For several years in my thirties, I received weekly allergy shots. Allergy shots are dumb; willingly signing up to be stuck in both arms once a week just sounds like a bad idea. But becoming unable to step outside without your face exploding with sneezes, itchy, watery eyes, and copious amounts of snot is dumber, so I found myself each week in the doctor’s office waiting after the round of shots to make sure that I didn’t experience an unfortunate case of anaphylaxis. (From the shots that were supposed to make me un-allergic to stuff. See? I told you: dumb.)

This time of my life happened to coincide with a period of painful but restorative spiritual work. I was reminded recently that the Apostle Paul didn’t write his letter to the Galatians because they needed to hear the gospel for the first time. Rather, he wrote it because they had forgotten what the gospel message meant for them. I think about Paul’s question to the Galatian church, “You foolish Galatians! Who has bewitched you?” (3:1), and I think it could have easily been asked of me in the years leading up to this time in my life. Something had bewitched me and turned me upside down and backward, and I found myself in a place believing that it was my righteousness that kept me saved. The process of getting turned right side up again was a lengthy one; un-learning can take just as long as learning. 

Part of that process for me meant remembering God’s love for me, how he felt about me, and what his ongoing presence in my life meant. When you have believed that God’s default disposition toward you is disappointment, you don’t easily embrace the message of the opposite–at least I didn’t. I felt wary of this message, but it kept on coming in the form of trusted friends, mentors, recommended books, that eventually I couldn’t ignore it. Letting it in felt foreign and stiff, like I was going through some formal introduction at a dinner party–smile, nod, hold out your hand–all the while hoping I could retreat to a corner by myself and cooly observe but not participate. During this time, I was encouraged to keep practicing, keep reminding myself, keep speaking truth to the parts of my heart that had believed lies. I did this with as much determination as I could muster. 

This brings me back to the doctor’s office. After each shot, I had to sit for twenty minutes, watching for those possible adverse reactions. This particular day, the nurses had put me in an empty exam room. I had not pulled out my phone to distract myself. Rather, I sat there staring at the wall and thinking. At first, I wasn’t thinking of anything terribly important, but eventually and probably because of the prompting of the Holy Spirit, I was reminded of my ongoing work to practice being aware of God’s loving presence that was with me all the time. I remember sitting there and thinking, Okay, God’s presence. He is here. Right now. Here in this exam room. As I said those first few phrases, I did it almost by rote, not really paying attention to what I was saying. But as I got to here in this exam room, something in my brain clicked. Wait, here in this exam room? Do I really believe that the God of the universe is here in this place with me right now?

And then I felt a question rising to the top of my mind (and I’m not entirely sure it originated with me), “If you believed that God is really here, what would you feel?” 

I still remember my almost instant response, I would feel awe because it’s God. But I would feel loved, more loved than I have ever felt.

All the un-learning and re-learning that I had been doing for months at that point coalesced in that one moment while sitting in a nondescript exam room on the third floor of a medical office building. God really was with me all the time, which meant that awe at his Holy Spirit indwelling me was a completely appropriate response, and God loved me every moment of every day. Period. No more doubting, no more performing, no more trying to earn love–all because he already loved me and had promised never to stop.

Suddenly my time sitting in a doctor’s office every week didn’t look so dumb any more.


Jessica
Scheuermann

Jessica is a part of our Christ’s Church family and serves as Academic Resource Commons Director & English Professor at our ministry partner, Ozark Christian College.

Pictured here with her husband, Ryan, and son, Josh.

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