Professional Wrestler

I was reading the story this morning about how Jacob was bringing his large family back to the home he had come from and how he spent a night alone, wrestling with a Man. He came away with a limp and the blessing of a new name. It was such a defining moment for Jacob when he realized just Who he had been wrestling with that he named the place, 'Peniel',(pronounced-'Pen-eye-ul'-accent on the 'eye') meaning, "I have seen God face to face and my life is preserved."

Wrestling with siblings is part of the growing up process. My big boys still wrestle on the hardwood living room floor; howling, laughing, pinching, yelping, thumping, and sometimes, I hate to say it, biting. It is their way of saying, "I missed you so much. I am so happy to see you!" And it's all done in fun but it's still a bit hard on my nerves if the truth must be told and you know that it must.

I, myself, am a professional wrestler.

('Professional' as in one of Webster's definitions-
"having a particular profession as a permanent career.")

That's me, alright.

I wrestle with conflicting thoughts, bad eating habits, worry, doubt, fear.

But most of all, I wrestle with God.

I grasp His torso, trying to fling Him down,
while I gasp through gritted teeth,
"What do you think You are doing now?!"

He wrestles back without breaking a sweat
and replies, "Just trust me."

"Unbelievable!" I exclaim incredulously,
and push against His holding arms.

"I love you," He says. "And I love those you
love more than you do."

"It's not fair!" I shout and shove Him away.

He doesn't even stagger,
but comes closer for my next blow,
even while He says,
" I know."

"Then DO something!"
I try to trip Him and make Him
lose His balance.

"I have and I am," He says,
and shows me His hands.

I lock on to them with my own,
avoiding His scars.
I push and shove and
twist and turn,
my eyes of fury never leaving
His steadfast face.

And then I see His tears.

They run down into His beard
and it's just too much
and I give up my fight
and hold Him close,
wanting now, to comfort Him,
for He's weeping for me
and my layers of pain.

I feel His heart beating
and His lips kissing the top of my head
as He rocks me back and forth.

I hear His words,
"You can be angry with Me.
But be angry to My face.
Don't turn your back and be angry with Me.
Wrestle with Me face to face."

And I am quieted.
My Wounder has become my Healer.

I will wrestle Him again
I am sure.
Perhaps before the sun goes down.

But for now,
I walk with a limp
and bear a blessed new name
for I have wrestled with God
face to face
and have lived to tell.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Psalm 131~
Lord, my heart is not haughty,
Nor my eyes lofty.
Neither do I concern myself with great matters,
Nor with things too profound for me.

Surely I have calmed
and quieted my soul,
Like a weaned child with his mother;
Like a weaned child is my soul
within me.