I saw the woman in the chair; she was in church again today.
Someone said they’ve sold their house; they’re going to move away.
No! I cried, they cannot go; they cannot move away.
I didn’t get to know her; there’s something I need to say:
Please tell me your secret; I want to sit at your feet,
I need to know how you handle the pain that is your daily meat,
How do you keep on smiling when each day your health gets worse?
How do you keep depending on God when you’re living with a curse?
Every time I see her, her smile comes from deep within.
I know her fellowship with God isn’t scarred by the chair she’s in.
She admits her health is failing; she knows she’s fading away.
How can she remain so calm when I’m running away?
My friend, can you tell me how you can trust the Lord
How can you stay so gentle and sweet when He seems to wield a sword?
You are to me a promise even in the midst of pain
God is near and faithful if I will turn to him again.
When I heard the former poem, it became my prayer. But then this afternoon, Dr. H took my daughter to the park, so I played the piano for a while. I didn’t get through one song until my fingers became super tired. What was going on? My fingers might be out of shape, but when they are tired, I lose feeling and function. I grew frustrated, as my nap that day hadn’t gone well. So I wrote this next poem.
I am the woman in the chair; I go to church every week.
We’ve just moved again, so I’m new, but let me speak:
It’s true I lean on God for everything, and I’m strong because of Him.
I try to get involved, try and find friends in the community within.
But sometimes I want to cry, just cry.
“It’s not fair!” I yell. “Why me, Lord? Why?”
Why is my illness progressing? Why am I losing function?
Why am I the woman in the chair, the one receiving so many assumptions?
Why do I deal with chronic fatigue, amongst so much more?
It ruins my day, my motherhood, and even my simple chores.
But then His calming presence softly wraps around me.
“I’m still here,” He says. “It’s okay. Just be.”
I sigh as I let it all go. “It’s so hard,” I whisper into His shoulder.
I feel His embrace, and it somehow makes me boulder.
“How did you do it?” I ask. “When You walked the earth?”
“By leaning into My Father,” came the reply. “He’ll show you your worth.”
My eyes were suddenly opened to scripture, as I recalled His promises.
I am salt and light, adopted, and redeemed. I am justified, and I am His.
It doesn’t matter what comes next, because He always will be.
Things might be hard, but my God, He lives in me.
So I can be strong and praise Jesus with my everything.
It’s Him I trust, for health and for life. He is my King.
Anna E Meyer
I have heard people come up to me and tell me what an inspiration I am. I shrug, because I just do what I do, and I make do with what I have. But if someone is encouraged because I keep moving forward? Praise Jesus. Paul said, in Philippians 1, “For me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” I hope I can show Christ in my life. I know that one day I will walk and run again. I remember telling my two year old that same thing, so she stopped and prayed right then and there it would happen soon. My life is hard, but Jesus’ life was harder. So many of the early apostles were tortured and killed, all to the advancement of the church. Everyone knew about it and praised God that they were honored to share in Christ’s suffering. It’s hard to see it that way nowadays. Dr.H is reading a book and discussing it with me. “When Jesus Weeps: Why Our Sufferings Matter to the Almighty,” by Joni Eareckson Tada and Steven Estes (where I found the first poem). We are not but a third of the way through it, but boy, is it good. After playing a little piano this afternoon, I felt depressed and defeated. But the Lord speaks to me through my writing.
I’m the lady in the chair, and I think I’ve cooled down.
I’m a child of the Most High, so I’ll just adjust my crown.
I read scripture every night as I go to bed.
His Word is comforting, as I lay my head.
I write to my Lord and sing His praises every day.
I now understand that He’s the potter; I’m the clay.
Stealing lyrics, I’ll sing: Take my life and form it,
Take my mind, transform it. Take my will, and conform it
To Yours, to Yours, oh Lord.
I’ll stand with You and drawn sword.
I don’t understand why I’ve got this disease,
But You work through Your children as You please.
Because of my life You’ve reached another,
And I don’t need to know reason any other.
Christ suffered while on earth, as well.
You understand and comfort as You tell
Of all the good things waiting for us in paradise.
You’ve made us Yours, You’ve paid the price.
All I can do is praise you today.
All I can write is how I love you always!
Anna E. Meyer
An hour or two after I wrote the first poem, I sat down to write the one above. I can be angry, and then the Lord swoops in somehow and makes me feel better. By reading scripture. Hearing a song, where the words just speak that day. More writing. There are a lot of things that I, a mere human, don’t understand. My dad always said, “Ask God when you get to heaven.” My daughter, now 5, stops and prays right there that she can find out BEFORE she gets to heaven.
I do not even know how to end this blog post. Maybe I will start writing more. Whichever the case, be blessed, my friends!