Arms too short

²⁴ And Jacob was left alone. And a man wrestled with him until the breaking of the day. ²⁵ When the man saw that he did not prevail against Jacob, he touched his hip socket, and Jacob's hip was put out of joint as he wrestled with him. ²⁶ Then he said, “Let me go, for the day has broken.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.”

Genesis 32:24-26

Claire asked me if perhaps I was not able to communicate with the Lord because I was angry with Him.

“Good point,” I replied. “Sometimes I’m afraid to be angry with Him when I should have nothing but gratitude.” And I recall the line from Ted Loder’s prayer in Guerillas of Grace where he says, “I wander somewhere between gratitude and grievance.” Between gratitude and grievance—that space that feels so familiar to me. Always a little angry, a little guilty, a little frustrated, despite my desire to live in a never-ending glow of love and gratitude.

Claire reminded me of the passage in the Bible where Jacob wrestles all night with a man he first thought to be an angel. Later he realizes it was God himself wrestling with him. Jacob needed rest, but instead he spent the hours fighting with God, ultimately to find his faith strengthened. If Jacob could wrestle with God, then maybe it was something I should consider.

A few years back there was a musical on Broadway called, Your Arms Too Short to Box with God—unfortunately I never saw the show but the title was memorable enough and the image of a person trying to box with God, and failing because of short arms, obviously stuck with me. The phrase originated in a poem by African American poet James Weldon Johnson, who in a poem entitled The Prodigal Son wrote, “Young man—Young man—Your arm’s too short to box with God.”

So, with intention, in the privacy of my own home, I had it out with Himself. I sat on the sofa and spoke aloud, telling Him (as if He was hearing this for the first time—it is to laugh) everything that pissed me off in the history of my long life. I started with my grandmother dying, through the horrible dissolution of my marriage, to my present day bald head, and lots of other things among those highlights. He sat there and took it like a man. And I felt as empty as I felt after giving birth.

I wrestled with Him and He blessed me. The struggle left me feeling deep peace and a renewed faith. He didn’t care that I purged all that anger and shook my fist at Him. He just loved me, loved me in spite of my tangled human frailty. He loved me through my brokenness and ingratitude. He loved me despite my mistaken belief that I deserved something better than what He gave me.

His presence, His love, His never-ending patience was the only thing that was left. Gone the anger, the resentment, replaced by enormous love. And I realized that He is fighting with me, not to give me what I think I deserve, but to give me something much more than I deserve. He gives me a life better than anything I could imagine. His presence is so tangible sometimes, His love so real, that it takes my breath away.