Undone.

I've been thinking about this word this week.  In bible study on Wednesday, we talked about the moment Isaiah saw the Lord ("In the year that King Uzziah died...").  The word Isaiah used at that moment was "undone."  Beth Moore does a fantastic job of bringing context to the setting here - with Isaiah's king (and perhaps childhood hero) having just passed; the state of his people at the time was fairly pathetic; and Isaiah   seems to feel pretty much at the end of himself.  Undone.

I've been undone.  Have you?

I'll give you the short list of my "undoing" moments.

The day I sat beside my father as he died.

Giving birth - all four times.

The early morning miscarriage of our fourth baby.

An evening in Juarez, Mexico when I realized I was in love with Mark, but had no certainty whatsoever that he would ever love me back.

The moment I knew he loved me back.

The afternoon depression settled on me like a giant elephant that decided to sit on my chest.

A positive pregnancy test.  Every.  Single.  Time.

I could go on.  And I probably will.  But not today.  Today I just want to reflect a moment on how both the most tragic and the most beautiful moments of my life have been my undoing.

Being undone is frightening.  It's that raw, exposed, overwhelming, vulnerable place that is just plain uncomfortable, even if it's happening when you're falling head over heels in love with the most amazing man in the world - or when you're holding this tiny, beautiful, amazing little human being that you somehow brought into the world.  And it's terrifying when the cause is rooted in great pain.

But when we're undone we get to see Him.  And that's a good thing.  

Isaiah's response in that moment was to cry out, "Here I am.  Send me."  [I see that I'm broken and really just nothing, Lord.  But use me... if You can.]

Now I'm no Isaiah, but that's what I'm looking for here.  If my undoing can somehow be used by the Father, so be it.