The Absurd and Amazing Adventures of Cafe Girl: Fixing It

May 11, 2009

Fixing It

For the first time in my 31 years of life, I find that I have no power to fix it. "It" being whatever is the current problem with me. For the most part, "it" involves me, something I have said, done, or rather not said or not done. "It" involves some unresolved issue from the past, some piece of baggage I've been carrying around. "It" involves me not listening to God. "It" involves my weaknesses, my hopelessness, my despair. "It" is always about something being wrong with me, hence the need to fix "it."

Fixing usually involves me hitting rock bottom, having a moment clarity, and then resolving that enough is enough. I find some modicum of strength, pull myself together, rise from the ashes and move on. This process of rising from the ashes is unbelievably empowering. I love that moment of finding that last bit of steel within me and having it solidify into something that makes me stand a little straighter, a little taller. I've always known that my will is strong, that no matter what life has thrown at me, my sheer strength of will ultimately wins out. I've always thought my will to be one of my strengths, one of my better characteristics.

But for once, much to my surprise, I find myself unable to muster anything even resembling strength. I am unable to fix "it." I have looked and I can't find the steel. I want to retreat. I want to lay on the couch in a fetal position. If I had any semblance of an appetite, I would want to eat cupcakes. I just don't have it in me. I can't fix "it."

Throughout my life, I've often prayed that God would just "fix it" -- the problem, the pain, whatever the issue is. I often believe that His fixing it would look a lot like the way I would fix it. Quick, simple, gather it together, move on. I'm starting to rethink this. God's fixing can certainly be quick, or it can be a slow, languid process. I think it's easy to miss what God is doing, since it looks nothing like what I would do. God not "fixing it" the way I would is both intensely frustrating and also oddly comforting. Frustrating because I can't see how God can possibly "fix it" His way. But comforting because I know what I would do to fix it, and sometimes, what I would do pushes, chafes, and wears down. It isn't so much "fixing it" as much as forcing the pieces together with Gorilla Glue.

So here I am pretty much at rock bottom. I'm in pieces, with not a tube of Gorilla Glue in sight. What I have left is the ability to muster up a weak cry to God. "Fix it," I whisper into the quiet of the night, "Please."

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