Eighteen months ago I was going through a difficult time and barely coping. My nights were dark and lonely; my days anxious and painful. I was eventually persuaded to talk to someone qualified enough to deal with the dark cloud of issues that were hanging over my head. I had tried fixing myself but to no avail, which is when I wrote this post.
So I put my hands up, my head down and cried my broken heart out to the stranger with a comforting smile and warm eyes.
I expected him, this man, to fix me. He was the qualified one with years of experience and seemingly all the answers. He bought logic and faith and the complexities of human nature, and laid them all out on the table for me to process. He explained, listened and soothed. I talked, cried and laughed (while crying).
I did indeed find answers, comfort and support, and so much more. I would come with nothing to talk about, and we would end up having a great discussion that was always incredibly timely. Our sessions were a special thing that I grew to look forward to.
As the weeks, fortnights and months passed, it felt like my counsellor was fixing me.
Until one day, he went quiet and had a thoughtful disposition. “Are you working out what you’re going to do with me?” I joked. “No, I’m asking the Lord what He wants to do”, he smiled. In another session I expressed my frustration at not being able to overcome a particular issue. To which he said, “We’ve come to a point where we can’t talk anymore; we can only ask God to do the rest. You have done enough.”
I was relieved and felt a weight lift from my shoulders.
So I went away and I prayed “God, fix me. I need you. I can’t do this without you.” I prayed it again and again, day after day. This week, after months of regular visits to the soul doctor, I was deemed “fixed”. And though I was determined to forgive and process my issues, and my dedicated counsellor guided me through, it wasn’t just us that got me to this point.
I went to see someone for answers and comfort and support. I received all of that, but Jesus was the one to fix me, and is the One who will continue to fix me.
This morning I read this profoundly simple prayer in the book I’m reading called God on Mute, by Pete Grieg. It’s an achingly honest book that bravely explores questions that many Christians are too afraid to ask. I highly recommend it.
This is a prayer I will hold close and read many times in my life.
Oh yes, fix me, Jesus, fix me.
Fix me so that I can walk on
a little while longer.
Fix me so that I can pray on
just a little bit harder.
Fix me so that I can sing on
just a little bit louder.
Fix me so that I can go on despite the pain,
the fear, the doubt, and yes, the anger,
I ask not that you take this cross from me,
only that you give me the strength to continue carrying it onward ’til my dying day.
Oh, fix me, Jesus, fix me.
-African American Spiritual
I was never meant to fix myself and no one else was meant to either. Jesus is my fixer.
Do you believe that Jesus can fix you?