Alone, Yet Satisfied

 

  People have said that COVID has forced the whole of humanity onto one storm, however, we each are in a different boat.  Some are handling this with certainty; others are wondering what the future holds.  Some with faith; others live with fear.  Facebook is flooded with the abundance of opinions over the expanse of the virus, breakdown of the economy, how to support students with their education and the dissolution of rights.  I am not here to discuss my opinion on the debate.  There is more to this storm than what the news is reporting. 

     Casinos and bars were some of the first things to be shut down.  What were deemed to be the most important things in the American society quickly fell to the wayside.  One of my pastors stated that a positive aspect of this pandemic was that God was reprioritizing our lives.

     An understatement.  

     Honestly...when I first heard about the impending schools closing (what we thought at the time to be) temporarily, I had a personal pity party.  I understood the safety precautions of not being right next to people, even making sure to not have large groups.  Nevertheless, when the health recommendations went from 10 people in a room to “shelter-at-home”, my mind was starting to run in anxiety mode, high gear style.

     It’s not that I didn’t care about the pandemic.  I did (and still do).  But something that I haven’t heard many people discuss during this season is the mental health challenge that this may cause.  And I’m not just discussing “going crazy” because you’ve been with your husband way too long.  What about those who have to do this quarantine, living alone?  

     That was my pity party.  Where God was bringing families closer together during this time, I found myself at the opposite end of the spectrum.  Aside from volunteering, I was just supposed to not have any other human contact, because “shelter-at-home” meant only those in your household.  When one lives alone, it’s just you.

     There are worse things to die of than Carona…

     I never became suicidal, however, after week two of this thing, I realized that my emotional stability was already being tested.  The next to go was my spiritual foundation.  I had to face this season, alone.  And I did not like it.  What was I supposed to do if I could not see my loved ones?  (I had friends tell me I should spend this time with my immediate family in Missoula.  But the fact was, Browning is my home.  Could I leave my community when they needed me, too?  Also, at that time, Missoula had several open cases of the COVID...by traveling, I knew that I may be risking my health and safety; thereby, even risking the safety of those at home, when I finally returned.)  And though I am thankful for 21st Century technology, the truth is, social media and phone calls can only go so far when physical touch is needed.  I started to become frantic.  

     Loneliness is my worst fear.  And as of March 15th, I had to face it head on, with no way of escape.  Beginning of April, I wrote down my frustrations to God: “The Carona virus has taken away my everyday job, but I’m meeting new friends.  Now it’s taking away my ability to meet with my [family].”  His response?  

     “And it will give you a deeper relationship with Me.  I want you to know that I fervently love you.”

*****

     There was that word again.  Since the beginning of this year, I knew that God wanted me to understand His love at a deeper level than I have ever understood.  I’ve known Jesus for a while, yet after two decades, it seems like the simplest of the Gospel lessons still fall short of my heart.  I can tell you what the Bible says.  And yes, I believe Jesus loves me.  But…

     Somewhere my heart and brain conflicts, because I still believe that I have to earn love.  I know the Bible is true, howbeit, it’s most foundational lessons are hardest to receive.  Analyzing what the future of 2020 would hold, I asked God, “Why is it so hard for me to receive Your love, and to rest in it?”  The answer shocked me.

     “Because you are satisfied completely in the love of someone else.  [You don’t need my love.]  That’s why I want to redirect your attention.  You don’t need anyone else’s love [to be content].  You really do believe that you are alone.”   

     The truth was out in the open.  

     I spent so much of my life striving to be loved and accepted.  I defined myself by how much people love me (or fail to), rather than how much He loved and loves me.  I know I don’t have to earn His love, but everything in me says I should, because I live in a world where people have to earn love, goodness, and favor.  I have struggled to define myself by my relationship with God, because I have defined myself by my relationship with the people around me.  The irony of this pandemic is not only was I to face my greatest fear, but simultaneously, I found that God was once again, stripping me of safety nets I held onto.  

     I could no longer be defined as an educator, because the schools were closed.  How do you do youth ministry when you can’t see your teens?  And lastly, I had to face my fears of not having my own family with me, to help cope through this season. 

     And all God wanted to ask was, “Do you believe that I will fill your needs to belong?”

*****

     Ever since moving from my hometown, a desire has increasingly been realized in my consciousness.  The fact that I want to belong.  Perhaps it was something that I have always had.  In the awkward moments of my eighth grade year, I don’t remember enjoying the moments I was a loner, due to being teased.  Humans are made for relationship.  And they are made to be a part of something.  I probably wouldn’t mind the chapter of singleness, except I continue to see friends with their significant others and families, and here I am… “on my own” (cue some sad Les Miserables sad songs).  

     I constantly fight insecurities that I am not what I should be.  I respond counter to what is expected, and sometimes I feel left out.  I compare my lack to others’ blessings.  I feel awkward.  I question my beauty.  I vividly can account to you my failures, rather than register my strengths.  I am scared for you to see my weaknesses.  And if you do find them out, I cower.  

    Can one truly claim that to be satisfied in Christ, if the affirmation and comfort of others is sought to produce a source of contentment?  The answer is no.  In a couple blog-posts ago, I admitted that I had a growing need to not stay silent when I have absence of help.  What I am revealing now goes much deeper.  There are times to ask for prayer.  There are moments when wisdom from others must be beckoned.  However, there are times we prefer going to people for our identity and comfort, rather than to God.

     And He has a word for that.  Idolatry.  Adultery.  

     Society calls it what it wills.  A hobby. Entertainment.  Good habits.  Bad habits.  Addictions.  Codependency.  They are all terms by which we try to manage our life’s pains within our own means.  We will yearn for them as long as the pleasure outweighs the consequence. Up until March, I had access to my idols for whenever there was a social gathering.  Facebook was another substitute if I could not obtain face-to-face interaction.  I called people if I became agitated or ancy for being alone.  I was smart to not just call anyone.  Only those I knew who could carry me.  But to them I would run.  And yes, I kept my daily devotional time with God.  But the idea of walking with Him as a friend, fully dependent was not as existent as I presumed originally.

     Worship songs praise that Jesus is the only one who can satisfy.  The same line is used among pastors.  They mean well, but I have since learned to disagree.  Anything will satisfy us...for the time being that we run to it.  And when the feeling is distant, we run to it again, as long as it continues to meet our need or desire.  Our hearts are made to worship, and so we will gravitate toward something or someone who we believe will do just that for us.  And what of Jesus?  Yes, He is indeed the living water (see John 4).  But if the woman at the well decided to talk religion with Jesus and go back to her original life style, Jesus would have only been able to satisfy her only for the moment.  

     There are plenty of people who seek to drink of the Living Water once a week, or once a month.  However, if there is any substance to their lives, I promise you, that if they are not going to Jesus.  They are finding their means of satisfaction elsewhere.  For the Living Water to fill us, we must persistently drink of it.  Daily, often, and firstly.

     The Samaritan woman found that the Truth Jesus carried was something that met her need, deeply...and she made the decision to continue seeking His face, rather than the faces of the men she ran to for love.   We choose to go after something.  And as long as we find pleasure and a contentment in our needs met elsewhere, we have no reason to go after Jesus.  Even if logically, we understand that our drug of choice (i.e. idol of any kind) may bring negative repercussions, the momentary relief still holds us captive.  We hate it, but love it at the same time.  Because it gets the job done.  It meets our needs and/or desires.

     And yet, at the end of the day, God longs for us to have a relationship with Him.  And sometimes...the only way to be free and delivered from our idols, to redirect our attention to His eyes and our hearts is to have those idols forcibly removed.   Cue COVID-19, and the “shelter-at-home” directive.  I - by law - had to sit hours upon hours in my own apartment...figuring out what I am going to do with myself, as alone.  

     I had a choice.  I could either use this time to call someone, so I could feel like I belonged and loved.  I could go on Facebook, and search out ways to feel like I’m a part of peoples’ lives (ironically, in past years, I have come to the realization that most connections on social media are superficial).  I could also sulk in my angst of being alone.  As a Christian, I know I shouldn’t be dependent on others.  So...I will wallow and complain to God that He isn’t giving me what (we both know) I want.  Or...in my alone state, rather than focus on my “loss”, I could draw my attention to the One who has been waiting for me to acknowledge that He is always with me.

     I chose to dive in.

*****

     First, I repented for the truth that I substituted other loves to feel like I belonged.  I repented for elevating words from peers higher than the One who made me.  For so long, I have had wounds linger, but I failed to rest in what my Heavenly Father has spoken over me...only believing that the words (or lack of) from the people around me proved my worth.  God had to remind me that to change my beliefs, I must change the way I thought.

     “I love you.  I am with you.  I will not forsake you.  I will meet all of your needs.  I care for you.  I freely forgive you.  I wash you clean.  I will not bring my past against you.  I delight in you.  I am for you.  I surround you with my angels.  I watch over you.  You are beautiful.  You have worth.  I want you.  I claim you as My own.”

     As I sat, writing all the things He was telling me, I found that my soul was immediately finding peace.  These are words explicitly stated in Scripture directly to me.  I might have been alone in my apartment.  My emotions may tempt me to believe that I am forgotten.  However, the truth was that God never left me.  He was, and has always been with me!  I have always been a daddy’s girl...and in the last month, God has been showing me that I am His Daddy’s girl.    

     I grew up with a wonderful dad.  And moving away, that relationship has been something I have missed.  As a little girl, I had a need for a father, and my dad met that need.  Now that I was no longer in the house I grew up, I had an emotional void that I sought to fill.  The sense of belonging, being loved and protected was something my heart wanted to restore.

     However, God wanted me to understand that He would pick up where my dad had left off.  He will be the Father that won’t ever leave me.  And no matter the miles that may separate me from my earthly father; my heavenly Father would never leave me, and would forever stay near.  He is ever present.  

     Will I allow my soul to continually rest in this Truth?  Will I seek Him first and most...teaching my heart to be satisfied in Jesus?  The key is to turn my eyes and heart to Him.  As I become more intimately acquainted with Him, all other idols will fall away, naturally.  Furthermore, as my desire for others will wane, my desire for God will grow.

*****

     A couple weeks ago, the weather was gorgeous.  Despite the shelter-in-place, sometimes, the mountains beckon to be explored nonetheless.  It was a Sunday, and I wanted to answer the call.  But, based on family and life experience, I wanted to share this adventure with someone.  I phoned a close friend to see if they could join.  My friend was busy working on something else.  Then the question was, would I still answer the call that I was given?

     I admit; I started to pout.  It’s not that I couldn’t do the adventure myself.  It was just that I have always done it with family.  So, I wanted to have that experience.  However, because my hope for a “family day hike” was not met, I was disappointed.  I got in the car and drove to the high school to settle for the walking path.

     “Go to East Glacier.”

     I drove to the Browning high school.  I parked in a corner in the far-end of the parking lot, and just sat there.  I was complaining.  “God, I just wanted to do this with family.”  After sitting a little while, I was tired of sulking.  Turning the key into the ignition, I went on ahead to East Glacier.  My intention was to go to the Glacier Lodge and journal.  However, when I went by, their gates were locked.  I wondered where else to park (note: I was looking for a safe, easy, place to park and mind my own).

     “Go on ahead to Two Med.”

     Surprised at my willingness to follow this Voice, I dove on.  This time in exploring an adventure, on my own.  

     Correction.  I wasn’t alone.  

     Jesus was in the car with me.  Long story short - after I arrived at the locked gate up by the Two Medicine entry, I parked along the side of the snow banks, rolled down the window of my car, and listened.  I heard the wind blow through the trees.  Sky blue, and the sun shown.  The air was clean.  Being surrounded by trees, my heart was at rest.  My soul was at peace.  I was in the perfect spot, and taking out my journal and Bible, this adventure was designated to be family time with my Father.  

     To think I would have missed out...if I succumbed to the old expectation that adventures required another human to stand beside me.  And yet, if I depend on other people for my calling, I will cease to depend on God.  Opposingly, the less I depend on people for my soul’s satisfaction, the more I can depend on the One who destined me in the first place.

     #Love2020 is something new, and though it’s the fifth month in the year, I am only digging in layer by layer.  As I learn to trust God with my heart, I can rest in His love.  Moreover, the next step is to return the love He has given me.  Not out of an effort to earn His grace.  But to be a friend to the Friend of sinners.  Studying Moses’ life (who was called a friend of God), I found that there was more evidence that he sought God’s heart, rather than wanting God to fill his own personal desires.  To be a friend of God means not only entrusting your heart to Him, but exchanging your intentions for what is God’s longing.  So counterintuitive of the Western world’s perspective on the purpose of God.

     But that brings us back to the essence of worship.  Our hearts are created for worship.  We will elevate and attribute worth to someone or something.  I wonder...how many of us claim to know Jesus, but like myself, unknowingly, worship ourselves and seek God for the comfort of our minds, rather than the surrendering of our entire beings?  We have learned to be content in our present circumstances, as long as God would just let us revel in their pleasures.  Our souls rest in glory.  Nonetheless, furthermore, and most importantly, it is Christ’s glory, not our own, that brings the greatest contentment.  Will we choose to continually drink of this Living Water?  Only then will we see that satisfaction fulfilled.  After all, we were made for Him. 

A Different Narrative

  To Whom this May Concern:

     Around this hour, millions are gathering their memories to recognize the person of Jesus.  Perhaps you know the story. Maybe you know the Man. That is all well and good, but I am here to tell a different narrative.  One, you might be tempted to call fiction. Before you run - I promise - it will be worth your time. No need for my name. If I were to mention it, you would listen no more.  But I assure you. What I have to say is worth pondering.      

     I was one of the disciples.  A key player, if you will. Traveled with Jesus for three years.  I saw His miracles. I heard His teachings. I walked in His wonders, and came to profess that He was the coming Messiah.  For three years, He preached a new kingdom was to come. And for three years, we waited for this coming redemption. Our hearts burned with anticipation, as we waited to see our enemies overthrown; justice from our God on high come into reality.  For three years, He challenged all that we knew. He underscored all that our rabbis had taught us when we were boys. Aimed not at the work of our hands, but the motives of our hearts.

     Before I get ahead of myself, I would like to share where I came from.  I was a true Israelite. A boy raised in the Judaian faith; a scholar of the Holy Scriptures.  I knew my way backward and front what YAWH wanted of us. I was dutiful in the sacraments, and faithfully honored all the offerings that were required of us.  I was a good boy. As I became a man, I acquired a skill in accounting; money lending was my game. Throughout my life, I made good use of it. I was also aware of the social and political atmosphere of my country.  It was no news that Gentiles from the west came and demanded our allegiance. Their history was one of conquering, and we were next on the list. I, as many of my peers, wished to deny them of this “right.” Some decided to become political rebels, silent sympathizers, others out-right terrorists.  All justified in my book. When Jesus came onto the scene, I hoped - as any other honest Jewish man would admit - that He would be the answer to our long-awaited prayers of freedom. 

     We all claimed Him to be the coming Savior.  Some openly said that they would die with Him, if He were to be killed.  But on that fateful night, none of us stood the temptation to stand with Him in His suffering.  Every one of us deserted Him. Every one of us...in our own ways... betrayed Him. You can’t point your fingers at only a few.  We were all guilty. When His body was given over to be abused, we ran. When He took His final breath, we looked on from afar. And until Sunday morning, we lived in fear of Rome's and the religious rulers’ retribution. 

     Sunday came, nonetheless.  I am ashamed to say that I was not eager to jump at the message of Jesus’ return.  I believed my ears had failed me hearing these news. I thought with His death, that was the end of His kingdom.

     Yet, there was Jesus!  In front of us!  

     He beckoned to feed His sheep.  He charged us to share the message of His salvation; not one of earthly glory, but a catechism of the soul, based on His death for our humanity.  I admit, after all that had happened, I saw myself inadequate. Who was I - one who denied Jesus my heart just a few days before - to share the gospel?  Could I really be of any good in sharing my story?

     There was a dormant darkness that no one discerned.  It was only revealed on that night. The weight of what I had done...You can only imagine.  He called me friend, and I betrayed Him.  He wanted me to know Him, and I ran away from all that I confessed as true.  However...it is because of this darkness, that I now know who I honestly was.  It didn’t matter now how well I kept the Law...the desires of my heart spoke other than who I claimed to worship.  

     And yet...after Easter morn, Jesus sought me out.  He sought ME out. He knew my grave sin, and yet, He still loved me.  How could He? My face could not hide my remorse, and yet, His eyes were filled with grace.  “I forgive you.” Me?  

     Yes.  

     For this was the reason for which the Son of Man was turned over to be crucified.  That the weight of all sin could be laid upon Him. The righteousness of God could be made manifest in our souls, if we would just believe, and receive His grace in His name.  Jesus. Immanuel. God with us. Messiah. Savior for all.  

     Every justification I made of my own person was shattered in the glory of Jesus’ sacrifice.  Every ounce of goodness was - as Isaiah stated - filthy rags. I had nothing, nor was I anyone when Jesus came to me after His resurrection.  But His forgiveness set me free. I was no longer bound to who I once was, or what I had done. It no longer defined me. I was a changed man.

     The other disciples called me zealous.  A bit radical. Perhaps it’s because of my violent past.  But if you carried the guilt that I had, would you suffice for any other grace than the one that God gives?  How could you?  

     I traveled the seas, and shared my story with different groups of people.  That was slightly out of my comfort zone, as I realized my hatred toward Romans, politically, had developed a racist belief subsequently. Where I once was judgmental, I learned to extend mercy. God had healed my wounds, hallelujah.   I had the most opportunities with Jewish people, however, who highly depended on the Law of the Old Covenant to restore their souls.   

     Many religious leaders knew of my past.  After all, many were allies of mine in my former life.  I walked with them. Prayed with them and plotted with them.  The change they saw in me perplexed few; angered most. I was often hunted down by those I once called brothers, because they could not understand why I would forsake everything for a man who claimed to God.  How could I believe in such a blasphemous statement?

     I wasn’t a great speaker or writer.  I was only a man with a prideful past and scarring sin that proved I no longer could trust in my own efforts and goodness.  Studying the Scriptures, I knew that what Jesus had only fulfilled every prophecy declared; not to make mockery. He is the Messiah! And His forgiveness freed me! I knew His love to be genuine.  If He could forgive me of my sin, I knew the world, too, could be redeemed.

      My life was threatened.  But I did not care. It had been threatened before...If you had done what I did, wouldn’t you have tried to seek death’s hope?  But by the amazing wonder of God…

     By now, you probably are wondering who I am, or if my story is true.  Sadly, I was not restored, as I could only yearn. This letter serves as a memento of what I wish could have been.  It is true all the disciples betrayed Jesus, that night. It just so happened, I was the first. (If you were still wondering who I am, I think I have made it very clear, by now.)  

     I betrayed Him.  I was the reason for which Jesus was whipped and bloodied.  Beaten beyond recognition. I was the reason why He was sold for pride.  What was an exchange of a few coins worth? I believed that Jesus failed me.  He did not save Israel in the way I expected. However, the cost of momentary justification proved a consequence too much to bear.  Not even the priests offered intercession.

     I sold out a Man’s life, when He had done nothing wrong.

     And there, I stood facing the reality that any goodness of myself assured was shattered in the moment my wickedness was revealed.  All this time, I sought out hatred toward a human enemy, not knowing there was an enemy far greater than men dressed in metal. And that enemy made his home within me.  My miserable soul was in turmoil, and the only rest I could find was in a field of blood; and worse…

     It has been recorded that it would have been better if I had never been born.  I wonder, if Jesus said this, not because I couldn’t be saved, but He knew beforehand, I wouldn’t.  You see, in the hour of my dissoluteness, I succumbed to my grief. So stuck on justifying myself, I did so.  When my true nature had manifested, I knew the sin had to be ransomed. I made sure that happened.

     Unaware to my soul, God meant for Jesus to die.  The prophet not only mentions the filthiness of our righteousness, but he mentioned that a Messiah would come...beaten and bruised.  It would be for our healing and all of history’s iniquity would be laid upon Him. The sacrifices of old would be no more, because God was interweaving a new covenant bound on His own righteousness and merit, rather than our own.  Oh, how I wished I would’ve known! Simultaneous to the hour of my depravity, Jesus was at work for my salvation. MY salvation! He wanted and loved me just as any human. I couldn’t see it. I wouldn’t believe His grace was enough for a wretch like me!   Christ’s sacrifice; God’s love and forgiveness was available for the taking, if only I had grasped onto the truth!    

     Alas, it was not so.  

     Do not mourn for me.  Nothing more can be done.  However, there is time for you, if you will heed.  In the presence of Holiness, all virtue that you may hold will shrivel into nothingness.  Nevertheless, do not be swayed to continue striving for heaven’s gates. Redemption is not yours to make.  Mentioned thus, in your repentance, do not sink into condemnation. The price of your sin has already been paid.  If only you would believe and receive. Truth is, it may have been my hand that turned Jesus over to be crucified, but all of us had a cause for His death.  Yet, it delighted the Father to put Jesus to death, so that He could be the firstborn Son of many.

     It is too late for me.  But, I implore...do what I failed to do. Believe in Jesus’ sacrifice.  Seize onto the love God has for you, and receive His forgiveness. Become a child of the Most High.  

     Change your narrative.

-Judas Iscariot    

Tired of Being Strong

 “Ironic how with Spring, the earth beckons us to come out and play, but the world-wide disease warns us to stay inside.”

Equipment left at a standstill; a project discontinued; 

a reminder of the impact of COVID-19

     Yesterday, I was playing with the idea of writing a poem expressing my perspective on the COVID-19 global pandemic...I was on a walk by myself.  I usually walk alone, but with the fear that a case may come in my own community, restrictions on socialization are cut to a minimum.  Starting today, we are to take shelter for two weeks if we have a job that is considered nonessential.  My school district has already been closed for two weeks.  If we start school back up after Easter, we will have gone a month without our students.

     I understand the precautions taken to stop the spread of this virus.  Simultaneously, I wonder how much of my actions seem to not mind the measures.  I have been volunteering to help with making meals for students.  I met with my big brother to hang out.  My interactions are limited, sure, but I am still going outside of my home.  Am I just throwing caution to the wind?

     As of this morning, I am fully aware of the risk I take by assisting in my community.  But I am more concerned what this social isolation may do to me.  As much as I would be protected from getting sick, I am fearful for my sanity.  

     The first week of the state-wide school shut down, I was physically worn from helping out in the kitchen.  Let’s just say, my feet have taught me a new-found appreciation for the school cooks.  This past week, however, I found myself emotionally worn.  I took an extra day off from volunteering, because I was still climbing out of the melancholic agitation I found myself.  Worn...almost warped...physically, and then mentally.  It’s only a matter of time that if I don’t fight whatever thing that I am facing, it would only wear me spiritually, as well.

     Without going into detail what caused these mental battles this last week, all that needs mentioning is that I felt trapped.  Confused.  Wishing I could ask for help, but wondering where and who to go to.  The Bible says to not forsake the assembling of the saints (Hebrews 3:12-14; 10:23-25), and to pray for those who have sinned and or are in need of healing (James 5:16).  But when I have a burden that requires assistance, I feel the utmost pressure to stay silent.  I wonder how much of my upbringing, as well as Christianidoms have influenced my inhibition to be quiet.

      I do as I have been told.  I pray.  I am in my Word.  I bring the concern to God...But what happens if in the moment, it is too much?  Is it wrong for a Christian who has been walking with Jesus to ask for assistance?  I am hesitant to ask for a hand, however.  I have learned to not ask for help.  My mother, while I was growing up, would tell me to not bother someone.  My independent spirit has cauterized a habit to refuse assistance of any kind.  Furthermore, I fear there is a pervasive belief among mature Christians that it is not okay to ask for help. 

     When is it appropriate to go to a friend for help?  I feel like the only time I am within the boundaries to accept assistance when someone asks me if I want assistance.  Otherwise, I should be going to the Lord.  But I do...and sometimes in prayer, the only thing I can get out is, “Daddy,” before I start screaming, wretched with hurt and anger that the only release I can find is to hit something.  And sometimes, my own flesh is what satisfies.  I have taught myself to handle a situation alone...and by the time I finally ask for a life preserver, I am already drowning!

     I need help.  But will I scare someone with the burden I bear?  Will I be judged for not being a good enough Christian?  Will I be asked to step down from ministry for having a moment of struggle or sin?  (God had to convict me that if I was asked to step down, it would hurt me, because I find my worth in my ability to serve.)  Can I be forgiven?  I stuff things...I deal with them alone, because I have taught myself that I shouldn’t be in need.  And if I am in need, then I should only be going to the Lord.

     I admit that a well I drink from, opposite from Christ, is my relationship with friends. I find my momentary joy when I am with people. When I am forced to go without, it brings an uncomfortableness and pain that can be overwhelming. Ironic that quarantine is being utilized to save lives, but for someone who lives alone, it tempts death of another kind - depression. So...my question stands.  When is it appropriate to ask for help?

     Or because I have known Christ for 20 years, am I to suffer because I should know better?

     I can already see how Pastor Joel’s sermon from last Sunday is getting twisted (he preached on seeking Christ first and most, daily).  “If God is to fill all my needs, then I should never ask for help.”  However, I see in the book of Acts that God meets the needs of people through people, just as well from His own hand (hello, helping with making meals for students during this shutdown).  

     My thoughts can overwhelm...in a matter of seconds.  They speak louder than my Father’s words, so sometimes I feel trapped.  And then when I am bold enough to ask for help, I feel ashamed for doing so.  Like I shouldn’t be asking.

     And we wonder why people in ministry get burnt out, and why we see pastors committing suicide.  I can’t speak for every circumstance, but I don’t think the individuals in these circumstances are broken, because they doubt God’s goodness.  They may be so hurt by the things in the world that they believe the only peace that can be found is in their Daddy’s arms.  Just a side thought, though.

     I am tired of believing the lies that I should be carrying my own load.  Tired of believing the lies that I should be praying for everyone else, but I can’t ask for prayer, myself.  I am tired of feeling like I should be ready to fill others, when there are moments I do need to be filled myself, because of the weight I bear.  I am tired of denying the fact that I have needs, in the name of meeting other peoples’ needs.  I tell people I’m okay if they aren’t okay.  But I don’t trust myself  to not be okay with someone else.  Because I have to be strong.  And yet - proving my strength is what denies my trust in God.  

     I know that I must go to God first and foremost.  But I also know that we need a three-strand cord to sturdy our stances (and don’t give me the excuse that the three-strand is the Trinity...God meant for us to be in community, and to not be islands of faith).    I know I am not where I want to be.  I want the chains of anxiousness, fear, worry, self-loathing, and anger to loose.  But in the meantime, if I have tried to lay things at His feet, would you be okay if I called?  Stressed, overwhelmed, and in need of hearing truth, would you help without any hint of shame or judgment?  

***

    After writing and crying out to God my concerns, I read in my devotions, this morning, how God directed the Israelites to ensure the poor and needy to not be left without provision or to be taken advantage of.  God cares for His people.  He cares for my needs.  I believe that it’s okay to ask for help.  Otherwise, what would be the point of accountability if we shut up?  I am not asking for someone to carry my burden for me (Lord of the Rings reference), but to walk with me in my moment until I have enough strength.  Sometimes, all I really need is a listening ear and to hear truth as well as an outside perspective on the situation at hand.  I often go to God first and most, dealing with things.  I can handle things, and share with someone once a week.  It’s a less occasion when I call out of desperation.  I wonder if guilt can be removed.

     In another devotional, Psalm 40 was brought forth...and talk about God responding!  Take time to read the following:

    “I waited patiently for the Lord, and He inclined to me, and heard my cry.  He also brought me out of a horrible pit [a pit of tumult and destruction], out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my steps…

     Blessed is that man who makes the Lord his trust, and does not respect the proud, nor such as turn aside to lies.  Many, O Lord my God; are Your wonderful works which You have done; and Your thoughts toward us cannot be recounted to You in order; if I would declare and speak of them, they are more than can be numbered…

     Do not withhold Your tender mercies from me, O Lord; let Your lovingkindness and Your truth continually preserve me.  For innumerable evils have surrounded me; my iniquities have overtaken me, so that I am not able to look up; they are more than the hairs on my head; therefore my heart fails me.  Be pleased, O Lord, to deliver me; O Lord, make haste to help me!  Let them be ashamed and brought to mutual confusion who seek to destroy my life; let them be driven backward and brought to dishonor who wish me evil.  Let them be confounded because of their shame, who say to me, ‘Aha, aha!’

     ...But I am poor and needy; yet, the Lord thinks upon me.  You are my help and deliverer; do not delay, O my God.”

• Psalm 40: 1-2, 4-5, 11-15, 17

Faith to Believe

     Daddy, I have a problem.  I wouldn’t think I do.  It most likely won’t come into conversation.  However, as I think about it - as I ponder on it - it is a problem.  Why haven’t I been healed, yet?  Why, almost 30 years after my birth, does my right hand remain as the first day I came into this world?  Why must I still depend on medication to keep the seizures at bay? 

     I couldn’t tell you how many times I have been prayed for.   How many hands have laid on my shoulder, asking for Your healing.  Only once has something occurred; that was my leg.  I was 22-years-old.  It grew.  Do You remember?  I am nervous to ask again, Daddy.  I am nervous to want a word of knowledge speaking to my specific situation, because, if I was prayed for again, will I be prayed for and nothing happens...again?  People have told me to keep asking for it.  To thank you for the promise yet to be manifested.  But it’s hard.

     I have seen You grow limbs, heal diseases.  I would even say that I have faith for the most impossible circumstances. But when my right hand remains as its limp fist, I only wonder.  What did I do wrong?  Did I do something wrong?  People say to have faith.  And I know that You honor even the smallest of faith...as small as a mustard seed.  So, when I have prayed, I believe.  I take hold of those words in red, and hope that something will happen.  But alas, nothing.  People have told me to just receive Your promise.  Whenever have I refused Your gift, though?  I have held out my hands, wishing I could receive this gift that You so freely give.  

     Granted, I don’t pray for my hand as much as other things.  When I pray, it is often for my youth at church, family members who don’t have a relationship with you, or other things going on in life and the community.  Thinking about me, and my own condition, is often the last thing on my mind.  But how often may that be the result of failed hopes?  I don’t know.  

     When it is brought to light that disability - as much as the person should be accepted - but the condition is not, concerning the context of the kingdom of God, I only find myself questioning, “Why am I the one that has to wait?”  Is it lack of praying?  After all, James states that we don’t receive, because we don’t ask (and we ask amiss; James 4:3).  Perhaps the apex of emotions that have been starting to stir is because I am finally asking.  But I know that I have asked before.  Additionally, I know myself well enough that I can get fixated on a topic to pray for.  If I become fixated on this (which in the last two weeks, seems that it has become just that), then I will fail to intercede for more important matters.

     Maybe that’s the problem...I have lived with cerebral palsy and a seizure disorder for so long (the former, my entire life), that it is my normal.  What would it be like if I actually had the use of both my hands?  But since I have managed to live quite a fruitful life, there is not a need within my psyche to ask for it...But I am reminded that in the kingdom of heaven, disability will not exist.  And physical dysfunction, no matter how minor, does not serve a purpose where Your throne exists...And so, I wonder...am I just comfortable with where my life has been?

     And yet, ironically, I have lived with a perpetual fear of being defined by my hand in the sight of others.  How often have I played a sport, wondering what people might say about my ability?  How often have I laid the guitar down (or more rather, hung it up), never to touch it, because it was too hard for me to play it?  As long as I can remember, I have defined myself by what I can do.  I have also fought against the mental challenges of what I cannot do.  I realize that You won’t manifest a physical healing until the heart and mind about the condition has been healed, first.  There was a time that You revealed to me that my hand was not whole, yet, because I would claim my own strength, and become wholly dependent on myself.  Does that remain so, today?  

     In the last two weeks, the questions concerning healing - or more rather, my healing - have compounded in my thoughts (along with longings of the future and forgiveness...I guess there are a few things that the two of us need to get squared away).  More so, a revelation that the “big request”, as I like to call it, is an area where I fail to trust You.  I have faith for other peoples’ healing.  Even small things such as colds and pains, I can bring them to You, faithfully.  But there is a disconnect here.

     Actually, anytime I ask for a healing, and there isn’t immediate relief, I become concerned.  

     Why is it that I see in Your word, Jesus spoke and it was done in that moment, but I have to wait?  

     I don’t want to get to a place where I believe You to be a liar, in this area.  I know that You only speak truth (Titus 1:2).  I don’t want my experiences to supersede Your Word, in the manner that I dictate my faith.  But, I have subsequently believed that I have to earn this gift of healing.  I know that I could never earn any of your gifts, but I guess old habits die hard...Earning favor plays a role in my life.  And there is nothing I can do to make this healing come.  Dependent on the neurology of my body, I can lift weights, stretch my hand, but unless the dead things come to life again, my body will remain as it is.  It’s not like I can just give myself neurosurgery.  

     Daddy, it’s completely out of my control.  And it’s totally in Your hands.  I believe healing is Your will.  So, why haven’t You done anything?  (Am I at the point where I no longer blame myself, and now I am looking at You?)  

     Jesus directed us to pray, “Your kingdom come, Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven (Matthew 6:10).”  Wherever I read someone who asked to be healed, Jesus didn’t resent and not give it.  I know there are circles of Christians who believe that sometimes it may not be Your will to heal.  They will pray things such as, “If it is Your will…”  I realize that they are just trying to submit to Your timeline of when (incorporating heaven as part of that timeline), but it bugs the heck out of me.  Why would I ever have the boldness to pray for healing, if I only expect it would happen in heaven?  (By saying “if”, I feel moments are missed in praying declarative prayers that could change a situation that would otherwise remain the same.  Sometimes, we petition.  Other times, we must command.)  Maybe I am just going off.  Perhaps overzealous, in this determinant.  And yet, I stand on this stipulation, all the while my hand remains as it has always been.  

     John 9:1-3 was often a big help in dealing with living with cerebral palsy (and a seizure disorder).  But now, I am wondering, what is Your glory in me remaining as thus?  Perhaps because of all I can do, in spite of living with a disability...But notice that I didn’t state “being disabled.”  Whether it’s one hand or two, I have already figured out how to give myself credit for my physical accomplishments.  So, essentially, I’ve made the glory more about myself than about You.  

      Perhaps, it’s so I can have that touch of familiarity and understanding while working with SPED kids.  This seems more probable.  I remember what an impact it was when I saw that my freshman English teacher was paralyzed, in a wheelchair, and still doing what she loved.  2 Corinthians talks about that...Our pain brings comfort to others, because we understand their pain (2 Corinthians 1:3-5).  That being said...man, as I was writing this letter to You, it was only now that I thought of this being a hint for Your glory.  And in reading the 2 Corinthians reference, it gives me peace.  However, is it wrong for me to ask?

     The topic of healing is a touchy subject; perhaps even triggering.  I have wondered how much of my lack has depended on my failure in faith (I had one person tell the other people to have more faith so I could be healed...yeah, guilt trip!).  I want so badly...okay, correction - as of now, I want healing.  But even in the 2 Corinthians word, am I to only be pacified until another climatic run.  It seems that the “big request” is only warranted when I am in need of it, or the difference between experience and Your Word are magnified.  

     I have come to a point in my life where I have stopped asking for people to pray for me.  I have stopped inquiring for people to lay hands on me, because it has happened only You know how many times.  I have asked, and I am waiting for Your response.  You say Your promises are “yes, and amen” (2 Corinthians 1:20), so would it really be Your delight to withhold healing from Your child?  (I just found out that ‘yes, amen’ verse is in the same chapter as the word You just brought to my mind as I wrote my plight about how could this be Your glory...hmmm….)

     I do not believe You are a sadistic God.  To say that You made me with a disability is to almost say that a father would be willing to break his baby’s leg, just so he can look a little different, or to toughen him for life.  That would be crazy!  However, so many people know Your good, but supply that even the bad things are Your will.  Granted, they fully trust in Your sovereignty, but the dichotomy of circumstance seems to make Your goodness jaded.

     I believe You are good.  I believe You are sovereign.  I also know that this world has been scarred from the effects of sin, and things happen.  Sometimes things are allowed, and You use these things to shape us...But I refuse to believe that it was Your hand that cut off the blood from my brain, while in utero.  You are the giver of life; not the father of death.  Perhaps, in these statements of faith lies the hint of my frustrations.

     For I, too, have a dichotomy to live with.  A contradiction of truths, as some would say.  How can I believe for healing, but fail to trust You for my own?  How am I submitted to Your will, but be convinced that Your will is a certain result?  Legitimate questions.  But I guess we all must come to our own conclusions.  That being said, I do not want to ever arrive at a place where I am content not seeing Your hand at work, because I haven’t seen it with my eyes, yet.

      Another reference that has been popping in my mind, but I didn't want to journal about, is Hebrews 11:13-16, 32-40.  The most painful of verses is 39: “And all of these, though they won divine approval by [means of] their faith, did not receive the fulfillment of what was promised.”  They believed and hoped for their promises, but they did not receive! Yes, I admit that I didn’t want to take note of it, because I knew I am not the only one who has had to wait, and failed to receive.  (Pity alert!)
    But verse 40 continues: “Because God had us in mind and had something better and greater in view for us, so that they [these heroes and heroines of faith] should not come to perfection apart from us [before we could join them].”

     Daddy, what do You have in mind?  What is up Your sleeve?  I have words of knowledge, from various individuals, that they have seen my hand whole (which I have also understood, being healed of the seizure disorder, as well).  And yet, I am still waiting.  I trust You, even if I have to wait until heaven, but I have a feeling that I may not have to wait that long, either.  

     Last Sunday, I was dealing with a headache, and of course, these questions on healing.  While making the communion table, “You will be healed this year,” ran through my mind.  Could it be that You spoke?  Waiting 30 years, and finally my hand will be healed?  I admit that I am scared to say it was You.  Why get my hopes up, only to see that by January 1st of 2021, nothing has changed.  But what if it does change?  Should my fear prevent me from asking, acknowledging and limited by my past experiences?  

     Help me to have faith to believe.  To believe in all that You are and what You do. To believe in Your promises even when I have yet to see their fruit.  Help me to have faith for the next, while I am in the now.