Sozo'ed

Prayer Journal Entry
December 13, 2012

At our last girl’s get-together, Jenna told us all about this prayer experience she had recently had.  She said she had been “sozo-ed”.  I guess it’s a kind of prayer style lead by spiritual guiders.  Not really sure on ALL the details, but it seemed really interesting. She told how they had asked her as she was starting the prayer to try and envision herself with Jesus. And as she prayed, she kept seeing Jesus in her head playing with her hair. The prayer time lasted a little while, and at the end of it, one of the ladies told Jenna that she kept having this sweet picture in her head of Jesus loving Jenna, playing with her hair.  It was just confirmation to Jenna that Jesus really had been speaking to her, loving her, and bringing her into an intimacy wit Him.

A couple of mornings ago (12/11/12), I was having a morning devotion, and I decided to sort of “sozo” myself.  I really don’t know all that it involves, but I thought I would try to envision myself with Jesus, as Jenna had been instructed to do.  As I prayed, and envisioned Jesus, I could only see myself thrown into his arms.  You can see it: imagine what it looks when someone has thrown themselves into another’s arms for rescue or because they are just so broken down, so tired that they have just collapsed into someone else’s arms.  In my prayer, no matter how I tried to stand up to see Him, all I could do was just stay in this position. Bent over, head forward, totally held, completely weak to stand on my own. And I cried. I cried in my desperation. I cried in my pain. I cried in my anxiety. I cried in my helplessness. The position in His arms was just a visual description of the deep feeling within my soul of my utter helplessness.

The song that played while I prayed (a song I had never heard before) helped to bring me to this spot of humbleness.  The lyrics sung by MercyMe say:

Why?

The question that is never far away

The healing doesn’t come from the explained

Jesus, please don’t let this go in vain

You’re all I have

All that remains

So here I am

What’s left of me

Where glory meets my suffering.

I’m alive

Even though a part of me has died

You take my heart and breathe it back to life

I’ve fallen into your arms, open wide

The hurt and the healer collide

Breathe

Sometimes I feel it’s all that I can do

Pain so deep that I can hardly move

Just keep my eyes completely fixed on you

Lord, take hold and pull me through

So here I am

What’s left of me

Where glory meets my suffering

I’m alive

Even though a part of me has died

Take my heart and breathe it back to life

I’ve fallen into your arms open wide

The hurt and the healer collide.

It’s the moment when humanity

Is overcome by majesty

When grace is ushered in for good

And all our scars are understood

When mercy takes its rightful place

And all the questions fade away

When out of the weakness we must bow

And hear you say, “It’s over now”

Jesus come and break my fear

Awake my heart and take my tears

Find your glory even here

When the hurt and the healer collide

At that same girl’s get-together, where Jenna had told us about sozoing, Lindsay had asked us to meditate a little on Matthew 11:28 from the Message version (By Eugene Peterson).  And as we did so, she asked us to share with the others what parts really stood out to each of us.  Mine, of course, as I have already written was the part about a “real rest”.  I’ve been feeling so overwhelmed lately – so anxious!  I told Van recently that the only way I can describe the feeling is that I constantly feel like I have drank two cups of coffee too many.  NERVOUS. JITTERY. ANXIOUS. SRESSED. And I have no idea why.  So the thought of a “REAL rest” is appealing. The idea is intoxicating.

So, on the morning of the devotion I just described, where I had decided to sozo myself, I had also downloaded “The Message” on my kindle, feeling that as it had spoken to me so deeply with that one scripture, that I may like to use it in my devotions. That morning, as I prayed, I was in a heartbroken kind of mood because just the night before I had started my period (after our 4^th IUI), and the doctors had said our only option now was to consider IVF.  It was the same night that I had been talking to Dad about my fears of IVF… and he had reminded me of Hannah and Jacob (see previous entry).  During our conversation, he had also suggested that what he thought I needed to do was spend some time trying to “rest” (He was completely unaware of the prior Tuesday's meditation from Matthew 11:28, and what had spoken to me.) – and he encouraged me to consider taking a break from fertility treatments.   After our talk, I had struggled the rest of the night with this thought.  My personality is one that wants to make things happen.  I’m a go-getter.  I don’t sit down.  I don’t wait for things to happen. I lack patience.  But, I trust Dad’s wisdom and advice, and I think he’s probably right. It seemed to be what God was speaking to me – via Lindsay and now him.  Telling me to rest.

So, after a lot of weighing back and forth, Van and I had agreed to take IVF off the table for a few months at least. And now on this morning after, I was feeling helpless. I was feeling uncertain about my decision.  Feeling forgotten.  And so in my heart I hung in Jesus’ arms, letting Him take the weight of my fears and anxiety.

Today, while on a bus to Houston (catching a flight to Nicaragua from there), I was sitting in my seat alone, praying, listening to praise and worship on my iPod, and I decided to read a little bit of the Message.  One habit my Dad has passed on to me is when I’m needing a little devotion with God, to often read the Psalm that correlates with the day.  So for December 13^th, I scrolled to the 13^th Psalm.

And this is what it said:

“Long enough, GOD –

You’ve ignored me long enough,

I’ve looked at the back of your head long enough.

Long enough I’ve carried this ton of trouble,

Lived with a stomach full of pain.

Long enough my arrogant enemies

have looked down their noses at me.

Take a good look at me, GOD, my God;

I want to look life in the eye,

So no enemy can get the best of me

Or laugh when I fall on my face.”

(and here is the part that really got me)

“I’ve thrown myself headlong into your arms –

I’m celebrating your rescue.

I’m singing at the top of my lungs,

I’m so full of answered prayers.”

I found myself praying it:  “Long enough God. I’ve waited long enough. Long enough I’ve carried this stress, this trouble. Long enough… I’ve thrown myself HEADLONG (like in my vision the other morning) into your arms. I’m trusting that You have rescued me. And because of my rescue I can sing at the top of my lungs. You have answered my prayers.”

I was so encouraged that this this (and the MercyMe song) correlated with the vision in which I had seen myself with Jesus… of me falling headlong in God’s arms.  I felt like He was confirming that He had me.  He had caught me.

I feel like God is speaking to me… teaching me, showing me.  I’m trying to hear. I feel like I see bits and pieces of a big picture.  Often times these bits and pieces look like individual stories and naturally I assume that these moments are just fragments of no importance, not connected or related to anything in particular, no uniform – just rugged edges.  But as I look a little closer, as I pray for guidance and clarity, I am beginning to see that in fact they’re not rugged edges at all but rather puzzle pieces that are fitting perfectly together – all of the odd little pieces are telling the same big story.

I am sure I will still have my bad moments. My doubtful moments. My anxious and angry moments. But my goal is that as I grow in my understanding of God’s goodness, I can learn to trust Him easier. That I can see my pain in light of the cross. And that I can have faith to know that even when I can’t see the big picture, that He is laying the puzzle pieces exactly where they need to be laid.

I am going to heed this idea of rest. I’m going to take a break from fertility treatments. I’m going to try to learn to sit. And I believe He sees me thrown headlong in His arms too. He holds me and has chosen to rescue me. And I believe He is going to answer my prayers. He is going to dry my tears. He is going to give me a song to sing.

Isn’t it wonderful that we don’t have to face our low times alone?  I am thankful that I have a God who sustains me even when my trust falters.  HE is faithful, even though I am undeserving.  He is good.  And I am blessed.