“By this we know love, because He laid down His life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren.” -1 John 3:16
Believing to be unwanted has more consequences than self-loathing. Pleading for society’s desire, never receiving just love, one either keeps begging, or musters enough pride to become self-sufficient. As a Christian, I know I am supposed to love. I think I do. I believed I was gracious. However, I must also admit that I have learned to do so, conditionally, for the wounds carried taught me to be attentive to one’s affection.
As God was showing His love to be greater than Ben Solo for Rey’s (see last blog entry), it was the 31st of December that He dropped 1 John 3:16. More so than another emphasized statement of His love for me, it was a conviction of my failure to love as Jesus had. You won’t lay down your life for others until you truly understand what My laying down My life fully meant. When you truly love someone, you won’t second guess the required risks needed to lay down your life for them. You will do so, willingly.
Living on the Blackfeet Reservation has taught me many lessons. Having moved away from my hometown, away from the securities I held onto, as well as stepping away from things and people that caused me hurt, God has been able to work on my heart at a deeper level in the last five years than the prior 15, I had walking with Him. I have had to come to terms with what pains I incurred, how they were caused, and define new measures for which I live from this moment forward.
One more layer to His chiseling through my heart - His masterpiece - is love. After 19 years of being a Christian, I still struggled to believe that God loved me. Wait. Not necessarily, not loving me. But most definitely, doubting His delighting in me. I am quick to point out my flaws. What gifts I do have, I hide, because I don’t know how to share them without coming across as fluttering my own feathers. I care deeply for others, but I inwardly starve from believing that I am not anyone’s object of affection.
But I still loved others. I laughed to myself when I heard a pastor say. “You can’t love anyone more than you can love yourself,” because, well -women do it all the time. (Ironically, these pastors are all men who make this statement.) We pour out compassion on those with need. We care for children; the most innocent and needy in society. We are passionately protective when someone threatens our home and people. We love beauty, and aim to display life in our communities. I share these traits.
Love, however, was displayed by laying down a life. And to display love, we must also lay down our lives. It’s one thing to give to someone in need. It’s quite another to die for them...or to die to yourself, your needs, your expectations, your standards to display the perfect image of Jesus Christ. That... I know I have not loved to that extent. I have failed to love as Christ has - to my family, to the youth I minister to, to my friends.
I have allowed myself to drown in sorrow when my family continued to live their lives staring at screens instead of enjoying moments with one another. I have felt the sting of unforgiveness when Christians (in my own family) keep bringing up a standard that is merely cultural, not necessarily biblical. I have taught myself to keep my distance; it is better than being wounded, again. Even if they do not know what they do. Nevertheless, family wounds are old, and God has been healing my heart in this area. I am able to show love with grace, understanding that some of my family don’t know where they have wounded, or that they have hurt anyone at all. They are merely trying to follow personal convictions. I am learning to ask God for wisdom to know when to say something, and what to say.
The latter two areas where I have failed in loving as Christ does are the most imminent. Let’s talk ministry first. I know that I have had a genuine desire for teenagers to come to know Christ. I genuinely have wanted them to understand that God loves them and to live life from that truth. I have wanted to see their lives transformed. But something happened. In the process of trying to love and serve them, I received their abuses. Their habits for survival and making it through, usually physically and emotionally (especially with the girls), performed acts of abuse that pushed my own boundaries.
I love my students, and sometimes see them as if they were my own children. In the process of being “my kids”, I have found that they will cling to me. My concern was (and still is) that they will depend on me more than Jesus. So, I began to say “no” more. Yes, to put up a standard of boundaries to assist in growing them to healthy adults, but when God revealed that my love was conditional, I had to admit that a partial motive was to protect my heart from abuse. I even told God that. “You didn’t put up with abuse. (I disagree with the statement that to be used for you means I have to be abused.)” Now, in no way, am I advocating to stay in an abusive relationship, but in ministry, you serve people who have been hurt, and sometimes, their hurts cut you as well. But...you don’t walk away.
Having a desire to be right - because I fight so much with perfectionism in my own self - I wonder how much I have focused on making sure my teens were doing the right thing, and only hinting at the core issues that they deal with. Perfectionism is justified, because I aim to be holy, as the Lord is holy. Anything less deems condemnation (towards myself). In trying to minister, I err on the side of correction, rather than sharing the truth in love, forgetting that we all make mistakes and need grace.
Licking my own wounds for not given affirmation, I fail to affirm others in who they are, because I have been consumed and focused on actions proving real faith. I hesitate to pour out an overflow of love, because I don’t want to be depended on more than Jesus. The reality is that I hate being loved for what I have or do, and I am frustrated that people treat me this way. I was tempted to drop any emotional attachment with my youth, and that was where I was also going wrong. God’s answer surprised me: I was abused on the cross. What I didn’t put up with was manipulation. The implication of this revelation is still a question. However, this I know: to weigh every word, every action I share with the youth heavily. I must check the motives of my heart when I am bent a certain way and ask myself, “Is this Jesus, or just the wounds of my own past trying to protect me (but will inadvertently harm someone)?”
The last area where I have struggled to love unconditionally is in the area of friends. It’s surprising, because it should come easy to love your friends. But while the last five years have been unsurmountable growth and healing, it has also been joined with constant flux. I have had such a change in close friends. More so than when I lived in Missoula. The first three I was with, two walked away when they were having relationship problems. The next set of three - two left when their son was taken from them. The last person I hoped to call a best friend, here in Browning, her and her husband had stopped coming to church, at one point. In my five years, I have had only one constant friend. We have had each other’s backs. Not always perfect, but still there.
Part of the common thread is that these other friends found themselves in a place, struggling with their faith, or outright walking away from God. Presently, all but one are strong in the Lord, again, but my heart fails to trust, still. I was a friend to them when they needed it, but they could not carry me. It’s a habit I’ve learned too. If someone cannot carry me spiritually, I will eventually leave. I won’t abandon the person; if they need a friendly ear, they can depend on calling me. But, if they want to be invited into my heart...that’s not going to happen.
One of these “other” friends had asked me how I was doing, last Spring. When I told her I was struggling at work, she was silent. Then she proceeded to tell me how she and her husband were doing. She is getting grounded in God’s Word. However, because she changed the subject at that moment - because she could not stand with me in my pain - I don’t trust her. She wants to be accountability partners. Which - in my definition - requires both parties to be willing to open up to each other. I am okay with her confiding in me, but I do not allow myself to confide her issues that I presently go through.
I know this brings up another question of boundaries. I do believe that there are some friendships where you are more for the other person than they are for you. As long as the relationship is determined, that is fine. However, I have an expectation - based on my own desires and needs - that there should be a mutual carrying of one another. And once again, if that has been breached, I emotionally detach myself. This friend that wants to be accountability partners - I don’t call her. I don’t ask her to hang out (and I have convinced myself not to, because she has a family...I know she needs time with them). She misses being with me, but I don’t miss being with her, because I have not loved her enough.
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In summary: I am a Christian, but the same hopelessness and conditional love the world has shifted and molded its way into how I walk out my life. I have been trying to grow as a healthy individual; balanced with grace, love, and truth. However, in establishing boundaries, I am guilty of building walls instead of gates. Something has to change, though. I am called to be different. If my principal, who is traditional and doesn’t know Jesus, proves to be more gracious than me (a Christian), it’s time to check my heart. We must love as Christ did. To fail to do so, the grace we speak about so fervently will only be jaded by our experiences and expectations. We love as He does; and that means we become willing to lay ourselves down, even our lives.
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