Handicapped Hearts

Sunday morning I got up. I got dressed. I groomed and cleaned up and "got my act together." It was Sunday after all. We were going to a new church. Since Josh and I just married and moved to Austin, Texas, we haven't found a church we could call home yet.

I had a lot on my mind…as usual. My thoughts went a little like this:

I wonder if I'm dressed appropriately...

I wonder if I look as heavy as I feel...

I wonder if the preaching at this church will be solid...

I wonder if I'll approve of the music...

I wonder if I’ll fit in with the people…

I wonder if I look as insecure as I feel...

I wonder if I have performed up to par this week...

I wonder if I even understand the gospel...

I wonder if God does actually accept me as I am...

I wonder...I wonder...I wonder....

I wondered myself all the way up the stairs and down the halls past several people at coffee stations and greeting posts, right past high schoolers and parents, scuffling kids, squealing girls, and flannel-wearing hipsters….

Thoughts (judgments) about these people and their lives piled themselves into the Wondermobile until my mind was full of a ruckus of thoughts. However, the breaks were momentarily applied when I walked up to see a man in a wheelchair welcoming us into the sanctuary. Whether his handicaps were given to him at birth or somewhere along the way to this moment in time, I may never know. I observed that he couldn't have been out of his thirties.

He said good morning in a strained, wavering voice. I looked at him and smiled.

I had felt that man tug the neatly tied bow of my heartstrings, but thoughts are so sneaky. Before I knew it, I was straightening the laces saying almost subconsciously, "You should feel good. I bet your earnest smile brightened his day." Just like that, I was back to wondering again.

An hour and a half later I walked out of church with tears running down my cheeks, no longer captivated by what people thought of me, though I'm sure people noticed.

"Maybe she experienced God's presence."

"Maybe the poor girl is overwhelmed with conviction."

"Maybe the music moved her to repentant worship."

Nobody would have guessed what put my heart on its knees.

Yes the music was well played. Yes. The sermon was powerful and convicting. Yes, I can say I experienced God. But I experienced God...through him.

As the first few songs played, I wrestled with my thoughts about the music, feeling a bit put out because it was "just so loud" or I didn't know the song...and that's when I saw him. The man in the wheelchair. I remember feeling glad that he was sitting just a few rows ahead of me.

After the preaching of the word, I could feel that the numbness of anxious business had begun to fade. I was still slightly distracted by my urge to get out of the huge room before the masses poured out, but I started to sing. I knew the song. I longed to really let everything go and worship. As my lips did what my heart could not, I heard someone over the crowd. My eyes fell on the man. The man in the wheelchair. 

I know God did that on purpose.

I know He foreordained that I’d have a front row seat to probably the most beautiful worship service I've ever seen. Crooked hands waved upwards in awkward motions and his head though hard to steady was thrown back and I could hear him singing, singing the power and love of Jesus. Singing in a tuneless, wailing voice the thanks for forgiveness to glory of God. Even now the memory of this moment makes me want to weep as I did watching him then. I realized that I was the one with the handicapped heart.

While my able-bodied soul sat weighed down and tied up by selfish anxieties and the fear of man’s disapproval, questioning if I could come to God as I am, this man who struggles everyday just to use the muscles in his fingers was offering up the fragrant aroma of a whole-hearted hallelujah. Hindered in body, but free in spirit. And suddenly I longed to be like him. 

What a reminder that Jesus came for the weak, the lame, the sick, the helpless. Everyone is a perfect candidate for Christ because we all have these prerequisites. The human heart is at best a handicapped heart. The hindrance is is that "man looks on the outward appearance, while God looks at the heart." We get so tangled up in the “affairs of everyday life” and how we are perceived that we miss the point (2 Tim. 2). That morning, God gave me an opportunity to see a visible picture of my heart. Struggling to move, struggling to reach out, struggling to even sing and call upon His name, and yet He loves my feeble attempts. My broken chorus is pleasing to Him. 

Remember, that your identity is not in your family, your upbringing, your friends, your church, your job, your abilities or even your weaknesses. You want to please God? Lift up your weak, empty hands and accept His compassion. He's not looking for the person who stands the straightest, whose reach is unwavering. No. Christ said, "Let the little children come unto Me. Let the defenseless, ignorant, stumbling, emotion wrought, frightened, needy little child come and cling to Me. That's why I was crying! When it came down too it, I had remembered who I was and felt ashamed of what I'd been pretending to be:

Miss Put Together. Miss Make the Right Choice. Miss Present Your Best. 

None of that mattered in the face of God. I was just me, and when I finally opened my heart and raised my hands to worship, that was enough. 

Thank goodness God doesn't give up on us. Had I been able to thank that man Sunday morning, I would have told him how he'd humbled me. How watching him, reminded me of what true worship is. How he'd helped to bring healing to my handicapped heart that day.