Jesus wasn't excepting nor wanting me to be perfect in the way I thought of perfect. My version of perfection is a pedestal, a level that no one can reach where their body is impeccable, their academic record is flawless, and their personal life is unblemished. But Jesus Himself was battered and bruised, considered stupid by the religious leaders of the day, and had drama in His personal life.
What if we're not doing anything wrong? What if precisely where we are, who we are, what we're doing, and how were struggling is where God wants us to be? And what if, quickly and easily, God will lift our burden when He decides it's time?
Every diagnosis from a chronic, manageable illness like diabetes or Crohn's disease to a life-limiting diagnosis of chronic heart failure or cancer challenges us to grieve.
Our God is a God of miracles. Our God is a God of fulfilled promises. Our God provides and follows through.
Yet, my brain capacity is closer to that of a turtle than that of Our Heavenly Father. His wisdom is infinite. My is finite. I only know so much, and He knows so much more.
There's no physical nor scientific way Abraham saw the septillion stars of the universe and could fully understand God's promise to him. And neither can we.
Yet even Jesus, all-powerful, all-mighty, all-knowing Jesus, let go of His life into the Father's hands.