I crawled into the hospital bed next to my husband, wedging myself between the rail and his back. Wrapping my arms around him, I tried to soothe him back to sleep. After all, it was 1:00 in the morning and I had to be at work the next day. Despite my efforts, for the next hour he tossed about, wrestling in my arms while I told him that he needed his rest. Finally, he drifted back to sleep. After inching my way out of the hospital bed and back into my bed right next to him, I spent another hour with my 50-year-old muscles taking their time relaxing back into place. I reflected on how my husband trusted me enough to stay in bed even when he really didn't want to.
In the quiet, God spoke to my heart. "He's like you. You wrestle when all I'm trying to do is get you to rest in my arms. But that's ok, as long as you just trust me even when you are trying to look over My shoulder to see what is out there."
That moment was a shift for me. I had been making my relationship with God another "should" in my life. The thing that should literally be the least stressful part of my life had become stressful, because I was missing the bigger point: He is far more concerned that I hang in there with Him than about any "should" that I might worry about.
John called this "hanging in there" a victory: "For everyone who has been born of God overcomes the world. And this is the victory that has overcome the world—our faith." (1 John 5:4)
My favorite Old Testament prophet is Habakkuk. I love how he feels the freedom to ask God hard questions, because I too am a questioner. As I processed my own "wrestling" tendencies, I came across an encouraging fact: The name "Habakkuk" means both "to wrestle" and "to embrace". If you think of the way a wrestler wraps his arms around his opponent, you have a pretty good idea of the word picture. The picture of Jacob "wrestling" with the angel of the Lord reflects a similar idea. In Hope in the Dark, Craig Groeschel puts it this way: "It's like that kind of hug that wants both to cling to you and to push you away".
What I learned that night was that because of the disease that has affected his understanding, I know infinitely more than my husband about what is best for him. I know what needs to be done to keep him from over-fatigue or hurting himself. When he finally yielded to my efforts that night, my primary feeling was relief that he would be safe and rested. Similarly, God knows even more infinitely what is best for me, and He wants me to yield to His embrace, His protection. When I quit trying to get up and figure it out myself, He is relieved for me. But even in my wrestling, He remains there just loving me.
I'm not the first one to figure this out. Habakkuk starts his prophecy with these words: "How long, Lord, must I call for help, but you do not listen?" (Hab. 1:2) That's wrestling if I ever heard it. Throughout the short book he asks a lot of questions - and doesn't get many answers. What he does get is an intimacy with God Himself. He ends his prophecy with the profound realization, "The Lord is in his holy temple; let all the earth be silent before him." (Hab. 3:20).
My 'aha' moment that night came not in realizing that I "should" give up the wrestling forever, but that victory comes as I hold to faith by committing to do all my wrestling in His arms. He's with me even if the cycle looks like wrestle, embrace, repeat.
