The time my hands were empty

It was during my final semester at the Missionary Training Center.  I was studying linguistics - the fulfillment of a long-cherished dream.

Except it was no longer a dream.  It felt more like a nightmare.

I never imagined it would be such a struggle.  That I'd be so positively clueless, so often.  That I'd dread it so much.

In sheer desperation, I'd come to the Lord with things like this - "The test, Lord, remember the test they gave us?  I only made one silly little mistake.  One.  You know linguistics and Bible translation have been my passion for years.  But more than that, it was a gift, a skill You gave me, wasn't it?  Remember x, y, and z?  I could have done this stuff before.  What's happening to me?  Why is it all gone now?"

I was holding up my hands, trying to remind Him that I'd once had something in them - something real, not imagined - and now, those hands were completely empty.  It's a bewildering feeling.  Perhaps you've experienced it.  I didn't know what to think, but I knew one thing: I was empty.

The gift I'd thought I had wasn't there.  The dream was shattered and no longer held the slightest appeal.  My identity as future Bible translator/linguist was shaken to the core.

How do you continue to push through something when you know you just don't have what it takes?

I asked myself that question more times than I can count.

The weeks went by, often a blur of headaches, tears, and nagging questions.

In the midst of all that God, my Heavenly Father, reached for those empty hands and pulled me close.  It wasn't what I could bring that He had been looking for all along.  It was for me to realize my emptiness so He could wrap His grace around me.

My emptiness in exchange for His fullness?

THAT is grace, my friends.  All grace.