This is going to be a “real heart blog”. . . so if you’re not interested in hearing about emotional things, you need not apply. Just skip to my happy blogs. Trust me, I would.
So interesting, that I’m here in Ireland, where depression seems to be the cultural norm. There have been so many things that I see God doing in my life, that I don’t really even know where to begin.
So I guess I’ll start with the happy stuff first. I really do love it here in Ireland. As I mentioned in my previous Blog, this Probably is the best country/city in the world. Ministry is fantastic. I love scrubbing Graffito. I really do. I love sharing Christ with people who hate the church. I really do. I love waking up to the sound of intermittent rain and wind on my tent. I really do.
Yet, there is this nagging sensation that I’ve been dealing with ever since I got here. I sensed it in Romania, almost as if it were a storm on the horizon, with churning clouds of emotion and tumultuous seas of anger and rage. I laid in the middle of the trampoline at Casa Shalom and tore through an army of thoughts that seemed nearly impossible to discern. I came out of that experience with a realization that God isn’t enough for me. I want Him to be, but at that time, He wasn’t. Of course HE knew that. I was fooling myself, and God was tired of sharing me with others. So He pinned me down, crippling me, if you will, much the way he touched Jacob’s hip after they wrestled all day and all night.
“Let me go.” Said almighty God. “You don’t really want Me, so just let Me go.”
To Jacob’s response, (and mine, in near unison) “I won’t let you go until you bless me.”
So who knew, what that would involve. I didn’t. I am slowly learning what Jesus meant when He said, “Count the cost. Take up your cross. Lose your life. Hate yourself.” These are not easy things.
I remember when I was younger, materialism had its nasty claws embedded in my flesh. I believed the lie that to be “happy” or “successful” in this life, I needed more, better, bigger, nicer things. I suspect God knew that He’d never really have my heart unless He broke me of those things. Apparently God cared enough to do that. He chastised me, He corrected me, He pruned me. Slowly and surely, every time I found myself with something “new” or “expensive” God seemed to go out of the way to rip that useless mammon off of me. I washed my new cell phone. My iPod got stolen. My computer crashed. Cracked another cell phone. Lost another iPod, bought another computer. . .that consequently crashes every other time I turn it on. Whenever that happened, I turned into a child, kicking, screaming, crying, muttering and complaining about how unfair it was that every time I got something NEW it broke shortly thereafter. Eventually, I grew up, and have come to realize that stuff is just stuff. It is going to pass away with the rest of this worldly kingdom. I have learned to not hold onto those things, because they aren’t important, they don’t matter, they are as good as the dust they were created from. So I got better. Materialism no longer has its hold on me, praise the Lord He was willing to take me to those stupid, miserable places to break me free.
So, with that in mind, now what? Here I am, on this trip of epic proportions, (and I don’t say that lightly, I’m coming to understand just what it was that I signed up for) and God decides to DEAL with some more issues. Yet these aren’t things as petty as materialism. These are serious things, things that I thought I had left far behind, yet, pulling back the flowerbeds I have discovered a thicket of weeds. Full of thorns, bristles, and burning hairs they are rooted deep in the rich soil of my heart, which has been toiled for years by words of abuse, rejection, and abandonment. These weeds grow fast because the dirt is so fertile for those sorts of things. I’ve discovered that with a quick watering, they sprout up faster than the roses, and it slowly becomes all I can see.
Every time I go to weed, I come back with bloodied hands and broken nails. These weeds fight back, and to get to the root it hurts to dig. It is painful to be reminded about how you’re not ALWAYS going to be wanted, you’re not ALWAYS the best friend you thought you were. It hurts to be reminded that there are still things there that inhibit your relationship with a God who wants nothing more than all of you. . .
. . .which is all I want anyway. I want to be wanted, yet I reject the One who can truly free me from these weeds forever.
If God was serious enough to prune me when I was dealing with Materialism, what makes me think He will simply sit by when there are DEEPER, more dangerous roots to deal with?
You had better believe I know He has taken a plow to my heart. There is no simple tugging that will get rid of these things. This demon won’t flee from a gentle hand. This is a farmer at his best and worst, trudging shovels, pickaxes and raking through the dirt, clearing out every inch of space to plant for His harvest.
Where can I go to hide from that? Would the heavens open up on me and drown me in sorrow so I don’t have to hurt this bad anymore. I can hear Him whisper, “Let Me go, for the day breaks .” How does one hold onto God when their hands are ripped and shorn apart, bloodied shreds for fingers and muscles that don’t work any longer? I don’t want to let go, but I feel like I can’t hold on any longer. The Glory of the Lord is burning my hands as I cling to the train of His robe. I am only human. I need Him to hold onto me.
So that is where I stand. In the midst of this beautiful land, I am desolate. Laid waste as I wait for God to fill me back up, not even sure if I am ready to be renewed, wondering if I’m going to have to be dug up again when the flesh takes root. I don’t know how much more I can handle. This is honesty in motion, this is real community, this is pressing on.
This is the Art of Breaking.
