On Norris, Chuck

(started in February 2011, finished Jan. 2013)

As I write this, I am writhing in pure agony, afflicted by the evil plague that is Cedar Fever.  Cedar Fever is a foul punishment, a pox unleashed upon mankind to make atonement for our sins; to give us a taste of hellfire and damnation; to push us to repentance for fear of this kind of suffering for all eternity.  Lord, take me now!

When I'm sick, I get cranky, and crabby, and downright irritable. I snap at loved ones, I absent mindedly make harsh remarks to those that try to help me, and I'm just mean to little old ladies. So I must wonder, "why?"

I hate being weak. I hate the idea that I may be weak enough to actually get sick. I want to feel invincible, and being sick robs me of this delusion. It's my pride being killed, being dragged through the street and beaten with sacks full of nickels. As much as I may say that the Lord is in control, truthfully I'm only okay with that idea when I feel like I have the ability to relinquish control at any time. "The Illusion of Control." It's laughable, really. The idea that we have any power over the actions of others, or the actions of the universe, or even inanimate objects. I can eat the carrot, but if the carrot didn't want to be eaten, it will let me know soon enough by trying to come back up.

Every so often I watch my friend Matt's daughter Bella. She's about 3. When she's not feeling well she cries, she pouts, she becomes unruly and uncooperative. Sadly, the same can be said for me. I think sickness is the reminder that we are not in control, that we need to be cared for. It's a great equalizer, in that way. It doesn't matter how awesome you may think you are, you will get sick. John Stewart gets sick and needs his wife to care for him. Barack Obama gets sick and needs Secret Service to bring his chicken noodle soup. Chuck Norris doesn't get sick.
(I wish I were Chuck Norris)

A story I've heard often:
A man is hitchhiking and gets a ride from a man in a pickup. The driver tells the hitchhiker to hop in the bed of truck, and starts driving once his passenger is aboard. Looking back, he sees the hitchhiker standing up in the bed, still clutching his backpack. The driver tells him to sit down, put the backpack down, and relax. The passenger responds, "You were kind enough to give me a ride, I couldn't dare to impose on you by having you carry my bag as well."

Of course, this story is preposterous. Any rational human would put their bag down in the truck and relax. But lo, we aren't always rational.

Too often does God help us, give us a ride, give us direction or purpose, and in the face of His Grace and Mercy, we accept but refuse to lay down our burdens. Be it our pasts, our sins, our pride, our weakness, our flaws, we refuse to let Him carry it.

It's akin to that penultimate scene from the Lord of the Rings trilogy, when, dying on the side of Mount Doom, Samwise offers to carry the One Ring for Frodo. Frodo responds that he cannot, for it would destroy him. Samwise then does the only thing available to him: he carries Frodo.

Yes, I'm tearing up as I think about it. Too often must God carry me because I'm stubborn and bullheaded and refuse to share my burden with him, when all along I've been in His hands, burden and all!

He doesn't want us to be weak constantly, but He does want us to acknowledge our weakness, and in doing so, His strength. It's okay to be weak. It means that we're human. And in acknowledging our humanity, we acknowledge His Divinity. He'll gladly carry us, burdens and all, if only we'd stop trying to be divine ourselves and just be human.