Torn Heart and Shadowed Emotions

      

Christmas break is coming to a close, as tomorrow is the first day of 2021, and school starts back up on the following Monday.  It came and left too fast.  In the last year, I have learned to enjoy the little time I spend with my family.  Unlike when I first moved to Browning, I find myself almost yearning to stay.  Not for the sake of my hometown, but for the few individuals that live there.    Coming to visit for the holiday, I didn’t realize how much I missed them.  It’s easy to forget feelings when there is a chasm of one’s presence.  To flee the pain, we just bury the triggers that cause the cuts.  Even if the cuts are meant to heal.  As I said before...staying in Browning, I didn’t realize how much I missed my parents and little brother.  But after spending a little time and having to come back home, I have felt the tears come and go.  Wishing that I didn’t have to be separated, I wonder if there is a way to not have my heart break.  Again. In the first few years of being on the Rez (with the exception of the first year), I used to cry because of the disconnectedness of my family.  I didn’t even want to go back!  Though I would come visit, we still would be in separate rooms, watching whatever would entertain us.  But now… Now, I have learned that I can love my family where they are, and still enjoy their company.  (That’s how it ends up working, doesn’t it?  Not necessarily the situation or other person changes, but we ourselves, do.)    I find myself seeing how we are now, and reminiscing what things could have been like, if I still lived at home, but with the present mentality.  All those years, suffering silently, wishing things could have been different, not realizing how much things would change in 10-15 years later.  There is a blessing in remembering the past, and yet, there is a grieving that things aren’t the way that they were (i.e. living at home with my parents.) I don’t miss the fights or the distant communication.  However, presently, I know that my mother indeed cares about me.  I wish I could be with her and laugh.  My baby brother is not a baby anymore.  And as adults, we have really cool conversations.  Of course (as always), I miss my father’s hugs.  Yet, I am not meant to be with them, physically.  It was a vacation; not a move-in.  Doesn’t make the tearing any less painful.  To know that I must be in one place, but miss being in another place makes departure harder.  I feel torn, and wondering where I should be.  Ironically - and it may be due to COVID - I felt a distancing from individuals in Browning.  The connectedness I’ve had with people, the community or my church is slowly waning.  Some of the relationships have stayed stable.  Nonetheless, I felt I was given a word that I would be on the Blackfeet Reservation for only seven years.  It will be seven years in August of 2021.  A part of me feels ready to move on - COVID has made everyone sheltered, and I am ready to spring out.  A foxhole, though safe, can also be suffocating.  However, over the course of this last year, I have found that I was involved in ministry with a personal motivation to find affirmation.  God has been wanting me to strip old dead snake skins, and for some reason (my own stupid pride), I am still wrestling with the concept that my story isn’t about me.  There has been a shift that I am tired of the masks or facades I have kept up.  And yet, in my pain of leaving my parents’ home, I found myself putting those old skins on.  Because of the pain, I would rather just watch things not essentially.  Veg out.  Distract myself from pouring out the tears, because it hurts too much to admit that I feel split.  I should want to be here.  But a part of me still wants to be there.  But I should want to be here. I’ve learned to not act as tough as I used to, but admitting my wounds...Well, I still hide them.  Maybe old habits die hard.  I learned that I shouldn’t cry.  If there was something wrong, my parents (God bless their hearts) were trying to find ways to fix what was wrong.  This is a wide breadth of what the circumstances looked like, however, I learned to cope with my pain.  Sadness is uncomfortable, and to this day I hate the feeling of it.  I become concerned that I will become depressed.  And yet, watching random Youtube videos is a form of functioning depression when used to escape the reality of my world and the emotions that sometimes come with it.  My mind is convinced that if I just veg out for a few, then I can pick myself up.  Nevertheless, leave me alone with silence and the hurts can return.  The pain still lingers, because I didn’t let myself cry, not even for a little bit.  Paradoxically, one of the things I watched yesterday addressed this matter: “Pain is the cost of love...And we would not appreciate what joy is if we do not know what sadness is.”  So much of our American culture is about being the strong man and laying down our feelings, because we should “lack needs”.  We are the first to try to fix things that are wrong.  But healing doesn’t necessarily come with immediacy.  Even in the book of Ecclesiastes, Solomon wrote, “There is a season to mourn, and a season to rejoice.”  I am in an odd position where I can look back on what God has done, but I find a yearning for the former things.  I’m sure I’ll be fine by the time school begins.  Things will get busy, and my mind will be back at work.  This journey will continue, as something God is pressing on my heart is purpose, and how I shouldn’t find it in doing things, but rather in Him, as is.  You see, part of the comfort I relish in, being separated from my family, is being too busy to focus on their absence.  As of Monday, I can shove these emotions under the rug.  I’m trying to be okay.  Not sink into despair, yet simultaneously acknowledge what my mind and where my thoughts go.  As long as I try to find methods to run away, I am failing to address the things that God wants to unravel in me.  As long as I allow my heart to hide all the emotions that well up in my soul; as long as I find ways to numb in the name of coping, my scabs will cover the things that need to be undone.  But changes are harder than the blueprint.  To get to the path of healing and wholeness, I must walk through some uncomfortable things.  God’s question to me: “Are you willing, or are you going to continue to find other substitutes?”  Sigh…  One step at a time, shall we?

The Shepherd for the Lambs

      (References: Psalms 23; Isaiah 53:5-6, 9, 11; John 10:1-11; 20:1-10)

     Psalm 23 is one of those passages from Scripture that if not careful, is easy to pass over.  Almost every kid in a Christian home will have memorized the psalm, so because the words are familiar, the meaning may be lost at first glance.  So, when I came across this passage for devotions one morning, I knew I needed to pause and ask God to help me look beyond what I already knew.
     The first few verses made me reflect on this past year.  I have revolved so much about me, and in the last several months, it is as if God has been remaking me, putting me in a fire to burn away all the dead things in me.  This story of my life has never been about me.  It is about God, and His glory.  Then there was verse five.  "You anoint my head with oil..."
     Cue long pause.
     I don't deserve my head to be anointed.  Maybe that's the point, though.  I am not worthy.  I have transgressed.  I have iniquity in my history.  I have aimed to find my own peace and healing - and tried to prove my own goodness as a Christian, and that's where I lost it.  But Jesus died for me.  He made His bed with the wicked (see Isaiah 53), so that I could become a child of God.
     I am reminded of the two disciples that ran to His tomb after the news of His resurrection.  One was the most loyal and faithful - the one who stood at the feet of Jesus as He was nailed and bloodied on a tree.  The other could be considered (after Judas) to be the most faithless; betraying his association in the hour of need.  I am not like John.  I wish I was.  I am more like Peter.  And yet, even in his brokenness, he ran to Jesus. 
     I realize that I have pressed God into a corner.  Or I forbade Him to come to a part of the house (ain't that easy to do?).  But I can't do it, anymore.  Peter did the same thing.  Actually, all the disciples did.  But Jesus died so our sin would not define us.  He died to free us and bring glory to the Father.  
     I was wondering what Christmas would mean for me, this year.  Sometimes, as familiar verses, it can become rhetoric and ritualistic.  But now I am reminded that I am a lamb who needs constant guidance and course correction.  I have been broken and need restoration.  However, no matter what I can do, I am still marked.  And yet...the Shepherd who cares for me thought it fitting to die in my place.  The Shepherd's life for His lambs.
   
     There is born to you this day in the city of David, a Savior, Christ the Lord.  Behold the Lamb who takes away the sin of the world!
    

I, Judgmental and Hypocrite

     Where do I begin?  I am so smart.  I didn’t realize I have been such a fool.     If you asked me last year, where my relationship was with God, I would have said that life isn’t perfect, but I’m increasingly growing.  It’s the end of 2020, and I wonder if I ever was as close to God as I portrayed myself to being.  There is so much hidden.  Many thoughts, feelings, fears, insecurities.  I will cry when crisis occurs, but I’ll make sure to not let anyone see.  Except for God.  I know He sees everything, anyway.   But somewhere, going about this Jesus thing, I forgot that it’s about Jesus. Publicly, I have shown a spiritual strength, but I dare not admit the things that plague my subconscious. I made my faith and ministry about me, and would any of you know?  I played it well, too. Always active in church; arriving early, even.  First one to volunteer.  Avid reader of the Word...never miss a day.  I can talk in depth about spiritual matters and have the ability to teach others what it means to be a Christian.  I wonder how many of you think I have it all together. Far from the truth.  I know what’s right, yet, there is a part of me that still does wrong.  When my strength is waning, I am prone to vegetate, because I just want to escape my pain.  I can tell teenagers as much as I want, “Don’t do drugs!  Alcohol is not the answer!”  Yet, here I am at home, finding my own fix.  Draining my brain watching mindless things, rather than giving my burdens to God.  What makes me different from them? The eager volunteer.  Maybe the first or second to sign up.  In part, I do care about the people I have served.  However, if a person’s response is to not take hold of the wisdom I share, or my name is not mentioned when thanks is being given, I am crushed.  I’ll pour in as long as I see that I have use in another’s life.  When I don’t receive the accolades, I am tempted to sign the individual off (or whine about what I am doing wrong).  This year, my heart has been burned.  The fires that have touched the closest have burned the masks I have worn . God only knows for how long.  Perpetuating a sense of godliness, but in the shadows I wallow the same as any other.  This isn’t to say that Christians aren’t supposed to struggle or suffer.  The Bible promises we will have trials.  Nevertheless, my pride...my stupid pride prevents me from becoming truly vulnerable, asking for help, and admitting my faults.   Or...as my extroverted self plainly reminds me - I will ask a few people for help, but fail to trust God through it all.  I want support in my life, but I fail to surrender.  I want the hand of my friends, and buffer my own might to get myself through.  Done it my whole life.  But I’m coming to a point, I can’t do it anymore.  I don’t want to do it anymore. I am tired of portraying a sense of strength.  Easily pointing out what can be wrong in my neighbor’s life, but failing to fully address the planks in my own eyes.  I have realized that I am no different from those I walk with every day.  I tried to be good.  Perfect, in fact.  Never reached that point, however.  I convinced myself that my actions prove my loyalty to Jesus, but my motives are only “just”, as long as I am recognized.  I am not recognized.   I am not good.  An air of holiness, covered with a stench of my own sin.  I am selfish.  Feeding my ego, fighting a life-long battle against fears of worthlessness.  The irony of self-esteem is that I esteem myself.  I don’t think it’s wrong to remind people that God indeed loves and cares for us.  However, I am finding that if my substance is based on how I feel about myself, I am still worshipping myself.   I have worshipped myself.  Sure, I have sung songs in church and raised my hand.  However, throughout the week, my needs and desires must be met.  And I have found ways to do that.  I can hide it, too.  Because in the normative culture, we wouldn’t consider it destructive.  Nevertheless, somewhere in my walk with God, I have forgotten Him.  Kissing His feet, but still holding hands with other lovers.  All in an effort to make myself feel good.  But I’m not always given what I want.  So, I don’t always feel good.   I can’t tell you where this shift began.  I remember being excited about God, Himself.  I wanted my community to know about Jesus, and I took advantage of the hidden hours and rooms to chase after Him and His heart.  Yet, 2020 has plainly revealed the beast I have kept hidden.  The more I have walked with God, the more He reveals the ugly things that have always been in my heart.  A child doesn’t have to be taught to be selfish.  A child doesn’t have to be taught how to shift blame upon another person, to dissuade from acknowledging their own wrong.  A child doesn’t have to be taught to seek their own. I have sought for my own.  It’s out in the open.  I no longer can hide it.  I made my faith about me.  My faith was in me.  Sure, Jesus is my Savior.  What the heck does that even mean?  When storms come, I wrestle to hold onto my nets, and cry in anger when they are taken away.  I suddenly believe that I am alone, and I am broken because I don’t have anything to cling onto.  All the while, God is wanting me to cling solely to Him.   I cannot lie to myself, anymore.  I’m done playing a façade of spiritual strength, when in truth, there are parts of me that crumble at the seams.  My intellect is not a match for the reality of my heart, and even in this moment, I wonder where my soul may lay.  I am broken over the fact that I believed I walked in the authority of a King without allowing Him to be Lord of every part of my life. 

I’m so sorry, God.  I’m so sorry.  I never thought I was prone to wander, but now I clearly see it!  And it hurts me so!  How did I make You about me, when I was created to glorify You?  How did I excuse my wrong, thinking that the means justified the ends?  What do I really believe?  I fear the answer may not be what I have professed.  And yet, God, do not let this state be my end. I recognize belief systems that do not align according to Your words, and I need help figuring it all out.  I need to know what I do that is done by habit, and I need it broken.  I admit that I can’t do it.  I’m not strong enough.

     Boy, there is so much freedom in saying that.  All my life, I wanted to make sure I was strong enough.  I never wanted to be weak.  But that’s what I am.  I can’t do it, God.  Not anymore.  I’m through with hiding the secret things, trying to handle them myself.  I’m done trying to patch up my own wounds.  I’m done running away from my fears and trying to manage my life.  I’ve done one heck of a job, haven’t I?  If I could make myself whole, I would have already done it.  But I can’t.  So here I am.

     I’m done making my life be about me.  I’m done turning Your words into a mere moral compass.  Be my North Star.  I admit...I wish for a purpose.  Doesn’t anyone?  But I am finding that when I glorify myself, I become separated from Your presence.  Frankly, I act with immediate instinct, but when I pause long enough, I know I don’t want to be separated from You.  Not now, and certainly not ever.  Bring me back to You.  In the words of Maroon 5 (and I laugh to myself, as I write this), “Maybe it’s 6:45.  Maybe, I’m barely alive...Maybe, I know that You are the one.  Maybe, I think it’s time for You to drive.”  

     Yeah.  That’s it.