Life & Death, Blessing & Curse

As I stated in my last post, Y’shua is in the processing of stripping me down and stripping me down and stripping me down—almost like He’s systematically going after each area of my life so I’ll be forced to turn to Him and only Him. And when I can peel back the pain and look at things from my spirit (rather than my mind, will or emotions), I remember that Y’shua told me this is all His kindness, His tenderness, His goodness towards me. And I believe Him. I really do believe Him. But a friend challenged me last week—I have a love/hate relationship with the things that come out of this woman’s mouth—to consider whether or not I’m walking out what I believe.

My first instinct was to say that’s not fair. I’m dealing with all this hard stuff and I’m not running away, I’m not turning my back on God, I’m tired beyond measure. Isn’t this enough until my heart feels better and my life attempts to right itself? It’s more than most would do, right? And aren’t others my standard of comparison? Oh wait, that last sentence should be delivered dripping in sarcasm.

My second reaction was, Oh crap. I’m exhausted. I want to give up. But I’m stubborn. I’m sticking it out because I’m not a quitter and because I know I’ll be miserable if I do anything other than what God wants me to do. But that’s not enough. It’s not the full package to simply dole out the actions of obedience with a miserable heart. If my belief is that God is good—what’s more, is that He’s been good to me—then my life should reflect that belief. What does that mean? If Y’shua has been good, tender, and kind, then my heart should be full of gratitude. I shouldn’t be drowning in sorrow, walking around wanting people to pity me, thinking I deserve special treatment because I’ve been through so much. If Y’shua has dealt bountifully with me then I should feel loved, and a loved woman would get out of bed every morning motivated to fight for the one she loves.

I’m not talking about fake happiness. I’m not talking about ignoring the grief and living in self-denial. But I do have a choice to make each morning I get up—a choice that presents itself to me over and over again one thousand and one times throughout a single day. Will I dwell in the negative or will I dwell in the bounty of God’s goodness? Will I complain or will I be grateful? Will I agree with Y’shua, or will I agree with the enemy and act on the belief that I’ve been robbed? Will I focus on being lonely, or will I focus on the awareness of Y’shua’s presence in my life? I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life…

It seems an exhausting goal to set, to do this over and over and over every day, like I’m going to fail before I even begin. And yes, if I try to do this, it will be exhausting and I will fail. In order to live as if I’m loved, I need to know that I’m loved. And that “knowing” has to be a knowing of intimacy and experience, not just the head knowledge that the Lord is good. I need to reconnect with being His beloved. I need to be able to trust His love for me even when it feels harsh and know that it’s tender. And that’s something I can’t do for myself.

So I’m left in the oxymoronic position of needing to choose life and yet knowing that it’s a choice I can’t make on my own without the awareness of being loved by the One who wants me to choose it. It’s in my control and it’s not in my control. Figure that one out. 

Hope Does Not Disappoint

In honor of moving on, no more numbers, no more counting the days since my life (as I had it planned) fell in pieces. I’m moving towards something, not away from Aaron. Towards what isn’t quite as clear, but God knows.

Y’shua and I have been talking about hope lately. Correction—He’s been talking about it. He wants to give it to me, but I’m resistant. I find it scary. Hoping hurts, and I’ve had all the hurt I can handle right now. Moving on from Aaron is only one kind of hard that’s in my life currently. I have a list of others that aren’t really material for this blog. But it feels like Y’shua is stripping me down and stripping me down and stripping me down. Crushing me. He might not stop until there’s nothing left but my raw weakness and Himself.

But in the midst of all this hard He keeps prodding me that I can’t put my hope in anything other than Him. He’s the only one that will not disappoint. My hope cannot be in my internship. My hope cannot be in leaders on the farm. My hope cannot be in marriage. My hope cannot be in starting a ministry someday. My hope cannot be in certain friendships. My hope cannot be in getting certain results. My hope cannot be in being at peace with my family or spiritual authorities. My hope cannot be in being perfectly healed. But I have hoped in these things, at least to some extent or another. I like results. I like to see progress. And right now Y’shua keeps leading me tenderly back to the mess and asking me to sit in it. Learn to be okay with things not being okay. Look at Me. Hope in Me.

But what does hope look like when it’s in the Lord and nothing else? I’m still trying to figure that one out. The practicality of it doesn’t quite compute in my brain because the intangibility of hoping in the Lord has to translate into some kind of physical hope on this earth at some point, right? I know it’s not healthy to sit in my room and not want anything. That’s called apathy. Been there. Done that (maybe some days still sampling it). Not life-giving. But how do I want something (hope for it) and not want something (only hope in the Lord) at the same time? How do I be aggressive in taking territory back from the enemy, going after the kingdom, and not settling for second best while not putting my hope in seeing any of those things actually come about?

Romans 5:3-5

Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.

Sufferings? Check.

Endurance? If endurance means not quitting, then I guess check, although some days the only reason I don’t is that the Lord won’t let me (dang it).

Character? I sure hope He’s giving me some in all of this.

And then after all that hard comes hope—hope that will not put to shame, that will not disappoint, that will not deceive, that will not cause me to suffer a repulse. Hope in the fact that while I was still weak, Y’shua died for the ungodly, for me (v.6).

If hope does not disappoint, then I must not have had hope—not the kind the Word describes. Because I have felt disappointment rip through my heart on nearly all fronts of my life in the past two months. So maybe I’m afraid of something I think I know but have really never experienced. And I’m still left with the question, what does it mean to hope? Y’shua is going to have to answer this one for me, because all my degrees and trying to rationalize this one out are failing. Impossibility my head and heart scream. And Y’shua laughs as if He knows He’s the God of the impossible.

Day 46: Bonfire

This past week something happened where I live to make me feel betrayed, misheard, invalidated, unsafe. My heart shut down and I stopped talking to leadership and the girls in my house for days. After everything I’ve fought and sacrificed for the past nine months, I finally wanted to give up and run away. God says he won’t give us more than we can handle. This time, I shouted at Y’shua, on top of everything else, you’ve given me more than I handle. I quit (and my language may not have been that nice).

Y’shua responded by sitting with me and crying.

You can’t always access all your pain, He said, but I always feel it.

It was like He knew something I didn’t.

You feel betrayed, He said.

Duh. And I proceeded to tell Him how hurt I had been this week.

You’re hypersensitive to this right now because of Aaron.

Stunning clarity. And with it arrived a truckload of grief driven by sobs.

My current pain was valid. But it was exaggerated by the pain of feeling betrayed by Aaron. He lied to me. Maybe not outright, but he omitted the truth, and to my heart that carries the same emotional pain as a falsehood. He failed to show me his true self—he hid it. And I believed him. I loved him. I put my whole heart into our relationship. I gave it everything I had and then he betrayed my trust. After it ended, I haven’t known what to believe. I kept finding things he hadn’t told me, and it throws me. Can I trust anything he said? Was any of it true? How much was an act? In my darkest moments of doubt I even have to wonder, did he really love me? In my mind you don’t lie to someone you love. That’s not okay.

So Y’shua sat with me while the pain came out—and the anger. We laid it all out on the table. Then He startled me.

You hate Him, He said.

But I loved him, Y’shua.

I know. And now more than one thing can be true at the same time. You need to be real. You need to admit it.

I didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to look and find that depth of anger within myself. I didn’t want to be a hateful person. But that was my pride trying to protect me. It’s not shameful to admit the hate, Y’shua whispered. It’s okay. Just pull it out, look at it, and give it to me. I had to loose my pride and bind myself to His grace [the picture of grace God has given me lately is when I am so weak I can’t even stand, the Lord carries me. And He doesn’t just carry me, but he walks me through the throne room of heaven in my weakened state and shows me off. Here she is, my beloved. Isn’t she beautiful?]. Even then my body tensed and groaned until I could bring myself to spit out the words.

I hate you.

And that’s all it took to loose the power of that hatred. I had been betrayed. And now I had been honest. I got over my religious self and took a hard look at the loathing in my heart. Then I could let it go, hand it over to Y’shua, watch him breathe on it until it melted away. I could forgive and release and bless. It was more wrong to live in denial of the hate than to let it surface in whatever ugliness it contained for the sake of resolution.

I’ve had a box of things sitting in my room for the past six weeks. When I was done forgiving, Y’shua told me it was time to burn them. So one of my roommates helped me build a bonfire last night and I watched letters, pictures, bridal registries, dried roses, and save-the-date postcards turn to ash. But it wasn’t hateful. It felt right. It was time for closure. My roommate and I even managed to laugh a bit. I think it means I’m ready to move on.

And so Aaron I release you. You don’t owe my heart anything. I chose to love you and offer myself to you. That was a choice I made willingly. You don’t owe me for that.

And I bless you.

I bless you to find Y’shua’s goodness, to really know Him, to let Him meet you in your pain and give you what you need.

I bless you to find closure, to discover community, and to move on.

I bless you to find love and unconditional acceptance in the context of being fully known—the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I bless you to someday realize your desires and get to minister like you want.

And I bless you—if necessary—to hate me for the way it must’ve felt I rejected you and walked away so you can find a way out of the pain to something better.

Day 42

“While it is impossible not to wonder whether God could have done all this some other way—without allowing all the misery and grief—the cross assures us that, whatever the unfathomable counsels and purposes behind the course of history, they are motivated by love for us and absolute commitment to our joy and glory.” –Timothy Keller from Walking with God Through Pain and Suffering

It takes me a long time to recognize and admit when I’m angry. I don’t like feeling angry. I run away from it, shove it, explain it away. I’m not angry; I’m hurt. I’m not angry; I’m sad. I’m not angry; I’m confused. Anything but anger. Yet it creeps in, slowly. It weighs on my spirit until Y’shua has to shake me to attention. You’re angry. Admit it. He can’t deal with it until I admit it.

Y’shua told me a week ago that I was angry. And I still haven’t fully come around to looking that anger in the eyes and owning it. I don’t want to be angry. But writing this out is a first step, a small victory. The tears and wailing at God will come later, but I’m always relieved when I get to that stage. Let’s be honest folks—a good hard cry is like therapy. And when I get to that stage it means I understand something enough to grieve it, one more piece of the puzzle interlocked with the rest of me. But back to the fact that I’m angry (see even here I am avoidance driven).

I’m angry at Aaron. Sure. But the bigger portion of the anger is directed at God. Last week Y’shua was telling me how much I delight His heart, and my heart was filled with a question.

Me: What about Aaron? What about the way you love him?

Y’shua: What about it?

Me: It doesn’t feel like he deserves it.

Y’shua: Aw, the truth comes out.

Me: He doesn’t deserve the pain you put me through.

Y’shua: You’re angry. At both of us. But you’re angry that I love Him that much when he doesn’t seem trustworthy of my love.

The ugly truth is that I want God to have a double standard. I want His unconditional love for myself and conditional love for Aaron. Which means I’m trying to be the judge. I’m trying to be God. That’s called PRIDE, IDOLATRY, CONTROL. Admitting this doesn’t make me look pretty. But it’s an honest confession of my heart. And my perspective is biased. Of course I’m going to think I’m right and he’s wrong. That’s default human nature.

So I’m left to grapple with letting God be God—and not resenting Him for acting in a way that is honorable and just and in-line with His character—even though I can’t see the outcome. Y’shua loves who He chooses to love. Like that parable of the workers in the vineyard. Some worked all day; some only part. Yet the owner rewarded all the same. I have no right to be indignant at God over the way He loves Aaron. If He loved Aaron conditionally, He’d have to love me conditionally and that’s not somewhere I want to go. I’m in love with a God who equally loves—the sinful, the undeserving, the rebellious, the angry, the prideful, the repentant—He can’t help Himself. It’s who He is. And that’s good news. I know it is. It just doesn’t always seem that way in the immediate future when we are hit with life and wrestle through injustice and suffering, grief and pain, betrayal and confusion.

And then there’s the factor of how I gave God permission to do whatever He wanted with my life years ago. And then I get angry when I don’t like His choice. Kind of smacks of being hypocritical. God be God. Oh wait, except when I want to be God. I definitely haven’t arrived. If you take anything about from this post, it should probably be that. I’ve got plenty of more processing to do.

Day 39

For the past day and a half I’ve felt heavy. But I couldn’t find words for what it was. It could’ve been a number of things—grief, perhaps, over the childhood memory I’d processed the day before; sorrow over Aaron, or even indignation; not knowing how to respond to a roommate. But tonight, standing in worship at the International House of Prayer, I found a word to describe it.

Loneliness.

The message tonight was on confessing the truth and resisting lies. Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering…He is faithful (Hebrews 10:23). The truth needs to get into my mouth to be fully activated. For with the heart one believes unto righteousness, and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation [complete deliverance]. (Romans 10:10) My confession is what I say to the indwelling Spirit about who I am in Christ. So I stood there confessing truth, not wanting to sit in whatever oppression I felt, and one phrase kept coming out of my mouth over and over again.

I am not alone. I am not alone. I am not alone.

Which meant that I felt alone. Maybe that should seem obvious for to a recently un-engaged woman to feel, but somehow it wasn’t. I live in a home with ten other women. It would seem there isn’t time or space to feel alone. Yet this newfound hole in my heart is of a different shape than the friendships I have with these women. It’s the ache to have one person who will consistently drop everything and be there if I need it because I’m his priority. It’s companionship and partnership, the feeling of not having to do everything on my own. It’s having someone who understands the little daily things and wants to hear about my day at night. It’s someone to dream together with about what life and ministry may look like with the commitment of knowing they will actually be there when the dream materializes. It's envisioning your life with someone else and then finding yourself left alone to sort out which pieces of that vision are yours to keep and which are to be laid down. Back to the drawing board.

It’s a blow to my pride, in a way, to admit that I’m lonely. Pre-Aaron, loneliness wasn’t something I focused on. I liked to think I was above that—secure without a man. But here it is, staring me in the face. Awakened desires left unresolved. The lies can come so easily. And the moment I believe them my spirit is constrained. So here are the truths I confessed tonight, the ones I have to fight for. Proclaim to believe.

I am not alone. I am not alone. I am not alone.

I have not been robbed.

I have been given an unfathomable inheritance.

I am BELOVED.

I am worth the death and life of Y’shua.

I have succeeded. God is proud of me.

I bring the Lord pleasure.

I have access to joy.

I am enveloped in Y’shua’s kindness, goodness, & tenderness.

Y’shua has dealt bountifully with me.

I am fully righteous.

I am not alone. I have divine partnership with the Father, Y’shua, & the Holy Spirit.
I belong.