Stuck in the wonders of scripture we read about Leah and her sister Rachel. We see the two daughters of Laban have become Jacob’s wives. We must step into Genesis 29 to see more.
Jacob longs for Rachel. She is his “soul mate” and because he’s in love, the customs and technicalities of the day somehow get by him. Because of this, he will have to take on Laban’s subtle trickery, where daughters get exchanged, and we must sort out who is who.
Laban’s deception creates a huge crisis for everyone.
But it seems Jacob just rolls with it. I suppose deception has always been Jacob’s strong suit. (But when we see a deceiver like Jacob gets deceived, that can’t be all bad).
But it’s Leah that I tend to think about. Her own issues are unique. Genesis 29 explains it a bit cryptically,
“Leah’s eyes were weak, but Rachel was beautiful in form and appearance.”
Genesis 29:17
You must know that there is confusion by commentators about the “weak eyes.” Some take it literally (as in, she is very “near-sighted,”) while others who look at the original Hebrew find the words to be a bit looser and vague. They tend to think that this is a polite way of saying she really wasn’t pretty.
She is wounded, and life requires that she live as unwanted. She is a woman of tragedy and broken hopes and dreams. She will always live as a reject. At best, she will always be a distant second, and perhaps a bit scorned and neglected for this.
I conclude that Leah is the champion for the challenged.
I love Leah and I think I understand her.Her life is a long tragedy and very full of sadness. For the next 30-40 years she will always be a cast-off, someone who has been broken on life’s bitter vagaries. She’s a fellow struggler, and a survivor.
Her sad life is comparable to us who have to fight so hard over our own illness or handicaps.
She must’ve been challenged by her terrible weakness. I understand this. My own life has been “topsy-turvy” and a really hard struggle. Somehow it seems we must work through these things way too much.
It doesn’t seem fair.
For those of you who are confined to a wheelchair, or must use a cane, or who deal with a physical or mental illness. Leah should be our hero. For those who have been betrayed by addiction, or who have felt rejected through a bitter divorce– Leah speaks to us.
She is for every loser and for failures of all stripes. But through all of our setbacks and messes, we must realize that God does love us– even as we weep.
We may have Leah’s eyes, but we also have His grace.
An Archbishop was given an ultimatum by the Huns who surrounded his cathedral. “You have 24 hours to bring your wealth to these steps”, the war-leader declared. The next morning the Archbishop came out leading the poor, the blind, the lame, and the lunatics. “Where is your treasure? Why have you brought out these, people?” The Archbishop calmly replied, “These are the treasures of the Church— these who are weak are our valuables. They make us rich.”
As Christians often our theology dictates that mental illness: ADHD, depression, and bipolar disorder have no place in the believer’s life. Physical illnesses like fibromyalgia, migraines, diabetes and epilepsy are also denied. So we hide, sneaking into our sessions with our therapists, and our doctors appointments. We change the subject to minimize our exposure to direct questions. The pressure to hide is very strong.
But I would suggest to you that we are closest to the Kingdom of God as broken people. It seems that it is far easier for us to approach the Father–in our brokenness and lostness, than whole people can. We understand we have needs; a sound mind, a healthy body and we know it. We have no illusions of wellness, nothing can convince us that we are well. We are not. We are broken and only our loving creator can mend us.
You might say that the Church needs us.
But I am afraid the the Western Church no longer sees its “treasures” like it should. In our pride we have operated our churches like successful businesses. We value giftedness more than weakness. We definitely have no room for the desperately sick or weak. Maybe it’s time for the Church to begin to act like Jesus?
Church isn’t where you meet. Church isn’t a building. Church is what you do. Church should be a verb. Church is who you are. It’s what you do for others. The Church should be the human out-working of the person of Jesus Christ.
God is not calling us to go to church, rather He wants us to be the Church. Our mission field is waiting for us.
How do you handle pain as a believer? What do you do when you want to curl up in a ball and want to die? Understand that pain isn’t in God’s original plan. We who are hurt have got to be very much aware of this.
There are many different kinds of pain: post-surgical, chronic, and self-inflicted. The pain of separation or divorce or misguided children can get pretty destructive. There’s the pain of misunderstanding or something inflicted by a bad relationship with someone.
There are far too many possibilities and far too much hurt to go around.
At times you can’t even imagine how you’re going to handle another day. Sometimes the doctors have the arrogance to tell you that you need to get used to it because it’s never going to get better. So now you must sort things out–and apart from a miracle, it’s only going to get worse. I understand this. Truly.
Here are ten thoughts that come to my mind. They’re not in any order. (Maybe they should be? IDK.)
One
Treat false humility as a worse disease than you’re facing physically. You’ll be very tempted to milk your pain for all its worth. You’ll try to take advantage of others, and you’ll put yourself in the best possible light. But pain and ego were never meant to mix–especially as a disciple of Jesus. Renounce them now. Turn from it constantly.
Two
Never find fault with God. He’s not to blame whatever the evil one tells you. Our Father loves you deeply, and He will carry you all the way through this. Satan always tells lies. You must take a stand against him. Put on your armor! Super-glue Ephesians 6:19-18 into your thought life–and never let go!
Three
You can never lose track of a very real eternity. My special verse is Revelation 21:4, “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.” Please keep this front and center. It’ll help a lot!
Four
You’ll start to learn to see others differently. There’ll always be another who has it worse. Think about them, and all that they must deal with. It helps a lot. Also, you’ll discover that your pain will be like new glasses for a strange source of spiritual astigmatism. You’ll see things far more clearly now.
Five
Your walk will deepen. You’ll learn to be joyful when all you want to do is cry. The littlest things become a cause of great joy. God values your singing more now, especially when you’re singing out of excruciating pain. The Word, and worship music, all seem to be more meaningful. Surround yourself with music (and preaching too), anything that builds you up inside.
Six
You’ll discover the art of weaving your pain into your discipleship. Sleepless nights become diving boards for prayer, reading, and worship. You’ll change and deepen, and that’s always good. Also, be open to new ways of ministry. Look for doors to open up. (They may be different than you think.)
Seven
You’ll discover that there can be solace in medications and treatment. I know that this, but sometimes a handful of Motrin or other pain meds will be a real relief. Also, listen closely to your doctor and therapist. Pray for them, pray they’ll have special wisdom for your situation.
Eight
You start to see that you’ll never be able to do this alone. God is giving you a gift. He will give you insight. You’ll also start to see people less in terms of ‘rank’ and more in the light of what they’ve had to suffer. As you begin to see pain and sorrow as odd friends, they’ll often show you who your true brothers and sisters are.
Nine
You’ll understand the Father’s love in a new way. Like an old-style pharmacist who measured out powder instead of pills, we find God measures out exactly what we need. He never gives you a single grain of medicine more than is necessary. Trust him. All that happens to you has come through nail-pierced hands. He understands pain and He understands you.
Ten
You must learn to laugh again. Little things become a source of real joy. The smallest things will make you laugh. Get a joke book, that may help, especially when you get sour and withdrawn. “A cheerful disposition is good for your health; gloom and doom will leave you bone-tired” (Pro. 17:22, MSG).
(This list is not complete. I apologize, there are many others that really should be added, but maybe this is a start.)
Also–just one more (number 11 maybe?) Be easy on yourself. You’ll find that you’ve much to learn. And that’s okay. Just open up your heart, and look to Jesus.
We must be aware that our pain allows us access to His careful grace. Our trials, properly received, endow us with special abilities.
They’re now our new ‘superpowers.’ 😁
You should learn to embrace your pain and your sorrows, and not many can do this. Our own suffering comes to us at too high of a cost to us. They’re precious and way too valuable to neglect. Squeeze them and extract all that they can give.
Here’s a quote that has always sustained me. It’s really good for me to remember, and it may help you.
“Some Christians are called to endure a disproportionate amount of suffering. Such Christians are a spectacle of grace to the church, like flaming bushes unconsumed, and cause us to ask, like Moses: Why is this bush not burned up?'”
–John Newton
Exodus 3:2-3
A good site is Joni Eareckson Tada. She’s a believer who has suffered a great deal and has a ministry to the afflicted, Joniandfriends.org.
I have another site you might want to checkout: alaskabibleteacher.com.
“I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go;I will counsel you with my eye upon you.”
Psalm 32:8
In April 2002, I was sitting in a cavernous waiting room at King’s Crossin London, England. I was waiting for a bus to Cambridge, UK. I sat all alone and stared at the tiled floor at my feet. The doctors had warned me not to travel alone, but I ignored their advice.
And now I was starting to really unravel.
Depression had followed me all the way from Alaska to England. I had pushed my limits and was completely drained and was becoming very confused. I began to cry out to the Lord, very desperately. Sometimes madly. (Read Psalm 88.)
As I sat there staring intensely at the floor, several pigeons seemed to put on a show, just for me. They were fat little guys, apparently scratching out a good living. Several very large windows were open, and these pigeons seemed to have no fear as they took advantage of a meal from bored travelers.
All of a sudden something very odd happened.
A pigeon came across the floor and “presented” himself, right square in front of me. I watched him intently and saw that he was crippled, one of his feet was nothing more than a twisted claw. He had been profoundly injured in such a way, that he would never be the same. He was damaged, and yet somehow he was surviving, but even more, and he was thriving!
It was like experiencing a lightning bolt. God’s own light switch was being flipped.
I saw that pigeon, and I saw myself, and it was a moment of clarity, a shining grace. In the mega-hustle of 13.6 million people in London, and in the midst of my own profound mental crisis, I knew God’s caring touch and it gave me real grace, love, and goodness–far greater than all my sin and confusion. He was just letting me know that He was very, very close. (See Psalm 34:18.)
I had seen my damaged pigeon, completely oblivious to self-pity.
I started to call out to the Father out of my confusion. Within a few minutes, I found myself sitting on the top level of a double decker bus, with the driver aware of my problems and who specifically drove me to the place I was staying.
I was being cared for. Between a crippled pigeon and the dutiful ministrations of a bus driver, I’d finally found my hotel. (See Matthew 6:26.)
I have come to realize that this trip to England was not for me to see Big Ben, Parliament, or wander the academic schools of Cambridge University. Rather I was brought there to make contact with a certain pigeon, who was waiting to meet me and pass on vital instructions.
The Father shared things that I need to know. British castles and churches are beautiful and worth seeing but I must admit I’ve forgotten much. I hope I can return someday.
But on this trip, all I really needed to see was a crippled English pigeon who was just waiting to meet me.
Broken Believers 