I Can'ts

Robbed.

Another thing the illness took from me.

Another “I can’t” (for right now at least).

The words “I can do all things through Christ” as popularly plied mock. Truth is, I can’t do this. I can’t push on and complete it with some superhuman rush of adrenaline or to some martyr drumbeat. I can’t.I can't push through like a track athlete to a roaring stadium. I can't.

But Paul’s cry is not the popular slogan. I can do all things is not a cry of conquest but a cry of cross contentment in the context. Perhaps it is not a cry of “I will! I can!” but a cry of, “Not my will but your will be done.”

“Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:11-13).

Abraham and Isaac by Rembrandt

“Abraham, Abraham, your son, your only son….” Lord! How! My son! How can I….? The depths of Abraham's soul, his heart ached, his sobs rent his body, the very ground must have quaked with the weight of his sobs as he lay in his tent that dark night. But as tears spent themselves, I can do all things through my God, my Savior. Even sacrifice my everything, this I can’t, I can through my Savior. 

“Moses, because you did not honor me as holy, you will not enter the Promised Land.” But Lord, after so many years. My dream! My heart! Please, Adonai, El-Elohim, Yahweh-Nissi my Banner! Lead me there too! The sharp ache of disappointment bit deeply. The light-bright hope of 120 years of his life now turned to a crushing weight. But even as he mourned the crushing, contentment sweeps, I can do all things through the God who is present, the God who reveals himself in word and fire. Even rest in peace with this disappointment, this I can’t, I can through I AM. 

Shimei rains curses down on the bowed head of King David, the once ruddy face of the handsome boy warrior now pale with grief, distorted by grief and shame. Shimei’s words slice deeper than any rock. But no, my faithful warriors, do not strike Shimei. Shame, pain, grief—oh my soul! My son! My kingdom! My glory! God’s name! He tore his hair again, the pain too deep to be expressed, to deep for vocals, but oh to tear it out of his chest! Too great a grief to fit in his ribs! But do not strike Shimei. It may be that the Lord will look on the wrong done to me, and that the Lord will repay me with good for his cursing today. (2 Samuel 16) I can do all things through the Lord who makes covenant with me. Even bear through this shame, this I can’t, I can through my Covenant God.

Paul, in poverty and pain and beatings and rejection. Whose heavy robe did not hide all the disfiguring scars. Whose body had been so badly broken by the stoning, the beating, the lashes, that it ached at night after weary traveling and impeded his rest. Nights spent in pain staring up at the starry skies repeating the promise that Jesus would make Abraham’s offspring like the stars. Paul, who bore the grief of all the churches. Paul, who was mocked as a non-apostle, for how can the blessing of God fall on someone so pitiful, weak, hard of seeing, beaten, imprisoned, a man who worked with his own hands in tentmaking? I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Even the I can’t of physical pain and spiritual concern for the churches. I can't, I can through Christ. 

Me. My own little I can’t. A small thing, but a moment of mourning and a season of sadness again. My own I can’t can give way to a contentment, a rest, a trust in Christ. A I can’t now, but I trust. Cry, wrench, but trust! A I can’t, but your will be done. I can do all things, even say no, even give this up, even close this door, even sacrifice this, even walk though this disappointment, even journey with this pain, through Christ who strengthens me. I can do all things—joy and pain, rejoicing and lamenting, conquering and crushing, victory and victim, in Christ who gives me strength.

You? You’re I can’t? After the loss of a loved one recently or years ago that still aches. Depression that makes the day impossible. A diagnosis. A financial burden. A broken relationship. A prodigal child. A marriage that isn’t what it was dreamed to be. I can’ts populate themselves, manifest themselves in many ways.

I can’t. But I can in Christ.

Christ, who knows the pain of I can’t in human weakness, who walked in poverty, was tempted to fear, who knew betrayal, who was wearied with pressing crowds, who sacrificed, who felt his Father’s face turn away.

Christ, who is with us in our I can’ts, who will never leave us.

Christ, who gives us hope beyond hope, a hope that doesn’t disappoint, who has won the eternal glory for us, who can lift our eyes beyond the I can’ts of this live to the eternal I WILL of God.

Christ, who has shown us how much, how truly, how real-reality-solid the promise of Romans 8:28 is, that all things, pain and suffering and mourning and griefs and I can’ts will work out for the good of those who love him. For the not my wills, the I can’ts of Gethsemane and Golgotha turn into the Eternal Yes of God in the empty tomb.

My I can’t—lift my eyes to Jesus and I see the I WILL of God, the ETERNAL YES of God. So I do mourn, but place it in Christ. In trust. By faith. But I lay it at my Jesus’ feet, my Lord who I love, who is worthy of all, and he touches me. Yes, I can do all things in Christ who strengthens me, even say no, even say I can’t. I see him, the I WILL of God, the covenant keeping God, the ETERNAL YES of God.