(Been pretty quiet here. Just a lot to process. Still struggling to find words, but…}
I’ve been conflicted for some time now…years, probably. Over and over, talking to people and realising that their Jesus and mine isn’t the same…that their Jesus sounds like an absolute monster and I get why they would walk away. And then I wonder if I am just part of the problem…with my inconsistencies and fears, my not wanting to offend/hurt people, not wanting to be yet another voice in the chaos–claiming to be representing God. I just…dunno.
No one has been kinder to me than the Lord. No other love has so pursued me when I’ve run away, been so patient with and through my sin, so calmed me on days when I want to bang my head against a wall until it bursts, so listened to my fears, so let me be my weird self, called me out of darkness and despair…I don’t quite have words. I just know this song says so much of what I’ve been struggling with for years.
I’ve been pretty quiet here. Just too much to process, I guess. When I thought about what to possibly say, I realised I had already said it…in 2012. Here goes:
What do you do when you get to the end of yourself? What will it take to get you there?
It’s funny how I’ll know something is true, but spend years denying it. I know I can’t be trusted. As much as I appear to have it together on some levels, there’s just something in me that tends towards my own destruction–gleefully.
Even knowing that I can’t be trusted to do something as simple as brush my teeth every night or take a shower every day (most days, though. Teehee), I still want to get things right. I want to be strong enough to resist the things I know I should stay away from. Why? Because I know I should stay away from them. I want to not do what I know is wrong. I want to be strong, but I’m not. I’m terribly, terribly weak.
Not only am I frail beyond my own comprehension, I also delight in things I ought not to. No matter how I try to deny it, no matter how I take refuge in the illusion of improvement, this is who I am.
But, this is good news–excellent, even. I can’t make myself different. There isn’t going to come a day when my desires will suddenly line up with military precision to the standards of morally acceptable conduct. There won’t be a day when I wake up loving God above all, and hating sin (general or specific) to the point of utter repulsion. It’s just not coming.
It doesn’t need to.
See, when I stopped trying to fix myself, and just embraced the reality that I am truly wicked, I had to fall on God’s mercy. All these things I ought not to do will never fade by human effort. Only God can change me. God, who loves me as I am, just wants me to look into His eyes and give myself to Him, wretch that I am. That is where the fullness of joy comes from…from seeing God and knowing He is Love…from facing the reality of my own brokenness and the incomparable greatness of the God who makes all things new.
So, what’s your story, your “struggle”? I won’t say it doesn’t matter, but it is not the hindrance you may think it is. God knew us in advance, and He chose us. He saw that we’d fail, saw that we’d watch pornography, have sex when we shouldn’t, have homosexual desires, have abortions, kill, rape, steal, hate, lie…saw that we’d willingly and gladly worship all but Him. He saw that, and He loved us…still loves us.
He saw us,and He chose us…He delights in us through Jesus, as we are.
Let’s just be honest with ourselves. We’re not gonna beat those things, and the sooner we face it, the better. God longs to bring us to Him, to transform us as we fix our eyes on Him. He is the goal, not acceptable behaviour. Let’s be honest with God. Let’s be honest with each other. We suck, and it’s okay.
I dare you. Open up to God. Open up to someone about your struggles, someone who will pray with and for you…someone who will love on you. See where it leads.
Perhaps the first step to freedom is facing the power of our own weakness.
Update This song (sheer genius) is one of my recent obsessions:
Eighteen years. That’s a long time to be anything, especially a Christian. For the better part of those eighteen years, I was in an environment that encouraged my faith, and made it possible for me to develop an identity that wasn’t rooted in meaningless religious exercise. I was never taught that my faith made me a better person than those who didn’t share it. As a result of that faith, I developed a worldview founded upon the indisputable value of each person, and tried to live accordingly, though not perfectly.
Over the past eighteen months, I have been caught in a struggle. I don’t consider myself to be what I call an obnoxious Christian, so I don’t believe in shoving my faith in people’s faces or down their throats. Some may see this as being ashamed of being a Christian, but I honestly don’t see what in mainstream (Western) Christianity merits such pride. More importantly, I could not see what in my own life was worth being proud of.
I have moved from a safe faith environment to one that doesn’t readily seem to offer any place for the faith that has moulded so much of who I am. Thankfully, I am surrounded by some of the most amazing people I have ever known, but that encouragement in matters of faith has been missing. Some of these people don’t even see God as worthy of the least significance. Does that make them bad people? Definitely not. But, it made me have to step back and view my faith through different eyes. This place has done more than challenge me–it has revealed the absence of a living faith.
I was (and, in many ways, still am) in possession of a faith that had yet to transcend my intellect and make its way into my heart. You see, I fully believe in all Jesus has done for me, but I had closed my heart to what He wants to do in me. I had woefully neglected to live out the very principles I claimed to hold dear. It took being away from the comforts of home for me to truly appreciate that my faith is worthless if it does not lead to a transformed heart. If I am not growing in my love towards people, if I deny others the same grace gladly extended to me, if I am not kind in the way I think about others, then how am I being Christian (like Christ)?
Now, I’m in a vulnerable spot–and vulnerability is not my strong suit. Surrounded by people who have accepted me, but appear to have little use for my Christ, all my inconsistencies are out in the open. To be honest, this is exactly what I needed…not a faith I can hide behind, but one that calls me to true love and openness.
It’s so ironic that it took being away from my Christian circle to reveal the deficiencies in my faith, but I’m grateful and humbled. Grace has found me in this place, and I trust it to lead me home.
If the faith I claim to hold has not taken hold of me, it is less than genuine…and so am I.
If you spend enough time around me, one thing becomes clear: I’m frank–often painfully so. Spend even more time, and we’re bound to arrive at one of my core conclusions: men are wicked. I am not a bitter female, I have never been in a relationship or had my heart broken, I’ve never been on either side of unrequited love, and most of the guys in my life are simply amazing. But, I have seen enough to be aware of the kind of havoc men wreak on society, especially women, when they don’t stand up to the enormous task that is manhood. That, to me, is more than enough cause for caution.
“Men are wicked.” For the past year or so, I have been increasingly uncomfortable with this philosophy, even as my exposure to the horror stories has increased. Are men wicked? Yes. Is it any less wicked to hold that idea as a baseline? No. I have six nephews, two godsons, and several friends with young sons. I cannot bring myself to see any of these males as wicked, even though I know they will grow up and imperfectly execute the requirements of being a man.
See, men are not simply wicked. They are also broken, as is all of humanity. If I zoom in on the wickedness, and ignore the brokenness, it makes it almost impossible for me to view men with compassion, especially in my thoughts. I have close male friends, and I’m pretty sure they think I’m more than slightly cynical when it comes to this, even though I think I’m merely stating the facts, just being my frank self. How do I characterise men as wicked without inadvertently including all those men I love and respect?
Statistically, it’s frightening. So many men are simply not stepping up, and there doesn’t seem to be much hope for this generation of men. It’s easy to think that decency, integrity, honour, and fidelity are things of the past. Still, how am I helping by reducing men to the ones who are not worthy to bear the name? Whether I want to admit it or not, labeling men as wicked makes it easier to dismiss them altogether. It is as destructive as those women who would hold men to no standards whatsoever, simply because they are afraid of being single.
So, what do I do now? I would like to renew a commitment…to love and support the good men in my life, to encourage their efforts, and view them with honour. More than that, though, I will no longer define men by facts. I have no doubt men will continue to be wicked, but I must also remember that they are broken and human, just as I am…that every man was once a vulnerable little boy…that the odds are stacked against them, and even society doesn’t expect much of men. I will no longer add to that lack of expectation, difficult as it is likely to be.
I must remember that men were designed to be living examples of strength founded upon love and protecting the vulerable. I must honour what is there, look for and celebrate the good, even when I do not see it.
Where men fill the purpose and design of men as the Bible has outlined it, humanity flourishes, and where men refuse to step into the space that men are called to fill, the world burns.
Matt Chandler
Disclaimer: This is an entirely separate issue from a man’s suitability as a mate (standards matter), and I remain happily and gratefully single…no need to get excited (you know yourselves). 😛
I am Jamaican. I am a Christian. I am heterosexual.
And, I am deeply wounded by the way in which some Jamaicans, Christians, and heterosexuals are navigating the whole issue of homosexuality. Then again, maybe that’s it. Maybe, in the minds of those who so readily disregard gay people, they’re not even people–just an issue. Perhaps, in those minds, they’re the ones who are going to lead children astray, teach them that being gay is normal, force us to live in a world in which it is commonplace to see two men or women engaging in rather public displays of affection. Maybe they’re afraid, but enough is enough.
Who gave us the right to act as God’s mouthpiece, when we’re busy misrepresenting His intentions? Under whose authority do we decide that ‘the world’ that ‘God so loved’ did not include gay people? How do we live so comfortably with the idea that so many men and women are afraid of being true to themselves, because to do so would mean risking ostracism and even death?
It is indeed incredibly sad that so many people, Christians included, would rather focus on issues, all the while missing the very people involved. It is even more distressing that principles God laid down out of love for us, out of His commitment to our joy, have become fodder for cannons of condemnation. It is an injustice that God has so patiently given all of us time to come into the light, that He so relentlessly pursues us even after the light has found us, yet we want to cram truth down people’s throats in an effort to open their eyes.
I have had enough. Enough of young men being killed because a mob decided it wasn’t okay to be gay in their presence. Enough of ‘men’ forcing themselves on women in an effort to ‘straighten’ them. Enough of young people committing suicide because they were bullied for being gay. Enough of Scripture being flung at people, as if truth were meant to be wielded like a sword. Enough of this ‘them vs. us’ mentality. Enough of the notion that the fullness of the expression of grace reveals itself in heterosexuality–as if being straight offers any measure of protection from immorality.
We will never get anywhere until we move past the gay and start seeing the people. Maybe some of us will have to have gay sons, daughters, friends, uncles, nieces, etc., before we put a face to homosexuality. Maybe we already do, but they’re too afraid of our rejection. Maybe, like me, you will have to have someone you love and treasure be almost killed by law enforcement officers–and for what crime? Sitting on a park bench beside someone of the same sex.
Can we please stop pretending that being gay is the end of the world? Being gay does not make you more evil or less of a person than anyone else. It does not mean you decided to tell God and society to go self-fornicate, just so you could live your life. It does not mean you’re not special, beautiful, gifted, funny, insecure, angry, sad, hopeful, and anything else that fits on the spectrum of emotion. Being gay does not make you any less human.
We don’t all have to agree on how to approach life, but if we can’t agree on the sanctity of life, where is this civilisation of which we speak?
For some time now, I’ve been wondering what would happen if people dared to be honest. See, I like to think I’m honest, but I doubt I am. I see relatively clearly, and I tend to say it as I see it, but if my innate dishonesty hobbles my capacity for objective sight, what’s the point?
I think I’m a hypocrite…most days, anyway. Can any other label be as fitting when I face a world I have no desire to even be in? When God’s name flows so easily in conversation, but there seems to be no place for Him in my heart? When I tell myself this will pass, because it has passed before? The fact is, each step of this tortuous dance is familiar, yet I will not end it. Because I’m a hypocrite.
There is much to be said for the comfort of a cyclic existence, even with the overhanging knowledge that there is an end, and a rather unpleasant one at that. Knowing better awaits us outside of our self-constructed prisons rarely serves as motivation to break free. If you’re me, motivation does not make a habit of presenting itself. I’d rather tell myself I need to change than actually take steps in that direction. Because I’m a hypocrite.
Enthralled witness to my own demise, the question of an exit strategy arises. As much as I possess an intellectual hold on grace, I’m not very good at facing it. Grace exposes the liar in me. It tells me I will fail, but empowers me not to. It reveals my intrinsic unlovableness, yet lavishes upon me a love so independent and ferocious, I instinctively flee from it. I refuse to take hold of the redemption I so readily remind others of. Because I’m a hypocrite.
Perhaps it is the admission of hypocrisy that leads to its end.
O Love that wilt not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in Thee;
I give Thee back the life I owe,
That in Thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.
O Light that followest all my way,
I yield my flickering torch to Thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in Thy sunshine’s blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be.
O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to Thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain,
That morn shall tearless be.
O Cross that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from thee;
I lay in dust life’s glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.
– “O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go” (George Matheson, 1882)
punitive – adjective: inflicting or intended as punishment. (Thanks to the lovely folks at Google Dictionary.)
If there’s one area of life I can claim deep familiarity with, it’s that of making mistakes. And not just any mistakes, mind you–the kind that make people cringe, that inspire head-shaking on a wide scale…the kind that prove the extent of my tendency towards self-destruction.
Against that background, the linking of “what” and “if” become inevitable, and how I torture myself. Whereas it is undoubtedly healthy to acknowledge that actions have consequences, being the extremist I am, I struggle with the idea that my life could be anything but a lost cause. When there’s a clear picture of what your life not just could, but should, have been…and it’s excruciatingly evident that the disparity between that and your reality can readily be attributed to your actions, hope proves elusive.
“This is not punitive” — words that have been engraved into my subconscious, despite the raging battle to remember just how solid and life-altering they are. And I forget. Often. More often than I remember. When you’ve wrecked your own life, you begin to think you deserve whatever comes your way…if you’re anything like me, that is.
How very…human of me. If I wasn’t wise or powerful enough to do what was within my reach, by what stretch of the imagination would I then be able to set my life on an unalterable course? As crazy as life may be, as much as “this is my fault” rings true…this is not punitive.
God definitely allows us to make our own choices, but He cannot act outside of His own nature. God is Love; He is Redeemer. He longs to lift us from pits of our own making. Our demise is never the goal of anything God does. Even when we have driven ourselves to destruction’s door, He can rescue, He can pull us back to Him. As a writer, that makes so much sense to me. Characters rarely follow precisely the path laid out for them, but they’re still only in the story. They’re not exercising sovereignty over the writing process, especially for the ending.
Why would I not trust the Author of Life to resolve convoluted conflicts of my own making…not trust Him to still give me a good story, even if it varies from the perceived original intention? Why not trust the One who made people, knowing they would fail–who put in place the perfect plan of salvation BEFORE sin was even imagined…before the first sinners were created? Why. Not?
No matter what we’ve brought upon ourselves, we have not moved ourselves beyond the reach of grace. True victory is not found in convenience, or even in a change of circumstance, but in the discovery of God’s heart–a heart overflowing with good intentions towards us, a heart that disciplines us out of love. The heart of the One who is with us in the agony of the wilderness, and has put grace there for us to find.
This…is…not…punitive. Maybe you need that reminder as much as I do.
Thus says the Lord:
“The people who survived the sword
Found grace in the wilderness—
Israel, when I went to give him rest.”
3 The Lord has appeared of old to me, saying:
“Yes, I have loved you with an everlasting love;
Therefore with lovingkindness I have drawn you.
Roads paved with good intentions often lead to a predictable destination. That may very well be the story of the major portion of my life. Or, maybe I should get one of those life things before I attempt to determine its story.
Whatever the case, I am a liar. What other option is there, if any plans I make in the direction of change tend to be little more than passing acknowledgements of the need for a difference? Who else can I be when I make promises I know I can’t–and often, won’t–keep? When I’m content to see what needs to be done, but do nothing about it?
There are few poisons as potent as self-deceit. You see, it is all too easy to think that knowing something is wrong is a sufficiently significant step in the right direction. Some of us, present company topping the list, never take another step. How natural it is to sit and nurse the idea of disturbed equilibrium, weaving it into a grand quest (complete with the requisite slaying of dragons), only to have it stay there and become nothing but an overgrown obstacle. Welcome to my world.
I’ve had quite a few people tell me I know what’s wrong with everyone but me. Comforting as that notion may be to those holding it, it is so erroneous that it is almost laughable. Fear not, I know what’s wrong with me (or have a good enough grasp of the extent of my dysfunction)…I’m just not particularly inclined towards doing anything about it. What does that make me? Not just a liar, actually. It makes me full of–ehem, overflowing with excrement.
Usually, at this point, I’d launch into some lovely truths about God and the fullness of grace. For me, those are not the platitudes they can so easily double as. But, today, doing so would serve only to cement what is the point of this post.
I. Am. A. Liar. And that, my friend, is the truth.
It is no secret that, of all the things I’ve done with my life, living hasn’t been one of them. From time to time, the reality of my mortality works its way into my consciousness, and there’s that inescapable question of when (whether?) I will finally learn what it means to live. Finally decide to live.
Whereas I’ve missed out on so many things that were quite within reach, none of those things, or any combination thereof, had the power to shake me up by virtue of its absence. Usually, being unshakable is a good thing, but when you’re Lori? Not so much.
Discontent has somehow managed to provide the illusion of safety–as if I needed further proof of my insanity. Oh, to step out of that wretched yet beloved prison of my own carving. To taste even the tiniest morsel of the elusive entity we know as freedom.
To be more than a wounded soul most at home in its own poison.
To remember You.
And now, Lord, what wait I for? My hope is in Thee.
Fear is one of those things I don’t process well. I just don’t have many active fears. I have huge categories of fears, and then they morph into…aversions. 😛 Weird as it sounds, I think I have an aversion to “good”. As soon as my life begins to look up, as soon as I begin to make smart choices, something in me retaliates by finding the quickest way to sabotage it.
I think this would be easier to handle if it were deliberate. It is so intrinsic and so entrenched in the essence of Lori that I very often don’t see it outside of the lens of retrospect. But, I see it now. I’ve seen it before. And, I can’t change it. Maybe that’s what I need to embrace. Left up to my own devices, all I can do is kill myself, succeed only in depriving my soul of one breath at a time.
And, you know, part of me says this shouldn’t be so. I mean, I’m smart enough (I reckon), I’ve known God long enough, I have enough amazing people in my life for this to not be who and what I revert to with such ease. I know God saw this–saw me–coming, and still chose me. Gladly. He didn’t choose me to remain as I am, though. He chose me to remain in Him. But, I don’t…won’t?
Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s the same plight plaguing all of humanity — that innate core of rebellion against the Creator. Whatever the case, I can’t keep living as if God is a liar…as if the life He offers is somehow on a plane that ought not to impact and define my everyday life. I cannot persist in the distorted reality I call ‘grace’, for if grace were seen correctly, if grace were my reality, would it not spur me on to abundance of life? To obedience? My head gets grace, but my heart? Well, that story is perhaps best left untold.
So, why continue to kill saplings of anything good and beautiful in my life? Why act as if my worth is such that I’m most content within the confines of Suckville? Why, if I love myself as much as I’m convinced I do, won’t I give myself the best possible chance at life? Or, any chance, for that matter?
I can’t be alone in this…well, I hope not. Undoubtedly, I’m extreme, but there are elements of sabotage in each of us. How easily we tend towards our own destruction. Overcoming that tendency may lie outside of our reach, but there’s nothing to stop us from embracing it…and giving it to the Only One who can make us into what we were designed to be.
O Israel, you have destroyed yourself; but in Me is your help. I will be your king: where is any other that may save you…?
Hosea 13:9, 10 (KJV [paraphrased])
My Jorge, one of the best friends a Lori could ask for, gave me this song. (Fine, her name is Georgia…and how much I love her? No words…) Like, she’s all sunshine, rainbows, and pink rooms sometimes, and I kinda thought the song was along those lines, but it’s…sneaky. Maybe it’ll sneak up on you, too.