I stared at the doctor while he waited for my response. His last few sentences silently played in my head, on repeat, with his gentle expression and question lingering in the air between us:

“Do you want to try the medication now, and see if it might help?”

We’d been in this ongoing conversation for almost a year. We’d been over the risks and possible side effects. We’d talked through what had been going on for years, with even more intensity this past year. It had become part of our family’s normal, and the doctor reminded us that maybe this medication would help it be less normal. Every three months for nearly a year, we picked the conversation back up — after trying other things, waiting it out, researching, and considering all the options again. Is medication something that might help? Is this the next right step?

I’ve never been against medication. In every way, I thought I was 100% for it… and yet, this recent consideration uncovered some resistance within me. I felt hesitation every time the question came up.

Why was I resisting? Was the hesitation my gut instinct? The Holy Spirit? Was this hesitation spiritual? Or, was it fear and misplaced pressure I put on myself to be able to make everything right in my own power, for this person I loved?

Sitting in the doctor’s office that day, I knew I could no longer get around the thick wall that had arisen over time. Day after day, another layer of cement had been poured. It was as if this figurative wall kept rising and growing wider with time, unashamed about erecting itself in the middle of our home. I studied it. I tried to figure out how to pull it down. I prayed over it in circles. I pounded it with my fists. And last spring, it was as if I stared at it and finally saw a word spray-painted across the expanse of it in all caps: “HELP.”

Someone I loved needed help that I couldn’t provide, no matter how many things I read or tried. No matter how many times I flipped back through my memory, trying to figure out what I did or didn’t do enough of that led us to this point, I came up short.

I recited a million if onlys and lay awake through the dark hours of the night wondering what I missed, and how I could’ve missed something in the first place that set us on this downward spiral. Was it the pandemic lockdowns? Was it the layers of raising a mixed-race family in America during this cultural moment? Every question I asked and every new “fix the problem” thing to try led me to another dead end, and another hour of crying in the dark on my closet floor. 

So, finally, last May, we said yes, we need help. And this summer, that help looked like surrender to a small, daily pill. 

We all find resistance within us at times. Sometimes it’s quiet and other times loud. Sometimes our resistance protects us from harm and is a healthy caution, but other times it is the thing that’s keeping us from exactly what we need most.

Peter’s resistance to Jesus’ washing his feet came to mind multiple times this past year, and I saw my own resistance in Peter’s quick response at the Passover meal.

He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?”

 Jesus replied, “You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.”

“No,” said Peter, “you shall never wash my feet.”
John 13:6-8 NIV

I imagine Peter feeling as if refusing Jesus’ foot washing was the more spiritual way. While the context is not the same as my own, I can relate to Peter’s pride and to Jesus’ words that he doesn’t realize what He’s doing, but will later understand.

I reread my journals professing how I would trust God for good and help. Yet when He showed up in our doctor’s office with a slow and seemingly non-miraculous offer — one that came with possible side effects — I resisted. Like Peter, staring at Jesus with a bowl of water and a towel, I didn’t want His help to come that way.

The more I acknowledge my limitations, the more I understand that resistance is almost always an invitation. Feeling resistant is an invitation to further exploration. It’s an opportunity to be curious, a feeling to lean towards with grace-filled questions, and something that can ultimately lead to a deeper trust in and surrender to Jesus.

Maybe you feel resistance towards being vulnerable in your own needs and limitations, or receiving help for yourself or for someone you love. Maybe you feel resistance towards people who look and live differently than you. Maybe you feel resistant to a new perspective or re-considering an opinion you’ve held onto for years.

What do you do when you feel that uncomfortable sensation that says to run or hide or refuse?

A few questions to ask and a prayer to pray when we feel resistance:

1. What messages have I heard about this thing or person I feel resistance to? Who were they from? Why do I believe them?
2. What would Jesus say about those messages?
3. What am I afraid of?

Inhale: God, help me see through the layers of my resistance. 

Exhale: Release me from fear and pride, and give me the courage to receive what I need most from You.

 

Listen to Tasha’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast wherever you stream.

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