There was a week I lived once, in which I stopped my introverted analysis of myself, stepped out, and told some people the truth about what was happening in my heart. It was the “never” week, the week that broke my heart, that destroyed relationships, that left me alone to find God for myself without anybody else’s approval or instruction.
What I lost that week has never been restored to me.
What I lost that week had already been lost to me. I just didn’t know it until I opened myself up to hear the truth.
A body can’t sustain pain like that, the kind of pain that leaves one hunched over on the kitchen floor, trying not to vomit, the kind of pain that follows you to work and forces the door closed to hide the sobbing, the kind of pain that grasps at the smallest hint of grace even from someone who had hurt you before.
I lived long alone after that week. Being told that “I don’t believe God would tell you to love someone,” that “I don’t see any fruit in your life,” that “all I saw in you was anger” by people who had claimed to love me… I wasn’t ready to open myself up to the possibility of loving, let alone BEING loved. I didn’t blame God, exactly. I just… pushed Him away.
I thought those walls were beginning to come down, thought that I wasn’t still so standoffish toward these I once called friends – and toward people like them. But the last few weeks, since someone close to me confirmed that I can come across as “annoying,” since I went into near-hysterics over a situation that left me feeling helpless and empty and unable to trust God – the emotions are flooding back. That old pain is chasing me down, and it’s coming in different clothing.
Pete talks to me every day, reminding me that I am in Christ and He is enough. I try to cling to that, but it is HARD, because the voices are HARD, and there are “right” things I do not do because I can’t, and I can’t explain to anybody why I can’t, so I sit judged as others accuse me of judging, and I think they are right, but I can’t be a person and not “judge” because that is how I make sense of my world, that is how I think about people, not to condemn them but to look at someone or something and see what it is and who they are and try to make sense out of it. That is how I learn – if only I could learn without having to think it out loud.
I feel so dumb, as if I have a learning disability, like I keep saying things I shouldn’t say, and not saying things I should say. I want to run away, change my name, start over. I never say anything without tearing it apart, but if I never say anything at all, I feel I should cease to exist. I don’t believe He is enough; I am scared that He made a mistake with me, or that my mistakes mean that I was created for dishonor – but even if I was, He will still be glorified.
My “never” week is coming back on me now; I say too much, write too much, ask too much. I am not good enough, kind enough, loving enough. I want grace – I want it so badly – but I can’t get grace unless…
And there you see. You see why I write here the way I do, why I scribble such fire with my fingertips, because the second any one thing is added on top of Christ, I forget that I am loved, that He loves me, that I can love as He loved me, and my walls go flying up again as I run away.
But right now, sitting here in grace, it HURTS. MY GOD it hurts. Because everything in me knows that I cannot go back, that right now I am in the midst of His refining me, that He is showing me how I have no place to stand over anyone – not anyone – in judgment, but that I have to stay where I am in Him and let His Spirit work in me and make me real again, make me more than me gritting my teeth to do what’s right, break my heart for the healing.
And I don’t know what to do or how to offer grace to those who refuse to accept it, to those who won’t NEED it because they serve a hard master and “living” doesn’t look at all like breathing and being when there is so much “ministry” in which to be poured out.
Someone shared about “Post-Regret” this week – I have word-regret. He has called me to speak and to live, but every time I open my mouth to say anything, I question myself and determine not to say anything again. But I can’t help it. Because BEING means that I say sometimes – that is how I LEARN to be a different person, and I don’t speak it to be the only right person, I speak it because that is what makes sense to me, but my words can be a conversation if someone would talk back to me.
But when no one does, I feel alone again, and I’m afraid that His love isn’t what I have believed it to be, that this thin line between right and wrong is really a gulf and I have missed it, but I can’t. go. back. because God isn’t there. No matter what anybody says or tells me, I can’t believe that He wants me to walk out of grace back into a Law that nearly killed me when I was younger.
And if He wants to strike me dead, I don’t have anything else to say but “Lord, Your will be done,” because He’s all I’ve got and He knows more about me and the rest of this than anybody does, this God of judgment who declared me righteous in Christ, who claimed to give me a new heart, who created me to live and breathe and get out of bed in the morning and have lyme disease and two kids and a husband and a photography business.
I am so HUNGRY right now for love that comes without conditions, that accepts that I am His and just dwells with me right where I am, right where He has me. Pete and I, we have that, but sometimes I worry it’s not enough, if maybe we’re both wrong, if I’m just being immature and insecure and “them’s the breaks of living, Kelly – get over it.”
Then bad things happen all over the world, and I feel guilty because I can’t care enough, can’t reach out enough, speak enough, be enough – and I feel guilty when we catch a skink in the morning after we’ve taken a walk with a lovely breeze blowing sun all over us, and I just… this can’t be what God meant for me in Christ. Is this my dust, groaning so hard?
I’m weary and heavy-laden seven days out of the week lately, and I’m not what I want to be, not the people I admire, not so loving or grace-filled or kind or godly as I wish. But I’ve got the name of Jesus over me, and I’m holding onto it, holding onto Him, remembering how He stayed in His Father, how He told the Pharisees the truth and gave grace to the clueless, how He never much worried about how “abiding” made Him look when the rest of the world was “doing.”
I think I’ve already lost something, something that is precious to me; I think it may not be restored this side of heaven. I don’t want to let it go, but I have learned that there is life on the other side of loss, that His love comes more real then, He can be more than I know if I will let Him. I just want the pain to stop now so I can breathe.
Oh, sweet friend. You are enough. Just as you are. I know the struggle to believe that, to push past the doubt and lies and get to the core of you are, who God has created you to be. Do what you need to do. I’m here for you.
Do you not know that you are the temple of God? I mean, that can be scary … but at the same time, the reason words pour through you is because the WORD lives IN you. You’re constructed of his nouns and adjectives, moved by his verbs and adverbs, and established by his meaning.
People (even I) don’t always get how that means we can’t reconstruct the veil to the holy of holies, that God is within the dark places and our secrets are exposed before we even try to admit them. It’s frightening. And those who are afraid lash out, at you, at anyone who reminds them that our status can’t be shored up by public opinion or effort, but only exposed for what it is when the light enters.
But the “fear not” of the Bible always hinges on God’s presence. You’ve got your priorities straight, m’dear. The walking will come because of his presence and power within you. And trembling? Well, he did say it is in our weaknesses that he demonstrates his strength. Can we really believe we won’t FEEL the weakness? It just means it’s too much for us, after all … and that was the whole point from the beginning.
Love you, m’dear.
“You’re loved with an everlasting love . . . ” That should be enough, shouldn’t it, but sometimes it doesn’t feel like it. I pray you’ll feel it.
Just breathe in and breathe out and pause… then do it again… your words are so heavy and real. I am praying.
“BEING means that I say sometimes – that is how I LEARN to be a different person, and I don’t speak it to be the only right person, I speak it because that is what makes sense to me, but my words can be a conversation if someone would talk back to me.”
I think we share this in common — we think out loud. But we’re willing to listen and think MORE out loud if someone will think out loud with us, ask good questions, share other ways of thinking or seeing things, and walk it out with us. I don’t really like to argue or debate to win, I do like to think things all the way through. It just seems to some that I’m argumentative I suppose. (And I admit that I do like to push people’s buttons sometimes, but I think it’s usually obvious it’s all in fun. I hope.)
All that to say that I think I understand. I pray you find that unconditional love you seek. Maybe our friendship can be a part of that.
There is something in the air.
I wish I knew more of what this is all about, and then again, I don’t need to. My words feel so feeble to help you, and to be honest, I need help too. I feel a lot of the things you described. Worse, or better yet, I’m not sure; I’m not married. I have no mate telling me I’m okay. That alone causes me a world of pain for so many complicated reasons, and at the same time, it ensures I will have to hear the voice of God because there is no other voice.
I’ve been pulling away from friends more and more lately and wondering if I’m going to become a social outcast one day because I just cannot play the game.
I think out loud too, and I process things. I love what Joy said in the comment above. I also may seem argumentative, but I too don’t care if I win, for me a win situation is growing and learning. It’s not about being right, it’s about peeling back the layers of any given situation and seeing.
I realize as I type I’m way passed bedtime. Hope I don’t reread this and wonder what I was thinking. I hope we can have a dialogue. I feel lost at sea, but knowing I am not alone does help. xo
I’m so so sorry for your heartache. I’m so so sorry for the loss you feel. I am reminded of Jermiah… or was it Isaiah? But the weeping prophet? Oh he didn’t want to say what God gave him to say, and it caused him so much trouble and grief. It was not an easy life. I don’t know what is goign on, but please know that you have love, grace, and prayers from me. I wish it could be more tangible. ((hugs))
I do not have words of comfort. But I can feel your pain through your words. I struggle with acceptance, in believing that God truly loves, that He cares. And then feel guilty because isn’t that what He’s already revealed in His word. I am praying for you, that He would turn your mourning into dancing, your sorrow into joy. May you find that which you seek.