Quiet Battles

One new point of suffering is entering the battle lines more fully. Scorn. Scorn was something I had been free of as my illness first took hold. 
I find scorn, especially as time has drawn close enough that I must put my dearest RN license on "inactive" status. The cursed words "you don't want to just sit there the rest of your life, do you?" that I once said myself to my poor sister now fall like acid rain from others' lips over my own life. I would sooner perish from the earth than spend however many days my life would number than "sit". 

No matter what we are facing, though, God is large enough to give us the strength to take it, albeit social anxiety, autoimmune, cancer, ill children.... Inasmuch as He abandoned His Son to die alone on the cross, He is with us "through the watches of the night". All we need do, at any time, is call out to our Father. He will come, stand by our beds, rock us in His arms like the Perfect Father does to His imperfect children. Scorn is not in His eyes; though perhaps hurt if we have chosen to disobey Him and hurt Him. I imagine we would see pride in His eyes if we wept while trying to still bring honor and glory to His name, all the while finding our battles with suffering so hard. He knows what we fight silently in attempt to bring honor to Him. 
I more and more dearly love the story of the Prodigal Son as I age and face battles. Somehow as a child and teen it struck more more as a nice story for those who had more blatantly left the flock for a time. Oh, no. It means so much more than that. We are constantly wandering off as we make little godletts of ourselves, as we plan to handle whatever life throws at us. Obviously we know so much. I will just take medication and be fine---whether facing depression or RA or a bad case of anger. My massive intellect and mental strength will fight off alcoholism, pornographic obsessions, whatever it is.  Merrily we go off to conquer the world. 
Shortly thereafter...as any of us will attest, however grudgingly, we find ourselves in utter disgrace, disgust and degradation. Bottom of the life standard (especially considering pigs were bad to the Jewish world). Exposed as a "loser". 
Then, we come back meekly to our Father, expecting to perhaps live on the outskirts. Maybe the littlest of little help.
Really the story of the Prodigal Son works out...because He does accept us back when we wandered off as little godletts. We apologized, begged forgiveness, cried out for help...and indeed He answers! 
He does not leave us alone as we face our walk through life. So long as we call to Him, He answers. Maybe not how we might think...but He always answers. 
Grace and peace be with you.