Now I know what fear is.

Last Sunday I read 1 Corinthians Chapter 15. (I love Sundays, especially when the service in a language I don't understand. I can read my bible!) This chapter talks about the promise of the resurrection. A new body, a gift of the Lord, of heaven. Vs. 42...(The body is sown in corruption, it is raised in in corruption, It is sown in disowner, it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness, it is raised in power. It is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body. There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body.

That picture that my body, our bodies are seeds, waiting to be planted, so that we can become what we were created to be stuck with me.  My body is a seed that is in the process of being cultivated, matured and made ready, for each step. All who love Jesus and believe in hope and do more than believe, but live for it, live for Him, will receive a new body.

Now, being 26 years old, I haven't had all that much time to experience real fear. Real cold, ohmyblank fear. I also haven't had alot of experiance with the fear of the body not functioning correctly. With strangeness, with things out of order and just plain not right. Not until the 23rd of November.

We were sitting around the breakfast table with a host who spoke French with an incredibly thick accent. My unit members had trouble understanding her, and one of them is a native French speaker. She was telling the story of her husbands horrible accident, that left him paralyzed for 17 years, and they were piecing together the story, (trying to understand her) when my husband seemed to interrupt everything with a sweeping gesture and a mumble, and then he was out. His head rolled down, his eyes vacant, and I shouted his name and sprung up to him. The woman on our team, who had nanny experience, stayed cool as a cucumber and told me to hold his head, and I wasn't really able to focus on anything. I heard her say that it was good that he was still breathing, but I just cried and held his head and said "Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus" I babbled something about the fact that maybe he fainted but I didn't know why.

Well duh, I should have known why! We were talking about a horrific bloody (literally bloody, not the British rude slang bloody) accident, and he can't really handle the idea of blood. But logic kind of takes a backseat when something so scary happens. I held his head and when he came to, I was debating about finishing my sob's in the bathroom or trying to pull myself together there. I think my heart finally started beating normally again about 3 hours later. I hung back until I could fall into his arms.

Fear loosened up my tongue. I wouldn't have cared if we were sitting at the table of a person that would have killed me for speaking Jesus name. That's the only thing I was able to say at that moment. The only worthwhile thing I could say.

And it's hitting me, how temporary this life is, how important my actions, decisions and attitudes are and how much more choosy I should be about my battles. I am learning this everyday.

Giving up is not an option. There is no such thing as a day off from being a Christian, for pushing ahead, from  yielding to his will for our lives. The Lord is not there to supply comfort, or fill any demands. He took the cross because of his great love for us.  How are we using the gifts he gave us? How are we preparing our seed for his kingdom?