Back to hospital, then the house for an overnight stay before I go back home, brother in tow.   

As I sit in the dark on my bed (couch) for the night, so many thoughts and feelings are jumbled up in my head and my heart. I feel like I’ll never relax. My shoulders are hunched up above my ears, my neck is a knotted up mess, and I haven’t unfurrowed my brow all day. I think, “wow God has a crazy sense of humor...this happens now?! Just when I’m already exhausted? Right before my daughter and family go back to India? Really Lord?” And when my stepmom tells me she’s spoken to my estranged sisters (see previous numerous posts if you are not sure about why we’re estranged), some very unpleasant and un-Christlike thoughts pop into my head. The conversation in my screwed up brain goes something like this:

“My sisters called? Really? Like they care?”

“Uh yeah, they’re his daughters too.” 
“Yikes but what if they come to Knoxville!  What if I see them!?”

“You’ll just have to deal with it”

“But they’re horrible!  It’ll be so awkward and painful”

“Suck it up”

“I don’t want to see them”

“You’ll be gone by then anyway”

“I’m so friggin tired.”

“Then go to sleep”

“I’m trying to trust God...”

“Are you now?  Really?”

“Yes, it’s just I’m worried about seeing my ...”

“Isn’t this about Dad?”

And that’s when it hits me. Stripped down to the bare bones, I see my selfishness in all its ugly, raw, hideousness. Here I am, focusing on MY tiredness, MY life, MY feelings, MY anxiety over seeing siblings, when I should be focusing on others and especially how God is going to be glorified in all this. Now, granted, that selfish rumination is not the only thought occupying my brain, nor is it the primary concern,   But it is there, pulsing and oozing like a big, gross alien blob.  Disgusting.  I pick it up and look at it in all its putridness. Hold it up to Christ’s standards.  Not only is it not even close—it blots out Christ’s image. I gasp and throw it down, and it just sits there. Waiting for me to pick it back up. To acknowledge it. Stroke it.  Feed it.  Give it sustenance and life. 

NO!!! Get away from me! You are NOT of Christ.  And I am His.  

The thing slithers away, and is gone. I breathe a huge sigh of relief. And consciously relax my shoulders and rotate my neck. Take a Motrin. And close my eyes and pray.