Holding Faith by Fingernails

by Stephanie McCall

Ladies, most of you know Stephanie but if you don't she is a dear gifted sister.  I am so glad she was willing to share some of her  inner "wrestlings with the Lord"  about her life and desires here.   Whether it is an encouragement to you  or a reminder to encourage and pray for her I hope (as I know she does) that the Lord will speak to you through it today!

Several years ago, during high school, I went to Lake Toxaway Baptist Church to hear a guest speaker, David Ring. If you’re not familiar with him, he has cerebral palsy. His case is more severe than mine—if I remember correctly, he uses a wheelchair. He also slurs when speaking. But David is a powerful speaker, and possesses powerful faith. During his presentation, he said he’d been told he’d never be married or have a family. He’s a husband and a dad. He lives a normal life. And along with him, other disabled people—blind people, wheelchair-users, even those with Down Syndrome—live normal lives.

I don’t think it started with David Ring, but I have a fantasy of being like him. I have a vision of getting up onstage in front of the church family who loves me and announcing that the impossible happened—that I’m a homeowner, a writer, a wife, and a mom. I picture myself praising God for what He did, because if He did these things, believe me, He’d get every ounce of credit.
From time to time, I’ve even wondered what it would be like if God chose to cure my CP. He did it for Marlene Kleppes, a severely disabled woman featured years ago on the 700 Club. Why not me, too? I’ve been bold enough to pray for it—facedown, nose in the carpet.

Except, that’s the ending. And so far, God has not allowed me to testify about the ending. See, I’m a writer, but Jesus stubbornly refuses to give me control of my own pen (or typing fingers, if you have to get technical). He writes one page of my story per day, and that day, one page is all I get to see. No skipping ahead, no guessing, no nothing. It’s cheating.

So far, this twenty-five chapter story (wow, now I feel old), is a good one. I spent chapters 18-24 in grad school, getting the straight A’s I never got in public school, no thanks to geometry and algebra. (Thank goodness for salvation; I’m pretty sure geometry’s what they do Down There.) In chapter 22, I got to go to Europe, something everybody else said disabled people never did. I’ve been shown incredible mercy despite big mistakes. Throughout the story, I’ve had a great biological and church family, and some lovely friends. I’ve had some great spiritual moments, and even been invited to tell my story to an appreciative audience.

But right around Chapter 24, the story stalled. I came home from grad school hoping for my first real job, but there was no work for someone with a Master’s in English. No thanks to CP, relocation was not a viable option. I couldn’t even drive a car to escape the house that, after about a year, threatens to close in on me sometimes. Add in some heavy personal issues, and I started to think Satan snatched the keyboard. My faith felt totally sabotaged. When I prayed, ugly words would enter my consciousness. I wasn’t saying them; I know who they came from. But there they were. I fought off thoughts like, "What good is God?" When disasters like the Japanese earthquake and tornado after tornado happened, I wrestled with the idea, "God doesn’t care about them, and certainly not me." I wondered if I was a big joke to God—a gifted woman He created, yet gave a disability, just to play with. You know, lead on and then drop. Without warning, I faced the tough questions I blithely and blindly thought a good church girl—who’d even been a legalist once—would never have to deal with. And there wasn’t a purpose for any of it. Every day for the past year, with few exceptions, has been exactly the same. For the first time, I looked right at God and said, "I won’t go into it for fear of what I’ll do or say, but I’m angry with you."

I’ve been holding faith by my fingernails for the toughest year in my life, and it’s a miracle my manicure hasn’t chipped. I have screamed at God, "I don’t care what you do, I’m not leaving!"—while He allowed Satan to turn up the heat on his new favorite teabag. Welcome to Sovereignty 101, class.

We’re taught that God knows what He’s doing. We’re taught to trust Him no matter what. But we think "no matter what" is something we’d pull out if we were, say, thrown in prison for our faith. We never think about "no matter what" applying if we break a bone, lose a job, flunk a class, divorce, or lose a child. Unfortunately, those situations are when Sovereignty 101 is the toughest.

I’m still waiting for Final Exam Day in Sovereignty 101. But in the meantime, I’m learning a lot, especially about love. See, I have frequently told God I trust Him—that should He want to "shelve" me permanently, I know He’ll make it okay. I suppose, like the perfectionist academician I am, such effort to trust would show Him I was serious. I thought that refusing to walk away from faith, tempting though it is at times, would make Him proud of me.

The other day, I prayed again, nose in the carpet, for healing from CP—either physical healing or the kind that comes from proof that I am not the outcast woman I see in the mirror. And I told God that if He said no, if I never left my parents’ house, if a man never held me in his arms—that He’d make it okay. Except He said,

"If I gave you these things, it would be because I love you."
 "God loves me" is not Comparative Literature in the 18^th Century. After hearing Monica say it in countless Touched by an Angel episodes, you’d think I’d get it. Maybe I won’t until I get to the ending. In the meantime, I’ll wait, and leave you with this post.


Blessings,
Stephanie McCall