“It looked like fishing line all tangled up,” he said as he reviewed my most recent surgery. This was the third time my abdomen had been opened in three months. Now it would remain open until it healed from within. Home health nurses fished around in the open wound for another three months before God closed and sealed it.
Like the door on the ark, it took God. It would take complete submission to the Lord before healing took place. Complications from routine female surgery had left me depressed, confused and angry. Two weeks after the initial surgery, I was up and about proclaiming my health. Three weeks after, I was back in the hospital.
“God, what are you doing?”
“Patience, my child.”
“I would have eventually given you the glory, Lord.”
“Be still, my child.”
“It is not fair, God. Not fair!”
“Peace, my child.”
“Okay, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness and self control. I get it. You are giving me Fruits of the Spirit, right?” – “Lord, you still there?” – “Lord?”
It was then all hope left. I took the bait. Hook, line and sinker. Satan had me in self pity, guilt, fatigue and helplessness. I could barely get out of bed. Left alone, finding my way to church was one excursion I hated to attempt. And bypassing worship service, Satan was baiting me farther away from the shores of safety. Why did he have to come fishing around in my pond?
There was contamination and affliction in my soul and body. One surgeon had opened me, removed faulty equipment. Another had opened me and removed infection. Then the third surgeon went in and tackled the fishing line. The suture line was really close to the same strength as necessary for pulling in a baby whale. The first surgery went awry and dura-plexi-weighted- something or another - deep sea fishing line was used to sew my inwards.
Well, it was something real similar, and yet sterile that was used. But still, my body rejected it. It had to be removed and reattached from the other side. But that too drew infection. My body was contracting any bacteria capable of growing in an open would. Complete strangers had charge over me.
I had been fished, filleted, fried and fed to the enemy. I doubted seriously God‘s time would meet with my desires. I had Bible School and a mission trip coming up. And here I was playing bait and tackle with Satan.
Why do people fish? Some fish to survive. Some fish to display their trophy. Some fish to release, simply for the sport of it. Some sportsmen fish to remove overflow and allow growth. Which was it that the surgeon’s final procedure deemed? Why such a far cast? He had only to drop line and find the target and remove it, that I might survive.
That is what God had to do also. He had to go deep inside me, remove the infection and the tangled bait. For only He was capable of opening me up, cleansing my soul and untangling my worldly ways. He had to sit me down. I wouldn’t listen. So he put me to bed and made me still, patient, hopeful and desirous of serving Him. He closed my wound and He closed my fishing hole. Satan couldn’t just drop anchor any more. Christ had taken away his license a long time ago.
Fishing season was over. My body was healing and Bible school was waiting. Before I could meet the challenges of Bible school, God had to cleanse me and prepare me for thirty teenagers. Patience, stillness, and self control proved necessities. I was swimming with hungry sharks. I did not want to be fish bait. He untangled me just in time.
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