I've recently had a few weird things happen, like in the last 4 or 5 days. To anyone outside my brain, these wouldn't seem like anything strange or out of the ordinary. But inside the machine encased by my thick skull, alarm bells were going off, warning of impending danger.
One of them was a girlfriend inviting me to her house for their Friday night fellowship. (See? Totally normal.) There was going to be food (Yay!) and great people. Normally, I'm all in. But my honey was still at work, so I didn't want to go without seeing him first. See, he'd been working for almost 2 weeks straight, most of which was between 12 and 15 hours a aday. I knew he'd be tired when he got home (if not fall into an exhaustion-fueled coma as soon as he crossed the threshold), so I didn't want him to have to deal with 4 dogs, or phone calls, or anything of the sort. Now, if he was to say, fall asleep 5 minutes after he got home, so be it. I'd make sure he could sleep undisturbed, and roll on over to my friend's house.
As the clock ticked on, the window for this event at my friend's house was closing, and my honey still hadn't called. I knew calling him was pointless, since he was working in an industrial environment; not to mention the 900-ton press he was working INSIDE. I really didn't want to distract him...
So when my girlfriend texted me with a simple question, something set me off. The red lights started flashing behind my eyeballs.
I knew that whatever I replied would have been snarky, sarcastic, and more than likely, incredible mean. So I removed any chance of that happening, and shut off my phone.
For 2 days, I stewed. I stewed about what she could've been saying with her question, I stewed about my possible responses, and I stewed unneccesarily about the repercussion of any one of my possible (but imagined) responses.
I knew something was irking me, and I'd gotten to the point that I knew that whatever it was, it wasn't my friend, or her question.
So what the hell was it????
Oh.... hell.
Here comes the backstory.
In the last couple of weeks, I've had my eyes opened to just how selfish I'd been in my marriage. For a really long time. If you care to read that story, and haven't yet, you can read it here.
To make a long story short. my honey had been sacrificing all the things that were important to him (time with his family, hobbies, fun stuff, etc.) in order to go to work, to provide for our family.
I, on the other hand, had not. In fact, I'd added things to my list of stuff to do, places to go, people to see; without taking care of my priorities - my family. (Sadly enough, I called all this "serving God"...)
So I was completely oblivious to what my honey said when he told me he felt like I wasn't making him a priority. And I had the cajones to think he was being the selfish one! (Holy cow, I'm just now realizing what a complete tool I've been...)
Wow.
Anyways.
After a miraculous couple of weeks, where I had an enlightening and humbling prayer experience, a new outlook on what my husband means by "priority", and a fantastic job that fell out of the sky and into my lap, a lightbulb went on.
What was irking me so adamantly was the challenge to my recent declaration to stand by my husband, to fight for what we wanted, together.
If I had decided to ditch my husband, who'd been sacrificing everything for me, for us, to go fellowship with my friends, I would've been missing the point. (Not to mention moving the target.) Completely.
I would have been throwing away the last few weeks, going back to the mode of thinking where I was first all the time, I was the priority, what I wanted trumped everything else.
It took SEVEN MONTHS to get out of that mode of thinking. I wasn't going back.
Looking back on those seven months? I saw Clark Kent, just like everyone else.
I should've seen Superman.
Because my husband IS my hero.
No one else knows what we've been through together, and no one knows everything he does for this family. No one else knows what he sacrifices, what he deals with, what he tolerates, what he pushes through.
So in my book, no one else can judge our relationship, nor do I have the right to compare our relationship to any others.
A HUGE weight has been lifted off my shoulders,and I have a new spring in my step.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go do Superman's laundry.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Monday, May 20, 2013
Stirring
Something's happening...
Underneath the humming of our everyday monotony; despite our schedules and calendars, our plans and our goals, something's stirring.
Like an invisible army that rushes inside the wind...
Unseen, barely perceived.
But there...
Growing.
Quickening.
Carried by a generation who can't deal with the discomfort any longer; who are following an unheard of yearning for more of what's real.
Pushing past the keepers of the flame, refusing to settle for "what is", because the longing for "what could be" is much greater... no matter the cost.
A new generation who are gasping for air in a world trying to drown them in nothing, under the crushing weight of worthlessness.
They are the ones who've been surrounded since birth with everything, but nothing; increasing costs, yet all worthless.
They hunger for a reality better than this.
They were born with a heightened sensitivity to what's real and what's make believe.
In this make believe world we live in, they can feel what's real; they have the ability to see past the surface, into the deep.
They can see the shift coming without knowing what it is.
It is in them, for this right now.
There are the ones who've lived, who've followed the desires of the world.
They've been the offenders, the ones who've hurt themselves and others.
The ones who've done as they pleased, given in and followed every golden dream, every silver lined wish and desire.
And ended up with nothing.
Staring at empty hands, angered by the deception they've fallen into...
Falling to their knees, they cry out for Truth.
And it finds them.
Truth gathers them all, these different people: different ages, different cultures, different experiences, different lives. And unites them in love; pure, brilliant and exhilarating love.
They push forward into Truth; carrying it when the time is right, following it when need be, like a pillar of fire.
They are like a generation of walking dead; they cannot be killed, they cannot be contained, and they cannot be stopped.
They are aware of what's to come.
The stirring is the twitch in their muscles before battle; filled with a reality so powerful they can taste it, they can touch it.
Infiltrating a false world armed with Truth, swinging the gates wide open for an unstoppable kingdom to rush in.
The kingdom rushes in on a cadence that shakes the earth, sweeping every breath, every breeze.
Invisible but quickly dominating.
Bringing with it a new reality; ushering in the not yet by swiftly closing in the walls of make believe.
Underneath the humming of our everyday monotony; despite our schedules and calendars, our plans and our goals, something's stirring.
Like an invisible army that rushes inside the wind...
Unseen, barely perceived.
But there...
Growing.
Quickening.
Carried by a generation who can't deal with the discomfort any longer; who are following an unheard of yearning for more of what's real.
Pushing past the keepers of the flame, refusing to settle for "what is", because the longing for "what could be" is much greater... no matter the cost.
A new generation who are gasping for air in a world trying to drown them in nothing, under the crushing weight of worthlessness.
They are the ones who've been surrounded since birth with everything, but nothing; increasing costs, yet all worthless.
They hunger for a reality better than this.
They were born with a heightened sensitivity to what's real and what's make believe.
In this make believe world we live in, they can feel what's real; they have the ability to see past the surface, into the deep.
They can see the shift coming without knowing what it is.
It is in them, for this right now.
There are the ones who've lived, who've followed the desires of the world.
They've been the offenders, the ones who've hurt themselves and others.
The ones who've done as they pleased, given in and followed every golden dream, every silver lined wish and desire.
And ended up with nothing.
Staring at empty hands, angered by the deception they've fallen into...
Falling to their knees, they cry out for Truth.
And it finds them.
Truth gathers them all, these different people: different ages, different cultures, different experiences, different lives. And unites them in love; pure, brilliant and exhilarating love.
They push forward into Truth; carrying it when the time is right, following it when need be, like a pillar of fire.
They are like a generation of walking dead; they cannot be killed, they cannot be contained, and they cannot be stopped.
They are aware of what's to come.
The stirring is the twitch in their muscles before battle; filled with a reality so powerful they can taste it, they can touch it.
Infiltrating a false world armed with Truth, swinging the gates wide open for an unstoppable kingdom to rush in.
The kingdom rushes in on a cadence that shakes the earth, sweeping every breath, every breeze.
Invisible but quickly dominating.
Bringing with it a new reality; ushering in the not yet by swiftly closing in the walls of make believe.
Friday, May 10, 2013
"Perfection"
Did you ever hear the one about the selfish woman who was being transformed? No? Wanna hear it?
Here it goes...
I'm not really sure what the heck I've been doing the last few months. If you were to ask me what kind of "productive contribution" I've made to my household, I'm not sure I'd be able to answer you. Sure, I've cooked, and cleaned, & laundered every stitch of clothing we own (most likely in the same two week period). I've shopped for groceries and clothes for a boy who won't quit growing, & taken dogs to the vet fifteen million times. I've made lunches, made phone calls, and made it to the utility companies just before closing time. I've dreamed, I've prayed, I've done homework (mine & the boy's), I've written (people have written NOVELS in the time I've been dorkin' around), and I've served.
About the only thing I haven't done is bring in a paycheck.
After looking at the above list of things I've done, some of you may jump on the "girl, if you're doing all that you shouldn't need a paycheck!" bandwagon. And some of you may choose the "If I can do all that with a job, so can you." train. I beg that you read the rest of this before you jump on anything.
I've always worked. From the age of sixteen on, I've always had a job, if not two. I enjoy working, it keeps me physically busy. Some jobs challenged my mind, others challenged my body, and others challenged both. So having a job is not something I've ever had a problem with.
My issue has always been time away from my family. A stint in the military brought that home for me, deployment after deployment, unannounced 12-hour shift after unannounced 12-hour shift, cancelled weekend after cancelled days off. After leaving the military, I went in the completely opposite direction, choosing self employment over a job outside the home. This allowed me to work with my husband, be available to take and drop off our son at school, appointments at all times of the day for whatever reason - school programs and awards ceremonies, vet appointments, doctor's appointments, fishing, etc.)
I got spoiled. I love being with my family!
Fast forward a few years. Last fall, my husband found a fantastic job. FANTASTIC... for him (and for me). He got a steady paycheck, and I was free to do whatever I wanted. His paycheck was substantial enough for me to not need to worry about getting a job. (I could stay at home! YAY! A job I'd never had but always wanted!!)
A long time ago, after the economy went south, we decided that we'd never have debt again. We learned an important lesson that our family was more important than "stuff", so if accumulating debt was going to put us in a situation where we'd have to leave our time together to pay off that debt, it just wasn't worth it, in our eyes.
Sigh... Yes, of course we accumulated more debt. Go figure. Sometimes you have to screw up twice to learn the lesson...
So my husband has this great job, and we're paying all our bills on time, and blah blah blah.
Except, our debt wasn't going away.
Goals and dreams, and plans and schemes, they're all great if a couple is working towards them together. And, for every couple, that "working towards them together" looks different.
"I" thought we'd be able to stick to a strict budget. A strict budget that would pay our monthly obligations, and tackle the debt, little by little. "He" thought I'd get bored after a month off and get a job.
Seven months later, here we are, and here's what we have.
A husband who's frustrated, and a clueless, self-absorbed wife.
Sure, I listened to his frustrations, but I dismissed them, not willing to mess with my own agenda: my leisurely life of (say this out loud in a dreamy, wispy, fairy-tale voice) "writing, praying and serving the least..." (HA. I sounded like Mrs. Doubtfire...)
And I did this for six months. SIX MONTHS. (I'm surprised he's still married to me.)
The bricks of my "agenda" started loosening about the six month mark. I wasn't as productive, I wasn't as creative. Sure I was busier, but that was just the weak mortar patches in my wall called selfishness.
I had been praying for my husband before: "Lord, promote him in his job. Give him peace in his job. Give him satisfaction in his job. Blah. Blah. Blah."
One morning, I didn't know what else to pray for him. So I simply asked God to answer his prayers, and not mine.
Then something happened.
I was being made aware of one thing he was wrestling with, day after day. All of a sudden, I felt his frustrations; like they were my own. I felt his hopelessness, I understood his lack of motivation and inability to dream. And I knew why.
All of a sudden, I could fully see that if we kept on the same path, it would take us til we were 130 years old to accomplish our goals... have some land in the woods, a little house, be debt free. Simple enough, yet I wasn't helping in any one of the ways I could to accomplish those goals. I'd left it all up to him.
Humbled, I told him I'd get a job.
And wouldn't ya know, I'm excited about getting a job! I have no doubt that it was part of the transformation that had to happen. (Of course, he's elated, too!)
I'm excited because now both of us can see the finish line. I'm excited because I'm now contributing to our goals. I'm excited because I'm able to do something to bring peace to him.
And if it gives my husband hope again; my chosen partner in this life, my other half, my best friend; well, then, every bit of it is worth it.
Here it goes...
I'm not really sure what the heck I've been doing the last few months. If you were to ask me what kind of "productive contribution" I've made to my household, I'm not sure I'd be able to answer you. Sure, I've cooked, and cleaned, & laundered every stitch of clothing we own (most likely in the same two week period). I've shopped for groceries and clothes for a boy who won't quit growing, & taken dogs to the vet fifteen million times. I've made lunches, made phone calls, and made it to the utility companies just before closing time. I've dreamed, I've prayed, I've done homework (mine & the boy's), I've written (people have written NOVELS in the time I've been dorkin' around), and I've served.
About the only thing I haven't done is bring in a paycheck.
After looking at the above list of things I've done, some of you may jump on the "girl, if you're doing all that you shouldn't need a paycheck!" bandwagon. And some of you may choose the "If I can do all that with a job, so can you." train. I beg that you read the rest of this before you jump on anything.
I've always worked. From the age of sixteen on, I've always had a job, if not two. I enjoy working, it keeps me physically busy. Some jobs challenged my mind, others challenged my body, and others challenged both. So having a job is not something I've ever had a problem with.
My issue has always been time away from my family. A stint in the military brought that home for me, deployment after deployment, unannounced 12-hour shift after unannounced 12-hour shift, cancelled weekend after cancelled days off. After leaving the military, I went in the completely opposite direction, choosing self employment over a job outside the home. This allowed me to work with my husband, be available to take and drop off our son at school, appointments at all times of the day for whatever reason - school programs and awards ceremonies, vet appointments, doctor's appointments, fishing, etc.)
I got spoiled. I love being with my family!
Fast forward a few years. Last fall, my husband found a fantastic job. FANTASTIC... for him (and for me). He got a steady paycheck, and I was free to do whatever I wanted. His paycheck was substantial enough for me to not need to worry about getting a job. (I could stay at home! YAY! A job I'd never had but always wanted!!)
A long time ago, after the economy went south, we decided that we'd never have debt again. We learned an important lesson that our family was more important than "stuff", so if accumulating debt was going to put us in a situation where we'd have to leave our time together to pay off that debt, it just wasn't worth it, in our eyes.
Sigh... Yes, of course we accumulated more debt. Go figure. Sometimes you have to screw up twice to learn the lesson...
So my husband has this great job, and we're paying all our bills on time, and blah blah blah.
Except, our debt wasn't going away.
Goals and dreams, and plans and schemes, they're all great if a couple is working towards them together. And, for every couple, that "working towards them together" looks different.
"I" thought we'd be able to stick to a strict budget. A strict budget that would pay our monthly obligations, and tackle the debt, little by little. "He" thought I'd get bored after a month off and get a job.
Seven months later, here we are, and here's what we have.
A husband who's frustrated, and a clueless, self-absorbed wife.
Sure, I listened to his frustrations, but I dismissed them, not willing to mess with my own agenda: my leisurely life of (say this out loud in a dreamy, wispy, fairy-tale voice) "writing, praying and serving the least..." (HA. I sounded like Mrs. Doubtfire...)
And I did this for six months. SIX MONTHS. (I'm surprised he's still married to me.)
The bricks of my "agenda" started loosening about the six month mark. I wasn't as productive, I wasn't as creative. Sure I was busier, but that was just the weak mortar patches in my wall called selfishness.
I had been praying for my husband before: "Lord, promote him in his job. Give him peace in his job. Give him satisfaction in his job. Blah. Blah. Blah."
One morning, I didn't know what else to pray for him. So I simply asked God to answer his prayers, and not mine.
Then something happened.
I was being made aware of one thing he was wrestling with, day after day. All of a sudden, I felt his frustrations; like they were my own. I felt his hopelessness, I understood his lack of motivation and inability to dream. And I knew why.
All of a sudden, I could fully see that if we kept on the same path, it would take us til we were 130 years old to accomplish our goals... have some land in the woods, a little house, be debt free. Simple enough, yet I wasn't helping in any one of the ways I could to accomplish those goals. I'd left it all up to him.
Humbled, I told him I'd get a job.
And wouldn't ya know, I'm excited about getting a job! I have no doubt that it was part of the transformation that had to happen. (Of course, he's elated, too!)
I'm excited because now both of us can see the finish line. I'm excited because I'm now contributing to our goals. I'm excited because I'm able to do something to bring peace to him.
And if it gives my husband hope again; my chosen partner in this life, my other half, my best friend; well, then, every bit of it is worth it.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Battle Scars
We all talk about ours. I got this one on my knee from a bicycle crash when I was 14. I got this one on my forehead from a fall off a chair as a toddler. And I got this one on my hand from hitting a tree on a four-wheeler not so long ago.
Scars. Left from cuts, wounds, assaults to our flesh; from accidents, fights, injuries, crashes, or collisions.
Surgical scars, left from battles raged within the body; where the final attack on our part, (or the part of medicine) required brutal incisions - no matter how precise- in order to launch our physical retaliation. Be it fighting against disease, broken bones, removal of something that didn't belong, or something that wasn't functioning as it should be.
We all have them, and some of us take pride in them. We wear then as a decorated war hero wears his medals. Sometimes boastful, other times quietly.
Every scar tells a story. Some of them are wonderful and fantastic tales, so amazing that others wonder if it could possibly be true. Some of them are just minute blips on the radar of our time on this planet. And others have horrific stories that accompany them; stories that bring rushing back such terrifying experiences that if told, would bring women to tears, and grown men to their knees.
For every scar we carry on our body, there's usually an accompanying emotional scar; ones that aren't as easily dismissed. Physical reminders of a trauma that won't heal as fast as the skin:
The girl who still feels the heat of the fire as she sees her burned skin.
The soldier who still feels the impact of the bullet that tore into his chest as he touches the
scar.
The fear that paralyzes the man from the wreck that left him trapped in his car with a bone
protruding from his leg.
Physical pain or injury isn't the only thing that leaves scars; sometimes we're scarred from emotional battles or challenges:
A fight with a loved one, where you KNOW you said the wrong words. A verbal assault
that cuts just as deep into the soul as a sword through the belly. A moment where being
"right", or a moment of selfishness, far outweighed any hurt that the words would inflict,
usually spoken out of anger or lack of understanding.
A challenge thrown out by a group that you're supposed to belong to, supposed to accept
you, supposed to understand you, your heart. A new chasm opened up between you, and
the eyes to see it...
it challenges you, offends, and damages; leaving you wounded and raw.
More often than not (at least for me), regret is the first responder on the scene, followed closely by shame and sometimes, the lookey-loo (bringing nothing productive to the situation), more anger. If we're smart, interactions like that leave us scarred, hopefully for the pure reminder to NOT do that again.
These scars come in all forms, usually inflicted by words and our use, or misuse of them.
When I'm the offender, I'm just as wounded from the words I say to someone as I would be if they were directed at me.
At the moment I speak the words, my personal will far overshadows God's will. But He steps in, like a gentleman, once I've launched my venomous attack.
It is then that I notice Him in the room.
The damage is done; conviction sets in.
Conviction is my battlefield surgeon, stitching me up just well enough to close the wound and stop the bleeding, but not well enough to hide the damage permanently. So I have a reminder.
Then we have what I call Battle Scars. Sure there's physical scars or emotional scars. But that's not what I mean.
There are scars that we inflict from the daily choices we make. The scars and wounds carried from the challenges we face as we (try to) grow in our belief and understanding of our relationship with Christ.
For me, the biggest wounds are coming from learning the difference between "following Christ" and "Churchianity".
I'm learning that "following Christ" is much more painful; painful in the way that my life is being transformed, and my awareness of the changes taking place.
Instead of spouting off at the mouth, or taking offense to every negative word spoken, or automatically going after every single wish, want or desire, I'm beginning to look at my life through the lens of Jesus Christ - as if He's the one living it, not me.
It's like we say in church, in the Wesleyan Covenant Prayer: "I am no longer my own, but thine."
(Thine. Who in the world says THAT anymore?!)
In order to be "no longer my own", something has to happen to give myself up to this decision.
First, I had to realize I'm broken.
Fallen.
Not perfect.
Frankly, I suck.
Because of the fall of Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden, I now carry sin in this human flesh of mine, just as every single person born since, (except One). We ALL do. This leads me to be selfish, calloused, prideful, jealous, and interestingly enough, able to recognize the same in others. Quiet arrogance has historically been a fault of mine.
Second, I sought help for this fallen nature. Who am I kidding. How it really happened was, right at the moment I was at the lowest of the low, when I was under the rock at rock bottom, Christ found me there, hiding and ashamed. (Kind of like Adam and Eve after the fall?) He took my hand and began to show me the Truth about who He is, and opened my eyes to understand.
Third, I had to agree to this life, willfully submit to what could be.
In order to have "what could be", I needed to make room for Him in my life. So what could I give Him?
A couple hours on Sunday morning?
Didn't seem fitting enough for the King of Kings, the Lord of all Creation, the One who could take my life at the end of this breath.
Spend 30 minutes a day reading my Bible?
Again, not big enough.
What was I really giving up by squeezing Jesus in?
NOTHING.
I was still the same person I was, as pigheaded as ever, as self-reliant as ever, living like God was an "addition to", not a "rescue from" this life.
I love in Romans 12:1-2, the original language written says, "Brothers and sisters, because of God's mercies, I come along side you in comfort to present your bodies as a living sacrifice that is holy and pleasing to God. This is your only rational and logical worship. Do not be conformed to the patterns of this world (a.k.a. "religion", a.k.a. "Churchianity"), but keep on being transformed by the renovation of the intellect, so you can figure out what God's will is - what is beneficial, fully agreeable, and perfectly complete."
Anytime I see the word "perfect" in scripture, I realize that whatever it is in reference to, I can't do it, because I'm not perfect.
But Christ is...
So how do I get to live this life, sharing in the "perfectly complete"?
I have to give myself up. Not make time to squeeze Him in, not give up a couple of big-ticket items I want.
I have to give up my life. As a "living sacrifice", as Paul said.
I have to sacrifice me; my will, my desires, my life; in order for Christ to live through me.
And for me, it's not a one-time-deal-and-I'm-done. No, this happens every day. Decision by decision, minute by minute, breath by breath.
I die. What I want, my instant reactions, my emotions, my fleshly desires...I have to kill it all.
And moment by moment, in situation after situation, facing what I want versus what God is doing, I have to choose death.
Volumes could be written about that battle that rages inside me in that moment of decision time.
It's the most violent and bloody battle I've ever experienced. The battle between what my flesh wants to do and say, and my spirit, which longs for a re-union with the Creator; it's a battle I fight every day.
As in any battle, this one produces scars as well. But the scars are carried on Christ's body, not mine.
Scars. Left from cuts, wounds, assaults to our flesh; from accidents, fights, injuries, crashes, or collisions.
Surgical scars, left from battles raged within the body; where the final attack on our part, (or the part of medicine) required brutal incisions - no matter how precise- in order to launch our physical retaliation. Be it fighting against disease, broken bones, removal of something that didn't belong, or something that wasn't functioning as it should be.
We all have them, and some of us take pride in them. We wear then as a decorated war hero wears his medals. Sometimes boastful, other times quietly.
Every scar tells a story. Some of them are wonderful and fantastic tales, so amazing that others wonder if it could possibly be true. Some of them are just minute blips on the radar of our time on this planet. And others have horrific stories that accompany them; stories that bring rushing back such terrifying experiences that if told, would bring women to tears, and grown men to their knees.
For every scar we carry on our body, there's usually an accompanying emotional scar; ones that aren't as easily dismissed. Physical reminders of a trauma that won't heal as fast as the skin:
The girl who still feels the heat of the fire as she sees her burned skin.
The soldier who still feels the impact of the bullet that tore into his chest as he touches the
scar.
The fear that paralyzes the man from the wreck that left him trapped in his car with a bone
protruding from his leg.
Physical pain or injury isn't the only thing that leaves scars; sometimes we're scarred from emotional battles or challenges:
A fight with a loved one, where you KNOW you said the wrong words. A verbal assault
that cuts just as deep into the soul as a sword through the belly. A moment where being
"right", or a moment of selfishness, far outweighed any hurt that the words would inflict,
usually spoken out of anger or lack of understanding.
A challenge thrown out by a group that you're supposed to belong to, supposed to accept
you, supposed to understand you, your heart. A new chasm opened up between you, and
the eyes to see it...
it challenges you, offends, and damages; leaving you wounded and raw.
More often than not (at least for me), regret is the first responder on the scene, followed closely by shame and sometimes, the lookey-loo (bringing nothing productive to the situation), more anger. If we're smart, interactions like that leave us scarred, hopefully for the pure reminder to NOT do that again.
These scars come in all forms, usually inflicted by words and our use, or misuse of them.
When I'm the offender, I'm just as wounded from the words I say to someone as I would be if they were directed at me.
At the moment I speak the words, my personal will far overshadows God's will. But He steps in, like a gentleman, once I've launched my venomous attack.
It is then that I notice Him in the room.
The damage is done; conviction sets in.
Conviction is my battlefield surgeon, stitching me up just well enough to close the wound and stop the bleeding, but not well enough to hide the damage permanently. So I have a reminder.
Then we have what I call Battle Scars. Sure there's physical scars or emotional scars. But that's not what I mean.
There are scars that we inflict from the daily choices we make. The scars and wounds carried from the challenges we face as we (try to) grow in our belief and understanding of our relationship with Christ.
For me, the biggest wounds are coming from learning the difference between "following Christ" and "Churchianity".
I'm learning that "following Christ" is much more painful; painful in the way that my life is being transformed, and my awareness of the changes taking place.
Instead of spouting off at the mouth, or taking offense to every negative word spoken, or automatically going after every single wish, want or desire, I'm beginning to look at my life through the lens of Jesus Christ - as if He's the one living it, not me.
It's like we say in church, in the Wesleyan Covenant Prayer: "I am no longer my own, but thine."
(Thine. Who in the world says THAT anymore?!)
In order to be "no longer my own", something has to happen to give myself up to this decision.
First, I had to realize I'm broken.
Fallen.
Not perfect.
Frankly, I suck.
Because of the fall of Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden, I now carry sin in this human flesh of mine, just as every single person born since, (except One). We ALL do. This leads me to be selfish, calloused, prideful, jealous, and interestingly enough, able to recognize the same in others. Quiet arrogance has historically been a fault of mine.
Second, I sought help for this fallen nature. Who am I kidding. How it really happened was, right at the moment I was at the lowest of the low, when I was under the rock at rock bottom, Christ found me there, hiding and ashamed. (Kind of like Adam and Eve after the fall?) He took my hand and began to show me the Truth about who He is, and opened my eyes to understand.
Third, I had to agree to this life, willfully submit to what could be.
In order to have "what could be", I needed to make room for Him in my life. So what could I give Him?
A couple hours on Sunday morning?
Didn't seem fitting enough for the King of Kings, the Lord of all Creation, the One who could take my life at the end of this breath.
Spend 30 minutes a day reading my Bible?
Again, not big enough.
What was I really giving up by squeezing Jesus in?
NOTHING.
I was still the same person I was, as pigheaded as ever, as self-reliant as ever, living like God was an "addition to", not a "rescue from" this life.
I love in Romans 12:1-2, the original language written says, "Brothers and sisters, because of God's mercies, I come along side you in comfort to present your bodies as a living sacrifice that is holy and pleasing to God. This is your only rational and logical worship. Do not be conformed to the patterns of this world (a.k.a. "religion", a.k.a. "Churchianity"), but keep on being transformed by the renovation of the intellect, so you can figure out what God's will is - what is beneficial, fully agreeable, and perfectly complete."
Anytime I see the word "perfect" in scripture, I realize that whatever it is in reference to, I can't do it, because I'm not perfect.
But Christ is...
So how do I get to live this life, sharing in the "perfectly complete"?
I have to give myself up. Not make time to squeeze Him in, not give up a couple of big-ticket items I want.
I have to give up my life. As a "living sacrifice", as Paul said.
I have to sacrifice me; my will, my desires, my life; in order for Christ to live through me.
And for me, it's not a one-time-deal-and-I'm-done. No, this happens every day. Decision by decision, minute by minute, breath by breath.
I die. What I want, my instant reactions, my emotions, my fleshly desires...I have to kill it all.
And moment by moment, in situation after situation, facing what I want versus what God is doing, I have to choose death.
Volumes could be written about that battle that rages inside me in that moment of decision time.
It's the most violent and bloody battle I've ever experienced. The battle between what my flesh wants to do and say, and my spirit, which longs for a re-union with the Creator; it's a battle I fight every day.
As in any battle, this one produces scars as well. But the scars are carried on Christ's body, not mine.
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