Three years ago around this time, the tapestry of my life started to unravel. By that June, it was completely undone. During those dark days, I had very little faith that God could fix that mess. The song that says, "Ashamed, I hear my mocking voice call out among the scoffers" rang through my head constantly and brought me to tears.
Here I sit, a short three years later, with an intact marriage, a beautiful baby, and a healthy dose of humility as I realize that I (a doubting Thomas) had to see God's hand to believe. But as Noah plays and I sip my coffee this morning, I can't help but feel like I'm getting a glimpse of eternity-- where ALL things work to the glory of God, and all the hard questions have answers.
Sometimes I just have to laugh at the absurdity of the past year in regards to my job. I mean, really. It's been one long, stressful journey in the painful lesson on, the grass isn't always greener. Don't get me wrong, I am really happy with where my job situation is right now, but I'm still learning that really, the grass is greener where you water it.
Was it really just a year ago that I was teaching clinicals, helping in nursing skills lab, taking graduate classes, and working full time in the NICU? And I was so hard on myself! No wonder I was burnt out and ready for a change! From this distance, I heap grace upon grace upon that poor ragged girl.
This time last year I took a job at a clinic thinking it'd be a nice change of pace. That was a good lesson in learning that expectations are simply premeditated disappointments, as Ross' mentor Frank likes to say. It's a long story and one that includes as many external disappointments as internal ones, but I resigned in June. Has it really only been 4 months since my last week there? It. feels. like. a. lifetime. I learned so much there from an academic standpoint, and I'm so grateful for the opportunity, but I'm also thankful I've moved on.
I'm currently cobbling together a living with two different jobs: I'm a NICU nurse part-time and a home visit/postpartum/newborn nurse part-time. I'm loving the variety and honestly, I also like that I'm not fully vested in any one place right now. It helps me stay emotionally disconnected from my work, which God knows I need. In the past year I let the line between work and life become far too blurry and my life affected my work and my work affected my life and it was all a mess. I like being able to be a nurse. I love that! And I love going home and being Therese.
The downside, of course, is that I'm not accruing seniority or PTO or retirement benefits anywhere, which is unnerving. I'm constantly having to surrender control in that regard. God has me where he wants me right now and I'm so grateful that I listened and took the risk.
Which I guess brings me to the actual point of what I came here to talk about today. At my last clinic job, I became a person I really really disliked. I let my circumstances bring out the absolute worst in me. Cranky, self-righteous, selfish, demanding, entitled... the list goes on and on. The worst part about it is that I lost my filter and said more things out loud than I probably ever should have!
To my co-workers, I probably just looked like every other burnt-out nurse. But to me, I was appalled. My heart really is that dark. I would think, "This isn't me! I don't recognize this person!" But really, it was me at my truest and weakest and most human, I think. I'd been tired and worn and exasperated, but never that. Never bitchy. Never rude. Never so thoughtless. That's what I regret most about that job: the way I handled it. I blew it.
I'm so grateful for the cleansing wind that blew into my tired heart this summer. I've been able to watch with fascination, almost from the sidelines, as God begins to heal my heart. I'm learning to accept grace from God and from myself. The whirlwind of the last 3 years had finally ceased blowing and I got to stand there and watch the dust settle. As the air cleared, I started to catch glimpses of what God was revealing on the horizon. And it was good. All of his gifts are. This summer has been so beautiful, and filled with more second chances than I deserve.
Lest you think that this is where the story ends, yesterday I was reminded that the learning process is just that... a process. The more I grow, the more I see that in a sense, we never 'arrive' in this life. There's no point at which life is suddenly easy and every single thing makes sense. That's not to say there aren't seasons of rest and growth and happiness and sorrow and peace and angst, because there are! But they're always evolving. And I'm okay with that. In fact, I think I like that. I don't actually want to stay the same as I am today.
Yesterday at work I was flustered and busy and a little overwhelmed with new tasks fresh out of orientation, and what I had previously thought of as old-job-Therese popped up out of nowhere in an unnecessary snarky comment. Granted, not many people heard, and the people who did, didn't think much of it. It was a crazy busy day for everyone. But the heaps of shame that flooded my heart shocked me. I thought that kind of response was directly related to my old job. I thought I left that behind. But I did not.
Last night before bed, I read exactly what I needed to hear in Morning and Evening by Charles Spurgeon:
If you need to hear that, look up John 16:7-15, too. The Holy Spirit takes Jesus' inheritance and declares it ours as well! And like Spurgeon says, "your Father does not give you promises and then leave you to draw them up from the Word like buckets from a well. The promises He has written in the Word He will write afresh on your heart." I love that. Good news, indeed!
So jeez. It's May. In with a few snowstorms, out with 90 degree weather, that's what I always say.
Oh man, I need a vacation.
Life. It's happening.
I have all these things I have wanted to blog about, but haven't. Why not? Exhibit A: my ridiculous schedule. (I keep thinking I can do everything. And I. Just. Can't.) Exhibit B: this. (Read it).
Depression is a sneaky little devil. I found myself blindsided with hopelessness this spring. Genuinely doubting that God was/is good. Truly believing that life was/is nothing but a struggle. Fearing God. And then slipping into a weird zone of self-preservation that hurt me more in the end. Like the aforementioned blog post says:
At first, though, the invulnerability that accompanied the detachment was exhilarating. At least as exhilarating as something can be without involving real emotions.
The beginning of my depression had been nothing but feelings, so the emotional deadening that followed was a welcome relief. I had always wanted to not give a f*ck about anything. I viewed feelings as a weakness — annoying obstacles on my quest for total power over myself. And I finally didn't have to feel them anymore.
But my experiences slowly flattened and blended together until it became obvious that there's a huge difference between not giving a f*ck and not being able to give a f*ck. Cognitively, you might know that different things are happening to you, but they don't feel very different.
Well, yes. I couldn't have said it better myself. So I found myself trying to climb out of this deep dark hole, and I couldn't. I just simply couldn't. I couldn't muster up the desire, the willpower, the energy, the optimism... nada. I'm slowly starting to see daylight, but I've needed an emergency airlift to get there.
See, while I think this author has eloquently yet humorously described depression to a t, I do respectfully disagree with her on one major point. She says, "And that's the most frustrating thing about depression. It isn't always something you can fight back against with hope." I would beg to differ. Indeed, hope is the only thing that can combat depression.
I mean yes, by all means, eat more vegetables. Start exercising: endorphins really do make you happier. Rekindle a beloved hobby or creative outlet. Yet one day, in the throes of it all, you may realize not even those things help. And in that terrible moment of realization, you also realize it doesn't hurt anymore. Nothing makes you happy, but nothing makes you want to cry your eyes out anymore, either. You're apathetic. Detached. Distancing yourself and putting up walls has removed you so far from the pain that you feel nothing. It's safer that way. Also, even more depressing.
If you get to that point, see a doctor who can evaluate your need for medication. But even then, medications can be a big band-aid if you don't address the root of the problem. (Please know I'm not bashing antidepressants. Been on them. Loved them. Currently loving life without them.)
Ummm my point is... hope. Hope placed in Jesus never disappoints. (I know, I know, you saw that coming. But hear me out.) Everything else will fail you. Has failed me. Everything else disappoints. Jesus it the only one who can keep every promise. The only one who can dry every tear from every eye. The only one who can give us the grace in which we stand and remind us of the hope of the glory of God.
Since Jesus suffered separation from God-- a true agony I never have to know since he bore it for me-- he can rightly encourage us to glory in our sufferings, because suffering produces perseverance; perseverance character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame. (Romans 5:5). I don't have to hate or fear God every time I suffer, because God is actually good.
The Lord your God is with you,
the Mighty Warrior who saves.
He will take great delight in you;
in his love he will no longer rebuke you,
but will rejoice over you with singing.
(Zephaniah 3:17)
I'm not sure how to say that without sounding like a naive goody-two shoes. I just know in my heart of hearts that it's true. And if you've ever been paralyzed at the bottom looking up, maybe you feel it too. You need something bigger than yourself.
I don't have much to say besides that.
Hope does not disappoint.
I'm re-learning who God is the good old fashioned-way: by reading my Bible.
And, you know, I guess I'm back to over-sharing on the world wide web :o)
Sometimes it's easy to forget the reality of Easter, right? To say these words out of habit. Do we really believe them sometimes?
As someone who grew up in a Christian family, Easter was an assumed reality in my life. But I remember that when my mom told me that Easter was more important than Christmas, I was shocked. Without presents and traditions and holiday hullabaloo, that was hard for me to wrap my little brain around.
Even in a historical sense, it's somehow easier for me to picture a little miracle baby being born into the cold, hard world than it is for me to picture a man, dead and tortured and buried beneath pounds of linen and cut off from the land of the living in a heavy stone tomb, walking free three days later.
Than again.
If that happened? If the physical world is only a shadow of what's to come? If these earthly bodies are just temporary homes for our eternal soul? Is it so hard to see how an almighty, all powerful God could breathe life back into a body?
It's not so much of a logical stretch to realize that if the resurrection did indeed happen, well, that changes everything.
In Christ alone, my hope is found
He is my light, my strength, my song
This cornerstone, this solid ground
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm
What heights of love, what depths of peace
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease
My comforter, my all-in-all
Here in the love of Christ I stand
There in the ground His body lay
Light of the world by darkness slain
Then bursting forth in glorious day
Up from the grave He rose again And as He stands in victory Sin's curse has lost it's grip on me
For I am His and He is mine
Bought with the precious blood of Christ
No guilt in life, no fear in death
This is the power of Christ in me
From life's first cry to final breath
Jesus commands my destiny
No power of hell, no scheme of man
Can ever pluck me from His hand
Till He returns or calls me home
Here in the power of Christ I'll stand
Till He returns or calls me home
Here in the power of Christ I'll stand
Here in the power of Christ I'll stand
These musings seem fitting on this cold, blustery, umpteenth cloudy day of March. Last Friday was unexpectedly warm and sunny – but on the inside, things were falling apart. It's like the light shone in an even deeper contrast to the darkness of my own heart.
Sometimes God chases us into dark places so we can feel the pain and agony of separation from Him. So we can see redemption. So that He can use our mess to bring glory to Himself by fixing something that conventional wisdom tells us is broken beyond repair.
Other times, when I don't like what the light is exposing, I flee to the darkness myself. I foolishly think I can find comfort in solitude and lick my wounds in the shadows until there's enough distance between me and my mistakes for me to try again.
The first kind of separation is necessary and life-giving. The second type of separation will kill me if I try to dig myself out of yet another hole by myself.
Here I am again. At the bottom, looking up. And it's hard to look up, because I dug the hole myself this time. It's humbling to ask for help when I got myself into this situation in the first place.
But that's where the Good News has a chance to slap me in the face. My small group leader keeps reminding me: God is good. God is kind. God is faithful. He invented fun, humor, love, and connection.
And I'm saying, I feel hopeless. I'm tired and worn. What if healing never comes? I'm so afraid of that. What if life is always like this?
So then I start having this conversation with myself between my fear and what I know to be true:
What if things never change? What if God is punishing me?
Even if the healing never comes, He is enough.
But I'm so scared. He's a God of wrath, and I deserve wrath.
But he's also a God of restoration. Our refuge and strength. Our very present help in trouble. Do not fear, though the earth gives way (Psalm 46:2)!
When I feel worthy of only God's wrath, it's hard to accept his love. But Jesus took the wrath I deserve. When God looks upon me, his daughter, he sees me through the lens of Jesus. And he loves me with a steadfast, unconditional love that I can't fathom. I can never deserve that. I can never earn that. And I never have to. Isn't that reason enough to praise God?
Paul Tripp says that hopelessness is the gateway to hope, meaning that the only way I will ever find true hope is to give up on all
those places where I’ve put my hope before. Or, you know, cling to them so tightly that they crumble beneath my expectations and disappoint me. My default is to find
hope horizontally: if only my situation/location/relationship was better, then I'd be happy.
But no person or relationship on earth can
give me the peace and security I'm looking for. My job will never make life worth living. Having people like me will never make me happy. I'm never going to be flawlessly beautiful in the eyes of the world and not haircut or article of clothing will change that. No worldly experience or travel or popularity will fulfill me. I see that. I've lost hope. Because my hope was in the wrong things to begin with.
Tripp says,
Just as horizontal hope will fail us, a horizontal diagnosis will
miss what is truly broken. I like to think that my biggest problem in
life exists outside me, not inside me. I want to say my problems are
situational, locational, or relational. But they’re not. My biggest
problem is vertical and personal.
There is something that lurks inside me that is dark and dangerous –
sin. It kidnaps my thoughts, diverts my desires, and distorts my words.
Only Christ can fix this problem. No horizontal hope can ever fix a
vertical problem. So God promises to send His son as the vertical and
ultimate solution. “The Redeemer will come to Zion, to those in Jacob
who repent of their sins" (Isaiah 59:20).
And what do you know? God has showed up in a tangible way this week. I have... what looks like... what could be... the beginnings of a community of believers who love me? A home away from home? People who barely know me, willing to step into the mess and say, this is not okay. But in the same breath, they say, what can I do to help? I'm praying for you. I need this reflection of God's love. I need people in my life who can shake me by the shoulders and say, you are not a burden. You don't bother me. I love you and God loves you regardless. And He's here, even now.
I'm starting to see it again.
Grateful for Your Love
by Ellie Holcomb (Download this song. It's amazing.)
Love is an Ocean
Hope is a Promise
Light is overtaking
Grace is overwhelming.
You chased us into the dark and Lord we're grateful, oh we're grateful
You captured our hearts with your love, Oh Lord you're Faithful, You are Faithful.
Nothing we've ever done was too much for you to handle on the cross
This simple truth from the Jesus Storybook Bible's version of creation has been pressing on me lately:
We are lovely because He loves us.
Not because we're beautiful inside or out.
More importantly, when we aren't beautiful inside or out.
God created us. And He loves us. So we are lovely.
This is a hard, hard truth for me to swallow and I'm kind of buried in it right now. Bear with me as I try to preach the Gospel to myself here.
I thought I had the self-loathing thing down pat. For years, I used the label of eating-disorder "survivor" to pacify myself. Like, I'm not nearly as bad as I used to be. So I'll just sit here in my survival shell instead of pursuing things of true and lasting beauty??? Ummm I can't believe I'm typing all these ugly thoughts out. But I know I'm not alone.
The truth is, I have struck a balance between bouts emotional overeating and a regular exercise schedule. My weight has fluctuated within a normal range for the past few years: a little skinnier in the summer, a little fluffier in the winter. It's a cycle completely dependent upon self-control and lack thereof.
Then, 2012 became (among other things) the year of unrelenting acne. Stress, hormones, and who-knows-what else made a perfect mess of the part of me that's most visible to the world. Unlike a sweatshirt that hides a few extra pounds, there has been no hiding this acne. Now that I'm on accutane, it's even worse because I'm still breaking out, but my skin is also ridiculously dry and flaky, so makeup just accentuates the dryness.
To be honest, though, even these things are small matters compared to what lies within. At the same time my acne grew out of control, my marriage was
imploding and exposing the idols in my heart-- revealing the worst of me
to myself. The past year has made me feel quite un-lovely in deep ways I never thought possible. What I once found decent about myself, was now wretched. It just wasn't good enough. I wasn't enough inside or out. For anyone. I wasn't enough of a wife to hold my husband's attention. I wasn't a smart enough nurse. I wasn't a dedicated student. I wasn't a good friend. I wasn't a good daughter, sister, co-worker, you name it. But truly, all those things aside, I wasn't enough for me.
My confidence was once at least held up by a semblance of denial and a healthy dose of, if they don't like my sweatshirt and jeans, that's their problem, not mine. Now? It's all out on the table and I'm trudging through the thick of it and I'm finding that I really can't fix this pain. I can't will it away. I can't outsmart it. I know that even if and when this accutane does its thing, I will feel so un-lovely if nothing changes in my heart. This holiday season, I ended up in tears in the bathroom before every single social event we had on the calendar, crying that I just wanted to feel beautiful for one day. Is that so much to ask?!
.
.
.
When I disrespect myself, I'm saying to God, look, I know you tried and all, but you didn't do a very good job here. I know better. This is ugly. All of it.
The thing is, he already knows our hearts are ugly, because we are humans and sinners by nature. But he offers us grace upon grace upon grace in spite of that. In fact, because of that. I see now how much I need it. God sent his Son to justify our legal standing before the gates of heaven, and the Holy Spirit to sanctify our daily lives that we may constantly repent and turn toward the Gospel.
This is me repenting, I guess. Over and over again. I thought that if I was self-depreciating enough, people would have no expectations. That way, showing up somewhere with frizzy hair and no makeup would be better than not showing up at all. Joke's on me, though. I worked my way in a downward spiral until I felt unworthy of anything and incapable of true beauty. My sin is exposed and I cannot get stuck in this cycle of seeing my sin, skipping the cross, and moving straight to repentance and behavior modification. (Thanks for reminding me over and over again, Jami). This pattern will lead straight to despair every. single. time. Because I will never been good enough, but He is.
I am lovely because He loves me. I am lovely because He loves me. I am lovely because He loves me.
I did nothing to deserve that, and that's okay. I need to need my Savior. I am less than nothing without him.
Last year went by in the blink of an eye. It's true that the days are long but the years are short. I must start 2013 by apologizing: I've been quite morose lately. On the blog and in real life. Introverted, introspective, and greatly concerned with things of no great importance.
I know that in many ways, today is just another Tuesday. I'm so grateful, though, that it's a tangible bookmark. It's a milestone met. It's a reminder that in Christ, the old has gone and the new has come {2 Corinthians 5:17}. There is hope! And life! And a fresh start that relies not upon my own resolve or self-control, but God's mercy!
How beautiful that we awoke to a snow-covered ground this morning. Last winter was ugly and brown, but this winter we had a fresh snowfall before Christmas and New Year. A wonderful reminder that in our perpetual sin, God's grace can still cover us. Indeed, "because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness!" {Lamentations 3:22-23}
I'm not making resolutions this year, because 2012 taught me that when I make plans, God laughs. In fact, it's like Anne Lewis says: "There are four ways God answers prayer: No, not yet; No, I love you too much; Yes, I thought you'd never ask; Yes, and here's more." My goal for this year and for all the days remaining to me is to sit in God's presence daily, and to be present in daily life: the good and the bad, the messy and the real. I want to be mindful of Him, and allow HIM to direct my paths.
When I worry, I cling to the idols of control and busyness (which slays me because I hate busyness yet I fill my days with it). But when I hope in Christ, I find joy even amidst my sorrows. In light of that, I do want to share my favorite moment of 2012. It whispers of deep pain before and great hope after. Like this first day of the new year, it marks the end of one extremely difficult journey, and the beginning of a somehow more challenging one, but a truer one.
Ross and I renewed our wedding vows at dusk on Friday, July 13, 2012 beneath the heavy realization that we are not enough. We can't make our lives good. We cannot pay the price for our own failures or those of our spouse: it's too much to bear. Thankfully, at exactly the right moment, God intervened and knocked us off our feet. He pulled us out of deep waters. This past spring, we both saw things clearly for the first time. As two sinners striving to love selflessly, we're still learning a great deal about God's love. Even when our spouse fails us or betrays us in big or small ways (as they inevitably will), we are still called to love them as God loves us-- sin and stubbornness and all. Only God never disappoints.
When Ross came to pick me up to meet the pastor that evening, this song started playing on the radio and it sums up this past year perfectly. It's so filled with hope, and I couldn't have said anything better myself.
What better day than Christmas to practice childlike faith? To find awe in the everyday? To acknowledge God's great love in the simplest ways?
In The Jesus Storybook Bible, Sally Lloyd-Jones summarizes Isaiah 9, 11, 40, 50, 53, 55, and 60 to compose a message of hope from God to us through the prophet Isaiah (emphasis mine):
Dear Little Flock,
You're all wandering away from me, like sheep in an open field. You have always been running away from me. And now you're lost. You can't find your way back.
But I can't stop loving you. I will come to find you. So I am sending you a Shepherd to look after you and love you. To carry you home to me.
You've been stumbling around, like people in a dark room. But into the darkness, a bright Light will shine! It will chase away all the shadows, like sunshine.
A little baby will be born. A Royal Son. His mom will be a young girl who doesn't have a husband. The baby's name will be Emmanuel, which means "God has come to live with us." He is one of King David's children's children's children.
The Prince of Peace.
Yes, Someone is going to come and rescue you! But he won't be who anyone expects.
He will be a king! But he won't live in a palace. And he won't have lots of money. He will be poor. And he will be a Servant. But this King will heal the whole world.
He will be a hero! He will fight for his people, and rescue them from their enemies. But he won't have big armies, and he won't fight with swords.
He will make the blind see, he will make the lame leap like a deer!
He will make everything the way it was always meant to be.
But people will hate him, and they won't listen to him. He will be like a Lamb-- he will suffer and die.
It's the Secret Rescue Plan we made-- from before the beginning of the world!
It's the only way to get you back.
But he won't stay dead-- I will make him alive again!
And, one day, when he comes back to rule forever, the mountains and trees will dance and sing for joy! The earth will shout out loud! His fame will fill the whole earth-- as the waters cover the sea! Everything sad will come untrue. Even death is going to die! And he will wipe away every tear from every eye.
Yes, the Rescuer will come. Look for him. Watch for him. Wait for him. He will come!
I promise.
Love, God
Unto us lowly, unworthy sinners, a son is given today. He is the Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. He is everything I need, and more. He came that we might live.
This Advent has been pressing on my heart like never before. I mentioned in my last post that I finally realized Advent is more than a countdown to Jesus' birthday. In fact, it's not really about Jesus' birthday in the traditional sense at all. It's a celebration in anticipation of the second coming, because this world is a mess and in need of a Savior. I am a mess and I need a Savior. I have nothing to bring to the table. My heart is so dark. What better time of the year to remember that Jesus is the light that shines in dark places!
As my favorite carol this year says, "pray for peace, people everywhere."
To lose a child seems unbearable. I've seen the anguish on parent's faces in the NICU when the doctors tell them nothing more can be done. I've held little ones with hours left to live. I've given last baths and taken pictures and made baby handprints in times of joy and in times of sorrow.
The first day of this year was the first day I said goodbye to a baby I'd been taking care of. And I'm so very aware that my distress was only a shadow of the pain her parents felt. Her parents held her for hours, saying quiet goodbyes. When that sweet dad started crying, it was the first time I teared up at work enough to have to step away from the bedside. When her parents left, I had nested her in the bed with a cute outfit on and for a moment, she looked so normal that I had to listen with a stethescope again to make sure there was no heartbeat and no breath in her lungs. She was eerily silent.
Since I'm not a parent myself, I can't even imagine the loss of a part of yourself. This latest shooting has reminded me how fleeting life it. It's reminded me that the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.
I can't pretend that there's a rhyme or reason to tragedy in light of the recent Sandy Hook losses. Sin is sin is sin. We live in a fallen world and free will doesn't always equate to good will toward fellow men. Every good gift comes from God. Often, children in their innocence and curiosity are the best gifts one will ever receive. I say this not even having any children to hold: but how do you hold them loosely? How do you remember that, sure, you 'made' them, but God orchestrated every second of their lives before they entered your life? Then how do you deal with someone taking that life in an unjust, unexpected way?
I wish I had answers because I'm sure it's true what they say: when you have a child, you will forever have a part of your heart wandering around outside your body. When they die, a part of you dies. I cannot imagine the anguish and I'm so sorry for those who know this pain inside and out.
Please know that I'm not trying to diminish such a loss or try to make light of it and expect mourning parents to find sense in a senseless tragedy. But it does bring Christmas close to home. God willingly sent his son into a lost and broken world, knowing that His child would suffer and His child would die. Knowing his mother would have to watch Jesus' final breath. God did this because it was the only way to save us.
In the Christian story God descends to re-ascend. He comes down; down from the heights of absolute being into time and space, down into humanity... down to the very roots and sea-bed of the nature he has created. But he goes down to come up again and bring the ruined world up with him. One has the picture of a strong man stooping lower and lower to get himself under some great, complicated burden. He must stoop in order to lift, he must almost disappear under the load before he incredibly straightens his back and marches off with the whole mass swaying on his shoulders. -C.S. Lewis
Jesus came once, and he will come again because the God who has promised is faithful (Hebrews 10:23). How deep the Father's love for us, who gave His son that we might live. Jesus will come back one day to wipe away our tears. As my friend Melody says, he will make all of this sadness untrue. We are not without hope!
"For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these,
'It might have been.'"
-John Greenleaf Whittier
Do you ever get in a funk and start bemoaning all the selfish decisions you've ever made? Regretting the bridges burned and relationships lost? Wonder 'what if...' ?
I often oscillate between blaming other people for all my problems and blaming myself for everything that's ever gone wrong. Sometimes I'm simply too focused on myself and I assume the world revolves around me, when obviously it does not. But other times, yes, it was me that hurt another. Sometimes badly. And this haunts me.
The Chronicles of Narnia have been a bit of the Gospel to me lately. In Prince Caspian, Lucy makes a fainthearted mistake and when she meets Aslan, she stutters about whether or not she is to blame. Aslan says nothing.
"You mean," said Lucy rather faintly, "that it would have turned out alright—somehow? But how? Please, Aslan! Am I not to know?"
"To know what would have happened, child?" said Aslan. "No. Nobody is ever told that."
"Oh dear," said Lucy.
"But anyone can find out what will happen."
When my mind is drowning in regrets, I have the opportunity to preach the Gospel... to myself. Because truthfully, for every situation in which I royally screwed up, there's another one that could have been broken beyond repair, but was redeemed instead. When given the opportunity to take control, I will fail every time. But God... But. God.
“You meant evil against me; but God meant it for good, in order to . . . save many people alive.” (Genesis 50:20)
“Their beauty shall be consumed in the grave . . . . But God will redeem my soul from the power of the grave.” (Psalm 49:14-15)
“My flesh and my heart fail; but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” (Psalm 73:26)
“For scarcely for a righteous man will one die; yet perhaps for a good man someone would even dare to die. But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:7-8)
“Eye has not seen, nor ear heard . . . the things which God has prepared for those who love Him. But God has revealed them to us through His Spirit.” (1 Corinthians 2:9-10)
But God knows the larger picture of my life. Regardless of what mistakes I've made, I can honor Him by moving forward in the future without repeating the past. And by offering a few deserved apologies along the way.
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