A Tentative Trust

If I had to characterize the past few months I would have to say they've been defined by the gradual renewal of a tentative trust. That trust is a fragile thing, I'll admit. I don't know how well it would hold up in the face of a big blow, but at least there is a trust there and steps are being taken forward.

Time and distance from the painful events that sparked this journey have helped to ease the anger and pain, and they've given me the opportunity to see how God's hand was in it all and how His purpose was guiding and driving even the most painful things that seemed like they would capsize me. I've been rather amazed to see how He's taken "that which was meant for evil" (or rather that which looked like disaster) and turn it into the catalyst for a much greater blessing or provision. And as I've seen Him do so, my broken trust is slowly beginning to reach out it's fearful hand toward Him and hope that I can find refuge.

Along with that trust is coming a desire to get to know Him again. It's hard, though. There's a fragility inside me that shrinks away from my traditional background. Those truths seem so very harsh, and I fear getting too close to them because they might shatter me. I even tried going back to church but found I wasn't quite ready. In truth, I started to panic and left the building before the service even started. Who ever thought I would be afraid to go to church? LOL. Oddly enough, I'm not afraid of God. I'm just terrified of His people and their institutions. And while many of my beliefs have changed or been "tweaked", so much of that foundation has remained rock solid. I question the things that don't resonate with me, I wrestle with the teachings that seem harsh to my heart, but the fundamental core has remained unshaken. I still believe in God. I still believe in Jesus, and I believe in His teachings, even though I may wrestle with the teachings of His followers. I have no doubt whatsoever in Jesus as my Savior. I know I'm a sinner, and I know it is His sacrifice, His love, that will save me from myself and make me into the woman He created me to be. My "theology" is, for the most part, pretty much the same. Being open to hear others hasn't turned me into a melting pot for any and every belief that appeals to me. That's rather reassuring. I feel as though He has held onto me. And I'm starting to feel Him calling me back, though back to what I'm not sure. So perhaps "Hosea" will come after "Gomer" after all, and it will be very interesting to see what their relationship looks like in the end. Certainly nothing like what it was, but perhaps more real, more true, more interconnected and more intimate. Perhaps more fulfilling. Perhaps what it always should have been. Perhaps.

I revisited "The Shack" a few weeks ago and felt that He said something to me. In the main character's first interaction with God, Sarayu (the Holy Spirit character) brushes his tears into a little bottle, telling him that everyone collects things they value, and she values tears. I've always loved that imagery from the Old Testament, God keeping our tears in a bottle. And I felt in my heart that he said to me, "Your pain matters to me." Even now, that simple sentence makes my eyes tear up. My pain, however small and however large, matters to Him. My brokenness, carried so deeply for so many years, matters to Him. And He understands why I left. He understands why I couldn't go on in that way anymore, desperately trying to salvage my sinking boat by tossing out buckets of water.

So here we are. Moving forward. It's probably pretty laughable if you could see it in a spiritual sense - my tentative, fearful steps and His gentle coaxing. What is there to be afraid of? And yet I'm afraid. But the trust has been reestablished, even if only a little. And little by little, I'm taking baby steps back toward my God.

Trying to Find "Happy"

I’ve been wrestling lately with the idea of happiness, since happiness seems to be rather elusive for me. There are those who say I’m negative, and to a degree they are right, though it’s rather rude and hurtful of them to state so with such bluntness and so little feeling. I think it’s pretty commonly accepted that some of us are naturally predisposed to see the depressing while others are naturally predisposed toward the hopeful. How much of that is genetic or environmental conditioning I don’t know. Regardless of the source, I’m naturally predisposed toward the depressing. I’m not sure if that predisposition can be changed so that one’s permanent setting is always on the bright side (How pleasant!), but I do believe that even if the internal settings can’t be changed – and perhaps they can – with hard work you can force yourself to make it a habit to look on the bright side and focus on it, whether the habit comes naturally or not.

Um… hardest thing ever!

There are a myriad of factors that pop into my head, though, when I start to explore the idea of happiness. Is it possible to be happy, for instance, when the deepest longings of your heart go unsatisfied year after year – starvation of the soul rather than the body? How do you find happy when the life you live is nothing like the life you long for and you can no longer feel any real sense of hope that you will ever find what you long for? When my best friend and her husband struggled with infertility for years and lived with a pain that eventually began to overshadow everything else, how were they supposed to find happy? You can find peace or acceptance, but can you find happy? I’m not sure. The reason I ask is because I feel as though I’m drowning in sadness right now. Again. Story of my fucking life.

Taken in account, I have much to be thankful for in my life, and because of the work I do I’m reminded on a daily basis how fortunate I am and how happy I should be when compared to the trials of others: people struggling with diseases, poverty, abuse, great loss. Compared to many, if not most, in the world, my little longings are meaningless. But saying that hurts because it trivializes a pain that is all too real, and my reality is that the starvation of the soul can ravage one as deeply as the starvation of the body. It can change a person and make them unkind in ways they hate. It can twist you into something ugly so that you feel resentment toward those who “have it easy” or “get everything they want” and especially those who get what you want, even if the way they get it isn’t how you would want to.

That’s how the ugly is coming out of me right now. I can’t find it in myself to be happy for people who get what I want. Not everyone, of course, but there are a handful of people in my life that I’d just as soon shut the door on and never speak to again. The thought of them induces eye rolling and a strong desire to yell, “Fuck you! Leave me the fuck alone!” Ugly, I know. Try knowing that is inside you. You can start to hate yourself for it. The crazy thing is that at least two of the people I feel this way about are people I haven’t seen in a couple of years and with whom I have minimal contact. Neither has committed any serious wrong toward me, but I am angry at them for nothing more than the fact that they got what I want, they get to be happy and I don’t.

Seriously, maybe I should go find myself a cabin in the woods somewhere so that my venom won’t hurt anyone. Jealousy is a horrible thing to carry. I hate that I feel that way. I think it makes me a horrible person, though my best friend, who bears the dubious honor of hearing my most honest confessions, assures me that I’m merely human. But how awful to feel things that you detest feeling and not be able to stop feeling them.

I know that those feelings are the natural result of deep pain. Even kind intent seems like a threat to a wounded animal when it’s cornered, and this wound has been bleeding out for years.

The thing is this: I want to be happy, and I wonder if it’s possible. If I could change my circumstances, I would. I can’t though. I’ve tried. There are some things that are simply beyond your control. I can leave myself open to opportunity and can even seek out opportunity, but I can’t force opportunity to find me. If I could, I would. So what do I do? I don’t want that to doom me to a life of despair and longing. Shoot me now because it’s just not worth continuing if that’s all there is ahead.

One solution is to focus my attention on other things. I’ve done it often enough in the past, but it never fixes the problem, and even as I invest myself elsewhere, I’m aware of the ONE BIG THING that’s still starving inside like a giant elephant in the room that no one wants to acknowledge, its mouth duck-taped shut to ensure it doesn’t bother anyone with its demands. You can refocus, but the elephant is always there.

You can fake it, but who wants to do that.

You can “choose” happiness, as some people say, but that’s never made all that much sense to me. I guess that means choosing to be thankful and choosing to focus on all the things that are good in your life. I’m working on it. I really am. I’m trying to remember every day that, despite the pain, my life overall is moving in a progressively better direction than it was even six months ago, that not every dream is beyond my reach, even though those that mean the most seem to be. But I’ll be honest, that seems like more of a stop-gap measure or a survival technique. It gets you through, but it’s not happiness. And what I want is not more survival or distractions or a few more stop-gaps. I want the war to be over, the pain to be finished and that elusive little bluebird of happiness to build a big, fat nest on my shoulder and never fly again.

Waking up Late

I’ve been reading a fun little mystery novel lately that’s been enjoyable, but no more. And then today during my lunch, I ran across a conversation between the “detective” priest and a nun that really resonated with me. Their conversation deals with how each of them came to dedicate their lives to the church as young adults. The nun, in particular, shares her personal journey as a young, devoted nun who eventually left the cloister to live in Seville, still keeping her vows and living her faith and not renouncing her order, but not living the typical nun’s life. As I read her story, something she said really resonated with me because it summed up so perfectly a core element of my personal spiritual journey to where I am now.

She says, “What can a nun do when she realizes, at age forty, that she’s still the same little girl dominated by her father? A child who, out of intense desire not to displease him, not to commit any sin, has committed the even greater sin of not really living her own life. Is it wise, or is it stupid and irresponsible, at eighteen, to renounce worldly love, and with it trust, surrender, sex? What is a woman to do when these feelings come too late?”

In her case, the father was her biological father, but in mine it was God as my Father. Now, of course, I don’t feel He ever “dominated” me, but the rest of what she says is spot on. Out of my intense desire not to displease Him, not to commit any sin, I committed the greater sin of not living my own life, of not daring to make a mistake and need His grace, of not spreading my wings and taking flight into the wonderful mystery of my truest dreams and passions. For so many years I tried so hard to be so good, and I never felt truly satisfied that my standards of “good” (which I also thought were His standards) had been met. Like her, I devoted myself while I was too young to really understand that I was renouncing my life. Not that I think renouncing one’s life for Jesus is a bad thing or a waste. But I think that, in my case at least, the life I renounced was more what I thought He wanted, not what He was actually looking for. And then as time went on and my devotion didn’t produce the wholeness I sought and my deeper passions started to surface, and my idea of what a meaningful life would look like began to really take shape, the reality of what I had found began to truly pale.

Let me put this in more concrete terms in the hope that it will make more sense. When I first dedicated my life, I knew in my heart that God had a special purpose for my life. I knew that I was “called” and created for something special. That part I still believe was from Him, and I don’t doubt that it’s still true. But back then, I was afraid of making a mistake or doing something wrong or exploring all that was around me, so I automatically assumed that the purpose I sensed was a call to full-time ministry, which in my mind, for a number of years, meant marrying a pastor, missionary or evangelist and serving faithfully by his side. As time went on, my understanding of ministry and the possible role I might have in it began to change. I was less focused on what my theoretical husband was called to do, though it wasn’t off my radar, and more aware of what my role might look like. However, I still saw us as working in a “full-time ministry” type of capacity. Wrapped up in all of this, of course, was my rigid sense of right and wrong, black and white. I lived a really good life and was constantly striving to live a better one. I didn’t do all the things good Christians weren’t supposed to do: swear, drink, have sex, smoke, do drugs, watch TV, fraternize with unbelievers, wear revealing clothes, indulge too much in thoughts about worldly pursuits, etc. I studied my Bible and read only Christian books and listened to nothing but praise and worship music. Even most regular Christian music was too frivolous. Only praise and worship would do. I had a calling and a destiny, and the only way to get there was too live an absolutely pure life, completely unsoiled by the filth of the world. How I expected to understand the needs of those I thought I was supposed to minister to, I don’t know. I certainly had no concept of the issues they were dealing with, but I just knew that the only way to be used of God was to be as unworldly as possible.

As I got into my late twenties, I started feeling a longing for adventure. I discovered a deep love of hiking, and as I continued to hike, I found a desire to be adventurous and explore my world. I also found that I really felt a drive to get to know “unbelievers” on a really deep, personal level. I wanted to be a part of their lives, helping them, strengthening them, being a true friend. And while all these new things were springing up in me, I was struggling with my own dissatisfaction and disillusionment, which I’ve shared about in the past. All that seeking and striving and longing and reaching had yielded a tiny fraction of the relationship I had longed to find with God. I was bone dry, empty, and losing hope. I realized I had spent most of my twenties waiting for God to jumpstart my life – the life I was convinced He wanted for me – and I was about to bump into thirty with nothing to show for any of it.

That’s when I started making mistakes and realizing that it was okay. I started feeling the undeniable internal demand to start living before it was too late. And I’m still trying to do that. I haven’t forsaken my God, though a lot of traditional folks would think so. I haven’t forgotten Him, and I haven’t stopped talking to Him. I still don’t want to displease Him, but I’m no longer so dominated by that desire that I don’t live my life. Some people would say that sounds like rebellion, and to them I’m sure it does, but honestly it’s more about being a child, free to grow and learn and make mistakes. Free to make choices and fall down and get up. Free to rethink the choices of youth and scrap the old assumptions that would have bound me in a destiny I’m not meant for. In so many ways I’m back at square one, but this time I get to start the game with the benefit of more knowledge. I still know there’s a meaning and purpose for my life. I still sense, even as I sit hemmed in by the three walls of my cubicle and sort through emails and go to meetings that I’m not meant for this. I’m meant for something more. My life wasn’t initiated with these barriers in mind. But this time, I will listen, and I will explore, and I will try new things, and hopefully I will do all of this without the burden of my old convictions that I know where I’m headed and what I’m supposed to do. And I may take some wrong paths. I may find that this avenue or that seemed right but turned out to be something that wasn’t the perfect fit. But at least I will try those roads before ruling them out, and I will live this life, not wrap it up in a neat little box where it will scream to be let out until I have quietly suffocated it.

Anyhow, didn’t mean to get into it all that much. I really just wanted to share the quote because it really resonated with me. LOL. But I’m long-winded so… Here’s to LIFE!

Embracing the Journey or Ignoring the Truth?

I’ve been giving some thought to a conversation I had with a couple good friends Saturday morning over breakfast. We touched on some issues that have real complexity for all true Christ followers. And when it comes to engaging these issues, Christ followers are all over the map.

One of the things I love about their church (I also consider it my church, though I haven’t been there in a long while. Really need to go back.) is the way it embraces people wherever they are in their journey of/toward faith. Perhaps in no way is this more evident than in the fact that the church has several homosexual couples who attend regularly. Most of the Fundy folks I know would be horrified at the thought that a church would allow homosexuals into the fellowship, which makes me wonder how much they really understand the heart and mission of Jesus. (Just my two cents, but shouldn't the church be seeking these people and bringing them in?) But I’m not here to throw stones. Frankly, I think it’s a beautiful and wonderful thing that these individuals, so long alienated by the universal church, have finally found a “hospital” that will treat them, along with all the other “patients” who have more spiritually acceptable “ailments.” What’s more amazing, though, is that this is a church with a pastor who doesn’t water down his message. When approached by one of these couples, he spoke kindly and honestly, telling them that the Bible calls homosexuality sinful, but that it also talks about a lot of other sins, so as far as he is concerned, they are welcome to join all the other sinners in the church to be ministered to. How beautiful!

I was surprised to hear, though, that a small minority of the people in the church object to the presence of these homosexuals. It’s not that they don’t want them to attend, or so I understand. It’s that these gay couples are still actively practicing homosexuality and, therefore, as these people see it, they shouldn’t be embraced as though they are living a holy life.

The situation raises some challenging questions, and both sides have valid points, making it tricky for me to strike a clearly defined balance. At what cost to truth do we embrace an individual’s spiritual journey? And at what cost to an individual’s spiritual journey do we demand compliance with black and white law? When you attempt to take both sides into account, it makes it really hard to come up with an honest answer.

On the one hand you have the Fundies, and if you’re going to take the Bible seriously you have to give their point of view the credit it deserves. Homosexuality isn’t something the Bible minces words about. It’s not a gray area. I can’t say that I fully understand that, because trying to understand why God doesn’t like the homosexual lifestyle is something I struggle with. But if you’re going to do business with the Bible, it’s there in black and white. On the other hand, you have the more liberal view: we’re all sinners of one kind or another, and not one of us lives a perfectly pure life, no matter how hard we may try. There are countless other sins of omission or commission: fornication, theft, dishonesty, gossip, gluttony, hatred, unforgiveness, a judgmental heart, selfishness. I could go on, but I’ve probably already hit on at least one sin that each my readers struggles with and/or fails at miserably. God makes it clear that sin is sin, no matter what kind of sin happens to be your personal favorite. As far as He’s concerned they’re all on the same level. So the more liberal argument goes that since we’re all sinners and we all live in sin in one way or another, why would we single out one group of sinners as worse or less deserving or less welcome at God’s table of vagabonds than the rest? We can’t and shouldn’t. And I absolutely agree with that.

In one respect, I think the issue comes down to one of the struggle, or lack thereof, to change. My guess is that the dissenters would not object to these homosexuals being embraced by the church if they were choosing to remain celibate. (I also wonder if they would be so concerned about someone living in ongoing sin if that person were, say, cheating on his taxes or perpetuating an ugly feud with his neighbor instead of being a homosexual. But that's another matter.) Not knowing who these individuals are and not having spoken with them, I can't say that is certainly the case, but that would be my guess. And again, there's something valid in that. The Bible does have something to say about allowing people to remain in fellowship who are choosing to continue living in willful sin. To put it gently, it doesn't endorse it. But I have to be honest and say that something deep inside me recoils fiercely at the thought of any Christ follower approaching these souls that are so dear to God and telling them not to come back. I'm sorry; I just can't see Jesus doing that. And for those of you out there who so love justice, I'll just point you to the literal example of Jesus and Judas. Jesus knew what Judas was up to the entire time he served in His ministry. Judas didn't start sinning when he betrayed Jesus. He'd been up to a whole lot of other nasty business all along, and it was no secret to Jesus. But He didn't kick him out. Just something to consider...

Here's where the concept of journey comes into play again. Truthfully, we all take a spiritual journey with God. I can't tell you how many times I've heard about God bringing something to someone's attention they weren't aware of or wrestling with their heart for many months or years over a particular issue they didn't want to change in. Does the fact that the He has to cultivate change in the heart over the long-term make someone any less His child? Hell no!

I wish I could find some kind of firm ground here. I know that proponents of both sides would say that firm ground should be clear and evident to me, but honestly it isn't. There is validity on both sides. I don't think that people can go around for years at a time doing whatever the hell they want or choosing to live in blatant sin and it should be okay, and I don't think the church should "endorse" behaviors that are spoken about in black and white in the Bible. But I also don't think they should be kicked out or treated like garbage or judged by other recovering sinners. I know the Fundies would probably condemn me to hell for saying it, but even in my most conservative days, some part of me really had a difficult time with Paul's teachings on how to deal with sinners in the fellowship. It's one of those things that God and I need to come to an understanding about because it sincerely bothers my heart.

So I'm torn. I wish I could side clearly with one group or another, or that I could come to a place where the ideal solution could be found that would take both sides into account, but that hasn't presented itself. Perhaps in time it will come, or perhaps the answer is simply that no answer is right in every situation. Perhaps each church and minister and Christ follower must seek God's heart and wisdom for each situation, remember that love must be central and judgment must be tempered by mercy.

Two Kinds of Blindness

Surprise! I'm back! You thought I wasn't ever going to write on this thing again, didn't you? Wait... where is everyone? LOL. I admit I have shamefully neglected this blog for a very long stretch of months, but... what can I say. Life is life. I'm just happy I was able to log back on. Almost didn't remember my password!

Having said that, I have some thoughts to share today, and they tie in to much of what I've said in previous postings. I can't promise I'll become a regular poster again, but I'm sensing another shift beginning to take place, which may mean my little fingers will be typing thoughts. I know this new shift is gonna take me toward God, but I don't yet know exactly what that's going to look like. I keep toying with the idea of going back to church. Still not quite ready yet, but I've had the opportunity in recent months to re-engage with some former friends of Fundy days who have gone through a similar transformation. I can't tell you how encouraging it is to be able to add names and faces to "the circle of trust" - people I can speak with honestly without fear of getting a sermon or an unwelcome dose of their "traditional" thoughts. I'll be able to listen to traditional thoughts again someday, but there's still some journeying to do before that. For now, it's a comfort to find fellow refugees to confide in and be transparent with.

ANYWAY... Blah, blah, blah. A thought occurred to me recently that I've rolled around in my head, intending to write on it but never actually doing so. Then it came up in a conversation I had last night with one of those fellow refugees, and I decided it was time to unpack it here. I've come to realize that there are two kinds of spiritual blindness in the world. One comes from living in the darkness. That's the obvious kind. The other kind is less obvious. It's the blindness that comes from living too close to the light. (Yes, my Fundy friends, there I go again! Haha. Apparently six months of blog inactivity haven't cured me of my horrid and heretical thoughts!) Seriously, though, give it some thought. What happens when you stare into the sun for too long? You go blind. What happens when someone turns on a light, even a faint light, in a completely dark room. Everyone squints, temporarily blinded by the brightness. The truth is, there can be just as much blindness in perfect, pure, bright light as there is in the blackest darkness.

It reminds me of something that happened in my favorite Narnia book, Voyage of the Dawn Treader. As the adventurers near the end of their journey and the eastern end of the world, the light around them becomes brighter on a daily basis, so much brighter, in fact, that the book says they have to drink the water they are sailing in, a type of liquid light, so that the light from the sun won't blind them. I've always found that to be an intriguing story element: as they journey nearer to the eastern edge of the world - the country of Aslan, who fills the role of the Christ-figure - they are in great danger of becoming blinded by the ever-increasing light. It's especially interesting because Aslan is most often written as the wild yet just yet deeply loving son of the Great King beyond the sea. You don't see a lot of him in the "bright and glorious holiness" manifestation. And that in itself is interesting, as though Lewis understood that we can't deal too much with that side of God while still entrenched in our human flesh. But I'm getting off point here: blinded by light. Ahem.

It's a fascinating concept to me, and it's one that is highly consistent with Biblical narrative. Paul was blinded by the glory of God. Moses had to be protected from the brightness of Him, unable to see but a small part of Him, and even that was almost too much. The Bible even says that God lives in "unapproachable light." Hmm. This light is generally attributed to be the physical manifestation of God's holiness, purity and glory - the part of His nature that is most foreign, and honestly most frightening, to most of us humans. If you must know, God's holiness is a facet of His nature I'd just as soon pretend isn't there. Not denying it exists. Not pretending I won't have to address it. Not saying I can truly know Him without coming to terms with that. I'm just not ready to deal with that part of Him yet, and I've told Him so. Honestly, I don't believe you can safely deal with His holiness, spiritually or emotionally, until you have a deep and personal understanding of His love and grace. Either it will scare the shit out of you or it will blind you to the point that you become a legalistic, self-righteous bastard. Probably shouldn't use those words when talking about the holiness of God, I know, but you get the point. And honestly, though the Bible certainly doesn't put it in the words I've used, I find it interesting that it acknowledges that the closer you get to the light of God's holiness, the more likely you are to be blinded by it.

There's a lot of this blindness in the church today. (You knew I was going to go there, didn't you.) It's an unintentional blindness, and ironically, it is often those who have the most light and who are, therefore, most blind, that are most blind to their own blindness. Haha. Are you confused yet? It certianly adds a whole new dimension to Jesus' teaching on the blind leading the blind, doesn't it? Those who are blinded by light trying to lead those who are blinded by darkness, and they both end up in a pit. I'm just sayin'.

My parents used to use a couple of phrases when I was growing up that resonate with this concept, though these phrases express it in different ways: "He can't see the forest for the trees" and "He's so spiritually minded, he's no earthly good." In many ways, these phrases described my sincere spirituality of more innocent days. Oddly enough, taking a few steps away from the blinding whiteness of the light has helped me to see far more clearly, even if it has cost me. Like many who are blinded by the light, I had no context with which I could even attempt to understand the issues, temptations and perspectives of people outside the church, and even, for that matter, liberal minds within the church. I had no mercy, compassion, or respect for the journey, even my own. I was missing the humble, cracked hands of a sweat-stained carpenter because I was so busy trying to pierce the brilliant veil of the Untouchable.

Now I realize that it sounds like I have no use for the holy. I know it must seem as though I'm endorsing a hedonistic embrace of the darkness, but that's not what I'm saying. Blindness in darkness is, quite possibly, even more to be dreaded than blindness in light. I'm simply saying that we, like the travelers in Lewis's Narnia, need to partake of something capable of mitigating those blinding effects, and that something is an ever deepening experience of God's love and grace. We need to recognize that so long as we move toward nothing but the light, we also move further away from those the light wants to shine on. And wasn't that the whole point of Jesus leaving His glory behind anyway - to join us in the darkness and shine that faint light that would draw us to ever greater light in the end? And that, perhaps, is my point in all this. So long as we are blinded by the light, so long as our lives are consumed in its unmitigated brightness, so long as we look on the world around us without the personal experience of love, compassion, grace and even failure, we will be useless - so heavenly minded we are no earthly good. But when tempered by these things, the light of God gets inside us, and instead of blinding us, it becomes illumination, both for us and those around us.

And by the way, this "blindness by light" I'm talking about can manifest itself in so many ways: legalism, isolationism, self-righteousness, lack of mercy, dogmatic views, disunity, a lack of teachability, and the list goes on. It's kind of scary how quickly you can lose true vision and perspective. And once again, it sounds like I don't like the light. Nothing could be further from the truth. Light is absolutely necessary. Without it, we are purposeless, lost, stuck, directionless. Without light, our destiny is too terrible to imagine. But we must understand, as we walk deeper into that light, that "the light shines in the darkness."

Clipped Wings

A friend recently bought me a copy of the New York Times bestseller, "The Shack," by William Young. I'll just start this off by saying if you haven't read it, do yourself a favor and get your hands on a copy. It's some of the worst editing I've ever seen, but the story and the message and the way it speaks to the reader are so powerful that you quickly forget this. I'm not a big crier at any time, but I can't sit down to read this without my eyes getting teary and finding myself touched in some really deep places, which is why I'm writing today.

I don't want to give too much away, but in the story Mack (the main character) is invited to spend a weekend with God - face to face - in order to deal with some really painful wounds and losses he's been through that have impacted his ability to have relationship with God. From the moment Mack "meets" God, I found myself on constant tear alert. The warmth, exuberance, openness and acceptance with which he is greeted are utterly disarming, and I found myself envious, longing and wondering why God doesn't do this sort of thing for us in the real world. What a difference it would make in our lives, you know? But even as I felt these things, I also felt happy because I know that the picture this author has given about how God feels toward us is as close to truth as we can get.

As God and Mack start really digging into Mack's issues, God explains that we were created to be loved, and when we live as though we are unloved we become like birds whose wings have been clipped so they are unable to fly. That hit me so powerfully, and I began to wonder what my life would look like if I could come to the place where I could live as one who is loved by God. How might something so powerful change my relationships, my lifestyle, my career, my passions, my goals?

I think I'm halfway there with this, but I'm not finished with the journey, and if God and I can sort this out, I think it will be the answer to a lot of the raw pain and honest self-revelations I've written about in this blog. In all the years I waited on God to make me feel whole, I was really waiting to feel loved. And in saying that I want to make something very clear. I don't need someone to convince me that God loves me. I don't need someone to tell me God loves me. I don't even need to come to a place where I believe that God loves me. I'm already there. I already know it. I'm convinced to a point that is even, perhaps, beyond faith. I don't just believe it; I know it. There's a difference there. I had several encounters with God during my Fundy years that were incredibly powerful in that way, times when a love so big and rich and powerful wrapped itself around me without warning and I couldn't help but feel loved, like that love was so rich and powerful and absolute that it didn't just surround me; it permeated my very cells and the trillions of atoms that come together to form this body. I know how exaggerated that sounds, but it's absolutely true. I remember those moments, and the ones that were most powerful and had the most profound impact on me were not moments I had to search for, work for, or fight for. They were moments I stumbled into, like the time I drove around a corner on my way to church and was so overcome without warning that I nearly had to pull over, overwhelmed at the wave of love that hit me. Sounds crazy, I know, but it happened.

Here's where the problem came in... it didn't happen enough. That's why I never got to that place of feeling really complete or really whole or really loved. I needed something more frequent than every few months or once or twice a year. Maybe that sounds like a lot to expect or ask from God, but I don't think it is. I can't imagine having a husband or boyfriend who thought it was enough to say, "I love you," once or twice a year. That relationship would get unhealthy really quickly. I don't want to be with someone whose mentality is, "I told you I loved you last week. You shouldn't need to hear it every day to know it's true." But whether I should or not, I do. I don't want to merely live with the knowledge that my significant other loves me; I want to live with the reality, the experience. I want to be with someone who reminds me of his enthusiasm toward me every day, whether that be through his words, his touch, his affectionate nicknames, his expressed desire to spend time with me. I want him to reach out and touch the chord of my emotions with the intention of making me feel loved, treasured, and desired. And if I need and want this in a relationship that is merely human, how much more would I desire it from God? How much more deeply would I long for the One whose love I need the most to tell me every day in ways I can feel just how much I mean to Him? Just as I wouldn't want my husband to make love to me once a week - or worse, once a year - and expect me to be satisfied the rest of the time with knowing I was loved but not feeling loved, I don't want to go through life simply knowing that God loves me and waiting 18 months until the next time He chooses to reach back and surround me.

Perhaps that sounds unreasonable, and truthfully I'm not saying I need or expect a mind-blowing spiritual experience every day of my life. But some "routine maintenance" would be nice. I wouldn't need to have an uber-romantic encounter with my husband or boyfriend every day, but a touch or a hug in passing combined with the occasional use of an affectionate nickname or a request for a little focused conversation and an "I love you" would go a long way toward making me feel loved in the in-between times.

So back to the book... what would my life be like if that were happening with God, if He reached out every day to touch my emotions in some way small or large that said, "I love you. I treasure you. I'm so glad I created you. You are mine." I can't even begin to imagine. Having such an excess of love in your life would undoubtedly make you a more loving, patient, giving person with others. You wouldn't ever feel insecure. You'd never feel the need to prove yourself. You wouldn't have to prove to everyone else in the lifeboat that you were worthy of love, approval and praise, as Donald Miller writes about. You wouldn't worry about stuff because you would live in absolute security that it's all under control and will ultimately work out for the best. You'd be at peace, full of joy, unafraid. You would be free to fly because you wouldn't have clipped wings.

I don't know anyone who lives that way, though. Or at least not all the time. And I wish God would help me understand this because the more I think about it, living in the daily light of God's love sounds an awful lot like heaven to me.

Playing "Twenty Questions" with God

I mentioned in my last posting that I’ve really begun to talk some things over with God, and I want to explore a little more of what that has entailed. I think all of my questions are meaningful, but perhaps the most emotionally charged has been “Why? Why did you hold me at arms length for so many years? Why did you stand back and deny me the wholeness I begged for? Why didn’t you fill the aching longing I brought you?”

I’ve shared in previous posts that I have felt little traditional guilt over having shared myself physically with two different men over the course of two relationships. But where traditional guilt has been lacking, I have instead felt a deep grief over this. It’s not an emotion I live with day in and day out, but it certainly does surface from time to time, and when it does, it does so with a vengeance. (Honestly, I’m beginning to believe that this grief I have felt is far closer to true conviction and the way God deals with our hearts than the Fundy version of guilt we’re all so fond of.)

I found myself sitting at the kitchen table just last week having this “Why?” conversation with God and finding that my eyes were filling with tears as that grief welled up again. I found myself saying, “I don’t blame you for my choices, but we both have to admit that I would probably never have made those choices if you had responded to me a little more often all those years.”

It’s an interesting paradox I find myself in. As I said, there is that deep grief, but it is so very strange to experience that grief without an accompanying sense of guilt, and honestly, for a former Fundy that’s more than a bit disturbing. It also leads me to one of the many questions I’ve been asking lately. Why was this wrong? (Joanna, if you still check in and read this blog, please don’t freak out. LOL.) But honestly, that’s a question I’ve really wrestled with. Why was it wrong or sinful for me to give myself to someone? Now, of course, I can give you good theological answers, and those answers make sense. For starters, however elementary the answer may be, it’s wrong because God says it’s wrong. It’s a very simplistic answer, and I think that a searching mind will ultimately be dissatisfied with something of that nature. I can accept it on one level because I believe God has more than arbitrary reasons for the things He commands. I also get the idea that the Bible teaches that when a man and woman share sexual intimacy it goes far beyond a mere physical encounter. The Bible would teach that it actually creates a spiritual union, and though it may not feel like it in the moment of passion, you can see or sense that union as time goes on. There is a strange connection you feel with a person that can’t be explained by other means, and perhaps part of God’s commandment is an attempt to protect us from the terrible pain we feel when the relationship ends and we must try to sever this bond.

But despite all of this, I am looking for an answer because on an emotional level it doesn’t make sense to me. I wrestle with the thought that God says I’m not to give myself to a guy, especially when I may be committed to him, care about him deeply, and sincerely desire to express that care in a physical way. And yet I’m not supposed to do that until the two of us have publicly said words of commitment and signed a paper that says we will file joint tax returns till death. (I’m not in any way devaluing marriage, by the way. I greatly value marriage and the statement that it makes and all that it is and stands for.)

All of this is so challenging. The theological side of me gets it, but the emotional side doesn’t. It’s very frustrating, and so it’s one of the questions I’ve really been bringing to Him lately. And here’s another that will stir the pot. What’s wrong with being gay?

Yeah, I know. I really crossed the line there. But before you lose yourself in outrage, take a second and listen to me. I don’t need you to give me the theological reasons. I understand them very well. What I’m wrestling with is what I feel in my heart now that I actually know some gay people and have seen how beautiful and loving they are. I get the whole idea that what they are doing is a perversion of God’s system and setup. I get the idea that it just seems wrong from a physiological perspective, that it doesn’t seem to fit in with the natural order. I don’t need anyone to preach me that sermon, so please, if you feel so inspired, I'd rather you didn't. You aren't going to say anything I don't already know. But I struggle with the knowledge that some people truly do have these feelings from a young age, that not every gay man was sexually abused by another man, that most people would probably not “choose” to be gay because why on earth would anyone want to put up with the shit that most gay people deal with?

So I’m asking God… explain this to my heart. My head gets it. My heart doesn’t. I need my heart to understand. It’s not that I’m challenging God and demanding that He answer to me. I just honestly don’t get it, and I need to and want to.