I'll take the road less traveled by
That's what my father always said
Now he works in an office
With a whore in his bed
My mother sleeps alone at night
Dreaming of all her regret inside
I wanna tell her that I love her
Oh and if I could
I would've given her so much better
Cause no don't you tell me
That that man is my father
Oh just some hooded conceiver
Who tried really, really hard to please her
So I'm returning to my gladness
When I was only ten
Playing football in the front yard
And sweating with my friends
I remember when I was thirteen
It was October something
I was standing on that front lawn listening
That was the first time I heard You calling
As the sun was cooling down
And the moms were about to drive their kids around
And they say, "Blah, blah, blah, blah"
And they say, "Blah, blah, blah"
They give us truth deceiving
I don't think that's truth at all
And they say, "Blah, blah, blah, blah"
And they say. "Blah, blah, blah"
They give us love that's leaving
I don't think that's love
Oh and the steeple people
Oh they're so happy not knowing You
So boldly do they pervert Your truth
Oh did they think we wouldn't grow up
Did they think we couldn't throw back up
The sour milk they've been pouring down out throats
Oh they have raised one pissed off generation
With kids that have to start taking care of them
Like "Hey mom, get to work on time"
And "Hey dad, would you come home tonight?"
And "The both of you, stop drinking so much wine"
And they say, "Blah, blah, blah, blah"
And they say, "Blah, blah, blah"
They give us truth deceiving
I don't think that's truth at all
And they say, "Blah, blah, blah, blah"
And they say, "Blah, blah, blah"
They give us love that's leaving
I don't think that's love
-- "Sour Milk" by Wild Sweet Orange, from We Have Cause To Be Uneasy"
Friday, October 28, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
applying makeup
Yesterday morning, one of our residents was not allowed access to her makeup as a result of her poor behavior. She went to school and some stupid boy made a comment about her being ugly. Whether his statement was a response to her uncovered face or a petty, first-grade comeback from a high school student was irrelevant. My resident felt exposed and decided that she would rather skip school for the rest of the day than be seen without her covering.
I'll be honest, I generally hate makeup. I understand its usefulness, and have occasionally seen it applied in ways that accentuate amazing qualities. But as a whole, it seems to be more commonly applied to fix the characteristics that women find least presentable. I understand that a woman desires to be presentable and accepted as beautiful, so I can only speak from a dude-point-of-view: I want to find a woman beautiful as she is, rather than what she must make herself to be.
Later in the evening, I was struggling with another resident that typically gives me the most resistance. The most simple direction can lead her to become frustrated with me, and she approaches our relationship differently than she does with other staff. This time, I upset her good when she was given a consequence for using foul language. After a long rant (to which I did not reply), she sat in a chair to cool down. She finally addressed me in a calm voice, only to ask if she could call someone else since she couldn't talk to me.
I used this moment to address the heart of our problem. She doesn't trust me because she doesn't know me, but she doesn't know me because she doesn't trust me. I began pouring from my heart how her actions -- and my "job obligation" to her actions -- were driving a wedge between us. She had drawn some faulty conclusions about me based on perceptions she had made. She felt she was being targeted, and that I was bent on seeing her fail. Each time she saw my initials next to a consequence, she assumed it was my decision alone, and not one made by the entire team.
As I began to express from my heart the false judgments that were being made, I became a bit glassy eyed. It was "unprofessional" for me to get choked up at work, but for the first time, the resident was able to see that our struggle (and its resolution) meant something to me. I wasn't just a cold body intent on making her life miserable; I was a caring adult that was just as frustrated as she was.
On the way home, I thought about my post from Saturday. I believe that I've taken a sense of pride in being unshaken by the wind and waves, giving others the impression that I do not feel as they do. This is why the "hero complex" has bothered me so greatly: I know that I'm being evaluated on my costume and not the beauty (or mess) inside.
There's a disconnect between the strong, unblemished face we want people to see and the purified face that we want to admire. A superhero rarely gets the girl because he wrestles to uphold the identity and strength of his character while she longs to know the man underneath. In each of these stories, the man determines that the need for a hero outweighs his personal desire to be known unveiled.
If I take off the makeup, I must face the fear of being vulnerable. The world will see my pimples, scars, and discolorations. My bedhead will rest above these puffy, tired eyes. The mask will become useless when I am first exposed, because everyone will know that my strength is a facade. You will not forget the ugly tears that fall upon real flesh.
I'm tired of hating what I've become, while the original image lies beneath.
I'll be honest, I generally hate makeup. I understand its usefulness, and have occasionally seen it applied in ways that accentuate amazing qualities. But as a whole, it seems to be more commonly applied to fix the characteristics that women find least presentable. I understand that a woman desires to be presentable and accepted as beautiful, so I can only speak from a dude-point-of-view: I want to find a woman beautiful as she is, rather than what she must make herself to be.
Later in the evening, I was struggling with another resident that typically gives me the most resistance. The most simple direction can lead her to become frustrated with me, and she approaches our relationship differently than she does with other staff. This time, I upset her good when she was given a consequence for using foul language. After a long rant (to which I did not reply), she sat in a chair to cool down. She finally addressed me in a calm voice, only to ask if she could call someone else since she couldn't talk to me.
I used this moment to address the heart of our problem. She doesn't trust me because she doesn't know me, but she doesn't know me because she doesn't trust me. I began pouring from my heart how her actions -- and my "job obligation" to her actions -- were driving a wedge between us. She had drawn some faulty conclusions about me based on perceptions she had made. She felt she was being targeted, and that I was bent on seeing her fail. Each time she saw my initials next to a consequence, she assumed it was my decision alone, and not one made by the entire team.
As I began to express from my heart the false judgments that were being made, I became a bit glassy eyed. It was "unprofessional" for me to get choked up at work, but for the first time, the resident was able to see that our struggle (and its resolution) meant something to me. I wasn't just a cold body intent on making her life miserable; I was a caring adult that was just as frustrated as she was.
On the way home, I thought about my post from Saturday. I believe that I've taken a sense of pride in being unshaken by the wind and waves, giving others the impression that I do not feel as they do. This is why the "hero complex" has bothered me so greatly: I know that I'm being evaluated on my costume and not the beauty (or mess) inside.
There's a disconnect between the strong, unblemished face we want people to see and the purified face that we want to admire. A superhero rarely gets the girl because he wrestles to uphold the identity and strength of his character while she longs to know the man underneath. In each of these stories, the man determines that the need for a hero outweighs his personal desire to be known unveiled.
If I take off the makeup, I must face the fear of being vulnerable. The world will see my pimples, scars, and discolorations. My bedhead will rest above these puffy, tired eyes. The mask will become useless when I am first exposed, because everyone will know that my strength is a facade. You will not forget the ugly tears that fall upon real flesh.
I'm tired of hating what I've become, while the original image lies beneath.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
romantic blind spot
During my Facebook days, one of my co-workers was tagging friends on an "identity" poster, one that asked her to specify which friend is best characterized by each Disney character:
Crude and immature? Yes, but isn't that the heart of Facebook fun? Having been tagged myself, I scanned across the poster, awaiting the identity that my unbelieving friend had given me. My jaw clenched and my nostrils flared as my mouse rested on an all too familiar destination.
"The One That Saves The Day"
Everyone that knows me knows that I hate this. Fell free to call me a rogue, a loner, or a thinker. Jokingly refer to me as bipolar, moody, or intense. Openly question my discontent or my random state of melancholy. I will bear no offense. Allow me to be anything but the hero.
I was driving to work a couple days ago, listening to my autumn tunes. While never one of my favorite Simon and Garfunkel songs, the following lyrics rang profoundly that cool morning:
Let's look at my track history. I have cared for two women deeply: both under 5'0 tall, both too reckless with their hearts, both prior victims of abuse, both trying to get their spiritual lives in order after mistakes, both fully willing to let me be their perfect man...
Big problem: I couldn't save them. They were never mine to save. The minute I let down my guard, transitioning from a strong and noble god to a fractured man with emotional needs, they were finished. Sure, had I never attempted to usurp God's position, they may have never been interested in me at all. But what dysfunction would cause me to place that level of pressure on myself...or participate in that level of spiritual corruption?
I recognize that I don't trust women to love me for who I am. I will forever be incapable of the "dangling conversation," because worldly things have so little value to me. Likewise, being "The One That Saves The Day" leads me forever through a string of co-dependency. I struggle daily to ask this question, leading me to disregard her in prayer, but what is it that I want?
I want a real partner. Even as I glorify the idea in my mind, I don't want someone to simply fill space beside me. I desire a woman who will minister with me, worship with me, raise children with me, and never grow tired of speaking of the things of God, because these are the only things that truly interest me. And while I feel as if I must continuously dig for other worldly things to break the ice with 21st century women, I know that this is no way to begin a righteous relationship. If "we speak of things that matter," and it doesn't involve Christ or our mutual pursuit of Him, I'll feel like I'm wasting my time.
And I'll be perfectly honest, I don't know if what I want exists.
"The One That Saves The Day"
Everyone that knows me knows that I hate this. Fell free to call me a rogue, a loner, or a thinker. Jokingly refer to me as bipolar, moody, or intense. Openly question my discontent or my random state of melancholy. I will bear no offense. Allow me to be anything but the hero.
I was driving to work a couple days ago, listening to my autumn tunes. While never one of my favorite Simon and Garfunkel songs, the following lyrics rang profoundly that cool morning:
It's a still life water colorWhereas Simon wrote these words to describe the monotony of a deteriorating relationship, I found myself stricken with a bit of envy. I realized that for as long as I have despised the "hero" tag from women, I have never allowed myself to be anything else. I have a complete inability to engage in the small talk common with the modern couple -- the only time I have ever felt welcome or useful to a woman is when she has needed to be saved.
Of a now late afternoon
As the sun shines through the curtained lace
And shadows wash the room
And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference
Like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
The borders of our lives
And you read your Emily Dickinson
And I my Robert Frost
And we note our place with bookmarkers
That measure what we've lost
Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm
Couplets out of rhyme
In syncopated time
And the dangled conversation
And the superficial sighs
Are the borders of our lives
Yes, we speak of things that matter
With words that must be said
"Can analysis be worthwhile?"
"Is the theater really dead?"
And how the room is softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow
I cannot feel your hand
You're a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs
In the borders of our lives
-- The Dangling Conversation
Let's look at my track history. I have cared for two women deeply: both under 5'0 tall, both too reckless with their hearts, both prior victims of abuse, both trying to get their spiritual lives in order after mistakes, both fully willing to let me be their perfect man...
Big problem: I couldn't save them. They were never mine to save. The minute I let down my guard, transitioning from a strong and noble god to a fractured man with emotional needs, they were finished. Sure, had I never attempted to usurp God's position, they may have never been interested in me at all. But what dysfunction would cause me to place that level of pressure on myself...or participate in that level of spiritual corruption?
I recognize that I don't trust women to love me for who I am. I will forever be incapable of the "dangling conversation," because worldly things have so little value to me. Likewise, being "The One That Saves The Day" leads me forever through a string of co-dependency. I struggle daily to ask this question, leading me to disregard her in prayer, but what is it that I want?
I want a real partner. Even as I glorify the idea in my mind, I don't want someone to simply fill space beside me. I desire a woman who will minister with me, worship with me, raise children with me, and never grow tired of speaking of the things of God, because these are the only things that truly interest me. And while I feel as if I must continuously dig for other worldly things to break the ice with 21st century women, I know that this is no way to begin a righteous relationship. If "we speak of things that matter," and it doesn't involve Christ or our mutual pursuit of Him, I'll feel like I'm wasting my time.
And I'll be perfectly honest, I don't know if what I want exists.
Friday, October 21, 2011
inseparable
While studying 1 John for the purity project, I was delighted when God gave me a rhema nugget that echoed so much of what He's been showing me over the past two years:
[This is where the teacher in me sometimes remains at conflict with the Word received through the Spirit. The teacher desires to share something sound, foolproof, and supported by the academic consensus; the Spirit wants me to receive His Word and proclaim it as truth.]
Thankfully, my study affirmed the word that God had already written on my heart. If John had meant "with Him," he wouldn't have said "with one another." John desires the reader to understand that our purity from sin reaches to the very core of His Church -- the holy unity we possess with one another is a result of legitimate repentance and confession of our sin.
If I own this truth, I also own these conclusions:
1) Only by living in Him can we also be in pure fellowship with other believers.
2) We cannot have unity with the Body while living in darkness.
1 John is a beautiful book because it never allows us to separate the act of knowing God from loving our brother. Simply stated, we cannot claim to know God if we do not love our brother, and we cannot love our brother without first knowing God. We cannot love God if we love the world, thus we cannot love our brother if we love the world.
If we are truly living according to His Spirit, our lives will bear the overflow of His love within us. We will be unable to contain our love, because we'll know the perfect love that has led us to repentance, salvation, and intimacy with Him. This is the love that "casts out fear" (4:18), because it speaks of the hope we have in Christ. When our "love" is driven by fear, insecurity, envy, or manipulation, we are not living according to this hope.
It is also appropriate to heed warning within the Body. If we seek spiritual brotherhood with unrepentant hearts that are unwilling to be exposed or purified by the Light, we are by result corrupting His Church. We have no brotherhood with those living in darkness. Yet every day, believers worship with those living according to the world as if we are trying to attain fellowship through our own faculties. We have been given no right to do this. God desires to present His Bride as pure, but if we redefine the terms of being associated with the priesthood, we offer something less than holy. As believers, we have no legitimate unity with darkness, as much as we'd love to feel "connected" or "relevant."
We should regularly ask God to evaluate our hearts and to bring any darkness to light. We must also be cognizant of the relationship our heart has with our fellowship. If we desire to love perfectly, we must first allow Him to purify us from unrighteousness. If we profess a love for Christ, it should be manifested in our love for mankind rather than a clinging to the world. And if we would seek communion in the Body, this wonderful gift can only be found among those already in communion with Him.
If we say that we have fellowship with Him and yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth; but if we walk in the Light as He Himself is in the Light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus His Son cleanses us from all sin. (1 John 1:6-7)In context with my research, I sought this passage to confirm our dependency on Christ to remain pure and clean. However, it was the other effect of living as light that leaped off the page:
...we have fellowship with one anotherWhile my initial reaction was that John is stating our fellowship with other believers is likewise dependent on our living in the Light -- a point that I would very much like to make -- I dug further to be certain. John could have just as well meant that we have fellowship with God, and a version or two may have poorly translated the term "one another."
[This is where the teacher in me sometimes remains at conflict with the Word received through the Spirit. The teacher desires to share something sound, foolproof, and supported by the academic consensus; the Spirit wants me to receive His Word and proclaim it as truth.]
Thankfully, my study affirmed the word that God had already written on my heart. If John had meant "with Him," he wouldn't have said "with one another." John desires the reader to understand that our purity from sin reaches to the very core of His Church -- the holy unity we possess with one another is a result of legitimate repentance and confession of our sin.
If I own this truth, I also own these conclusions:
1) Only by living in Him can we also be in pure fellowship with other believers.
2) We cannot have unity with the Body while living in darkness.
1 John is a beautiful book because it never allows us to separate the act of knowing God from loving our brother. Simply stated, we cannot claim to know God if we do not love our brother, and we cannot love our brother without first knowing God. We cannot love God if we love the world, thus we cannot love our brother if we love the world.
The one who says he is in the Light and yet hates his brother is in the darkness until now. The one who loves his brother abides in the Light and there is no cause for stumbling in him. But the one who hates his brother is in the darkness and walks in the darkness, and does not know where he is going because the darkness has blinded his eyes. (2:9-11)We must understand that we cannot live according to Him if we do not know Him. As much as the world has constructed its own definition of "love," we cannot serve our brother humbly, selflessly, and without expectation apart from Christ. The world's form of "love" may look similar in action, but the Light reveals the motivations of our hearts. The world's "love" always requires something in return.
Do not love the world nor the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. (2:15)
By this the children of God and the children of the devil are obvious: anyone who does not practice righteousness is not of God, nor the one who does not love his brother. (3:10)
Do not be surprised, brethren, if the world hates you. We know that we have passed out of death into life, because we love the brethren. He who does not love abides in death. (3:13-14)
We know love by this, that He laid down His life for us; and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren. But whoever has the world’s goods, and sees his brother in need and closes his heart against him, how does the love of God abide in him? (3:16-17)
Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God; and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. The one who does not love does not know God, for God is love. By this the love of God was manifested in us, that God has sent His only begotten Son into the world so that we might live through Him. In this is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. (4:7-11)
We love, because He first loved us. If someone says, “I love God,” and hates his brother, he is a liar; for the one who does not love his brother whom he has seen, cannot love God whom he has not seen. (4:19-20)
If we are truly living according to His Spirit, our lives will bear the overflow of His love within us. We will be unable to contain our love, because we'll know the perfect love that has led us to repentance, salvation, and intimacy with Him. This is the love that "casts out fear" (4:18), because it speaks of the hope we have in Christ. When our "love" is driven by fear, insecurity, envy, or manipulation, we are not living according to this hope.
It is also appropriate to heed warning within the Body. If we seek spiritual brotherhood with unrepentant hearts that are unwilling to be exposed or purified by the Light, we are by result corrupting His Church. We have no brotherhood with those living in darkness. Yet every day, believers worship with those living according to the world as if we are trying to attain fellowship through our own faculties. We have been given no right to do this. God desires to present His Bride as pure, but if we redefine the terms of being associated with the priesthood, we offer something less than holy. As believers, we have no legitimate unity with darkness, as much as we'd love to feel "connected" or "relevant."
We should regularly ask God to evaluate our hearts and to bring any darkness to light. We must also be cognizant of the relationship our heart has with our fellowship. If we desire to love perfectly, we must first allow Him to purify us from unrighteousness. If we profess a love for Christ, it should be manifested in our love for mankind rather than a clinging to the world. And if we would seek communion in the Body, this wonderful gift can only be found among those already in communion with Him.
Monday, October 17, 2011
there are some days with these girls...
...that they suck the very life out of me. And then I drive home alone in the peace and quiet, remembering that I'm the closest thing they have to an earthly father.
I'm just asking God that I could honorably justify the second realization while enduring the first, because these are the days that I feel the smallest.
I'm just asking God that I could honorably justify the second realization while enduring the first, because these are the days that I feel the smallest.
radical acceptance
My favorite distress skill that we teach our girls is radical acceptance, which is based on the principle that pain + avoidance of reality = suffering. Granted, our therapy is secular, and is far too incomplete outside a work of the Spirit, but I'm in favor of any word that encourages hurting people to accept truth and confront lies.
The truth is, the things in life through which we become most frustrated are often the areas that we cannot control. We cannot accept the fact that something hurtful is outside our control, so we try harder to either resolve the unresolvable or to bury our pain and pretend it never existed. Both of these lead to further suffering: the first directly, and the latter through the alternative life we must live to deny the circumstances of reality.
People get angry when I make direct links between unresolved pain and common worldly patterns of behavior, particularly among believers. Part of what makes the American gospel so attractive to suffering people is the thought that "the past is in the past," and it shouldn't need to be discussed further under grace. However, this is the difference between scripture's pursuit of redemption and the American value of tolerance.
Tolerance says we shouldn't draw conclusions (i.e. "judge") based on reality. Meanwhile, redemption desires to restore all things for the sake of His glory, pain included. Is it easy? Absolutely not -- hence the reason avoiding reality is the path of least resistance. But to truly comprehend God's amazing grace, we must do more than forget the past; we should be touched to such a degree that even our deepest wounds bear an amazing testimony of His restoring power and love.
I don't believe that we can know the truth without Him. Christ is the perfect model for One who knew the excruciating pain of rejection and betrayal that we often mask, yet never hid behind the right to be offended, disrespected, or embittered. Even while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. He knew the full score and still chose redemption over His personal rights and comfort.
While most of us have not come close to experiencing this level of persecution, we are still tempted to disconnect our pain, shame, or regret from the sinful patterns existing in our lives. We can become frustrated in battling the symptoms of our condition while avoiding the painful reality that remains. This is truly a life of unnecessary suffering. But God longs to touch those tender areas of greatest resistance and transform us into beacons of light that proclaim His glory through a sometimes unsavory story.
That's some radical acceptance.
The truth is, the things in life through which we become most frustrated are often the areas that we cannot control. We cannot accept the fact that something hurtful is outside our control, so we try harder to either resolve the unresolvable or to bury our pain and pretend it never existed. Both of these lead to further suffering: the first directly, and the latter through the alternative life we must live to deny the circumstances of reality.
People get angry when I make direct links between unresolved pain and common worldly patterns of behavior, particularly among believers. Part of what makes the American gospel so attractive to suffering people is the thought that "the past is in the past," and it shouldn't need to be discussed further under grace. However, this is the difference between scripture's pursuit of redemption and the American value of tolerance.
Tolerance says we shouldn't draw conclusions (i.e. "judge") based on reality. Meanwhile, redemption desires to restore all things for the sake of His glory, pain included. Is it easy? Absolutely not -- hence the reason avoiding reality is the path of least resistance. But to truly comprehend God's amazing grace, we must do more than forget the past; we should be touched to such a degree that even our deepest wounds bear an amazing testimony of His restoring power and love.
I don't believe that we can know the truth without Him. Christ is the perfect model for One who knew the excruciating pain of rejection and betrayal that we often mask, yet never hid behind the right to be offended, disrespected, or embittered. Even while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. He knew the full score and still chose redemption over His personal rights and comfort.
While most of us have not come close to experiencing this level of persecution, we are still tempted to disconnect our pain, shame, or regret from the sinful patterns existing in our lives. We can become frustrated in battling the symptoms of our condition while avoiding the painful reality that remains. This is truly a life of unnecessary suffering. But God longs to touch those tender areas of greatest resistance and transform us into beacons of light that proclaim His glory through a sometimes unsavory story.
That's some radical acceptance.
Friday, October 14, 2011
why would He want this?
For whatever reason, it has been painfully difficult to center my mind on Christ this week. It could be a number of things: engaging the spiritual battle with this consecration project, being annoyed with not finding a single piece of useful information written by a single male, "celebrating" another birthday with my parents at age 33, staying up too late / sleeping in too late, seeing indoor housework that I don't feel motivated to finish, etc.
He's certainly present, but I acknowledge that I've been resistant. My resistance has not been aggressive; I'm nonchalantly ignoring the Spirit as if He's deserving of my being aloof, same as I've related with every other friend lately. I feel as if my friends cannot empathize, so I'm tired of rehashing the same old discontented thoughts about His Kingdom here in the U.S. I feel as if my Father does understand but has decided to leave me on this earth anyway, so what's the use in ruining myself further for an audience of One?
Somewhere I've missed that the point for Him is to be with me. I'm not used to that. I've known God personally for fifteen years, and it's still hard for me to accept being wanted without offering a service. To my friends in elementary school I was popular and imaginative, to my friends in high school I was romantic and accepting, to my camp and small group kids I was cool and fun, to my youth group teens I was insightful and wise, and to the coffeehouse world I was a calming presence. I've rarely been chosen or sought for my heart -- when I have it's ended badly, whether for their misdeeds or my own.
To choose His Spirit is to respond to Something that has found me first. When I feel like my life is absent of fruit, I feel I have nothing to give Him of use. In reality, He never asked for that as a bargaining chip. He's pleased when I offer my life sacrificially, but my cleanliness was never a term of agreement for our relationship.
First, He is my Creator: I am a living manifestation of His glory and masculinity.
Second, He is my Redeemer: I am a saved and cleansed by His selfless act and the shedding of His blood.
Third, He is my Restorer: I am being molded and perfected according to His likeness and His original intent.
None of these roles say anything about what He gains from me. Am I comfortable engaging fully in a relationship where I am the sole benefactor? Or must I comprehend the treasure that I am to Him to accept the blessing of His continual presence? I don't know that I'll ever understand that on earth.
And I see where this same problem casts poison into my earthly relationships. One man has accepted the blessing of pouring into my life without return, and I find it difficult to even make a phone call for fear of being a burden. One hypothetical woman would serve as my grace in marriage, but instead I've pursued those that will feast on my spirit without reciprocation. When did I decide that I should not receive good gifts?
I don't think that I consciously decided this, but my faith is lacking. To place hope in receiving a love that considers my heart above my services is unprecedented and uncomfortable. I've come to assume that God and my loved ones don't want it. I know for a fact that this is a lie about God. He has endured some drastic measures to hold my heart. I cannot say for certain that a mortal would ever desire my heart. It is when I attribute this lack of faith to the assurance I have in my Father that our relationship becomes corrupt.
Maybe I should stop writing and begin praying...
He's certainly present, but I acknowledge that I've been resistant. My resistance has not been aggressive; I'm nonchalantly ignoring the Spirit as if He's deserving of my being aloof, same as I've related with every other friend lately. I feel as if my friends cannot empathize, so I'm tired of rehashing the same old discontented thoughts about His Kingdom here in the U.S. I feel as if my Father does understand but has decided to leave me on this earth anyway, so what's the use in ruining myself further for an audience of One?
Somewhere I've missed that the point for Him is to be with me. I'm not used to that. I've known God personally for fifteen years, and it's still hard for me to accept being wanted without offering a service. To my friends in elementary school I was popular and imaginative, to my friends in high school I was romantic and accepting, to my camp and small group kids I was cool and fun, to my youth group teens I was insightful and wise, and to the coffeehouse world I was a calming presence. I've rarely been chosen or sought for my heart -- when I have it's ended badly, whether for their misdeeds or my own.
To choose His Spirit is to respond to Something that has found me first. When I feel like my life is absent of fruit, I feel I have nothing to give Him of use. In reality, He never asked for that as a bargaining chip. He's pleased when I offer my life sacrificially, but my cleanliness was never a term of agreement for our relationship.
First, He is my Creator: I am a living manifestation of His glory and masculinity.
Second, He is my Redeemer: I am a saved and cleansed by His selfless act and the shedding of His blood.
Third, He is my Restorer: I am being molded and perfected according to His likeness and His original intent.
None of these roles say anything about what He gains from me. Am I comfortable engaging fully in a relationship where I am the sole benefactor? Or must I comprehend the treasure that I am to Him to accept the blessing of His continual presence? I don't know that I'll ever understand that on earth.
And I see where this same problem casts poison into my earthly relationships. One man has accepted the blessing of pouring into my life without return, and I find it difficult to even make a phone call for fear of being a burden. One hypothetical woman would serve as my grace in marriage, but instead I've pursued those that will feast on my spirit without reciprocation. When did I decide that I should not receive good gifts?
I don't think that I consciously decided this, but my faith is lacking. To place hope in receiving a love that considers my heart above my services is unprecedented and uncomfortable. I've come to assume that God and my loved ones don't want it. I know for a fact that this is a lie about God. He has endured some drastic measures to hold my heart. I cannot say for certain that a mortal would ever desire my heart. It is when I attribute this lack of faith to the assurance I have in my Father that our relationship becomes corrupt.
Maybe I should stop writing and begin praying...
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