For I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able
to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day. –2 Tim.1:12
Against what day?
The day of great temptation
When powers of ill,
Subtle and strong, would overwhelm the fortress
Of mind and will.
Against what day?
The day when sudden anguish
Crushes the soul;
When ruthless pain and cold, relentless sorrow
Take bitter toll.
Against what day?
The day of swift destruction,
When in a day
The slowly-garnered treasures of a lifetime
Are swept away.
Against what day?
The day when Death’s grey angel
Crosses my door,
Blotting out life’s sweet song and golden sunshine
Forevermore;
Against that day,
That day of dread,
When strong heart faileth
And hope is fled,
Day of life’s direst need
Or Death’s dark sleep,
I am persuaded that my God is able
My soul to keep!
–Margaret Clarkson–
Sara Layman’s “Alleluia” posts were part of the inspiration for my new blog.
“Alleluia Day 106: Once, for a few weeks, my eldest daughter went to sleep-away camp. When I picked her up we went to the craft cabin to pick up her artwork. She couldn’t find her work. I found what looked like her initials on the back of one plaster of paris Jesus but she said it wasn’t hers. “No, Mom! When I painted my Jesus’ eyes, the paint ran down his cheeks.” The craft counselors spoke up, “Oh no, don’t worry about that. We spent all day touching up the paintings and fixing them!” I couldn’t believe my ears. Seriously, I did not want someone else’s painted Jesus in my house (at all!) the only value that piece had was that my child worked on it, was proud of it, and wanted me to see it and have it. They removed the value (for me). My child didn’t want the edited piece either. Why is it that I want to edit my efforts to try to make them appear perfect to others? Did Jesus reject those who washed his feet with water because it wasn’t expensive perfume? Of course I’d like my work and art and efforts to be perfect but if they aren’t – after all I’m not perfect – isn’t it better to have the honest, heartfelt efforts rather than the manipulated and contrived results? Will I, in response, accept all gifts without strings or criticisms? Alleluia!”
I love this post of Sara’s, which she gave me permission to use. How rich to think of two kinds of worth for any creation, the inherent worth and the worth derived from the heart of the creator, and the second has no real relationship to the first. If it is a genuine expression of the individual’s heart, and I see it as such, then it cannot be poorly done, then it is more precious to me than all other creations, no matter how grand and glorious they are. Whatever we offer to God hangs now on his refrigerator door.
I am often amazed at how long it takes me to come to a realization or understanding. If someone offers me an idea that does not fit into my present worldview, I cannot use it, and often do not understand it. When we started dating, Kimberly shared concepts that sounded like Chinese to me. They just made no sense to me at all.
Last night she suggested something that I have heard from others, “If there are tasks that need to be done, and you don’t want to do them, you can push yourself in a way that validates and supports your needs and feelings—do the task for yourself instead of against yourself. Do it for the benefit it will bring you.”
Yes, I have heard this before, I agree, but I have a problem. If it is only me affected by my decision, that is easy enough to do, but if others and their feelings and needs are also involved, I feel obligated to push myself regardless of what I want. That is, I can’t both listen to their needs and my needs when there is competition (and I downgrade most of my ‘needs’ to simply ‘desires,’ so their needs outrank mine).
But just this morning I started to reconsider Kimberly’s words. The problem is not pushing myself to do something I don’t want to do, but the thoughts that support that choice. To motivate myself, I resort to willpower based on obligation. This has always “worked” for me, that is, I complete the task. But I can only do so by disregarding my own feelings. Might there be a way to support my feelings and motivate myself apart from obligation?
It is very hard for me to practice this because my sense of duty trumps every other motivation by sheer weight of ingrained thought patterns. I do onerous things always and only because I “have” to do them. I have no choice. I thought the problem was in the choosing, but perhaps the problem is in the approach to choosing, the why and how of the decision rather than the what.
I realize now that this is the first glimmer of insight in a very long process, years of remaking my outlook, hundreds of attempts at applying it. I used to think that God’s grace should be gotten fully in one go and applied everywhere, like paint to a door. I slowly came to realize that I can only apply the grace of God to those wounds that I first identify. I can’t coat the door with WD40 and expect the unidentified squeak to stop. I have to locate the rusty hinge and spray a concentrated stream.
Of course, grace is at work helping me to identify my issues, but it works on its own schedule, not mine. I would like to know all my misguided beliefs now and focus all my time and energy into “fixing” them as quickly as I can. This would work no better than a first-grader studying night and day so he can graduate from college in two years. God is far more understanding and patient with my shortcomings than I am. I imagine he would like to tell me, “Slow down. Go easy on yourself. Even 50 years is not enough time to make all the positive changes I plan for you.” Oddly enough, for me to be more godly, I need to be more understanding and patient with myself; I need to receive this grace he offers me. Who would have guessed?
Kimberly and I talked last night, trying to sort through my feelings. As I discussed my sense of failure in India, I realized that wasn’t really the major issue. I have focused for ten years to overcome the lie that my worth depends on what I do or don’t do, and I’ve found a large degree of freedom. But if it was not about failure, what was troubling me so deeply?
New thoughts began swirling around in my brain. Like a child trying to work out a puzzle, I kept shuffling the pieces to make sense of these vague notions. At last I told Kimberly that I would have to let it marinate for now.
This morning I started stacking and restacking my blocks of feelings and speculations in conversation with Kimberly, trying to find the pattern that fit. A center of concern began to take shape, an issue I have not focused on, but one that has deep roots from early childhood—the idea that my needs don’t matter. Only one thing matters—doing more for God at whatever cost to myself. And if my needs don’t matter, then I don’t matter.
This priority on service meant that everyone else’s needs were more important than my own, and therefore my needs must always be sacrificed. In essence, self-care was selfishness unless it was clearly required to keep the machine functioning to do its job. Caring for myself physically and spiritually was only legitimate as an intermediate goal, a means to the end of serving others (and emotional needs were merely desires, not true needs).
This became an inescapable trap. When I met my own need, I felt ashamed for my selfishness. When I rejected my own need to help others, I strengthened my belief that my need (and therefore I myself) was of little worth. Either way, shame won. I could not find a way to break free. After India, I kept trying different ministries to see if I could find one in which I found fulfillment and peace, where there was less competition between my own needs and the needs of others. But I crated the real issue around with me from place to place. I now realize I have a lot of work ahead to unravel the emotional knots.
This Catch-22 has played out, not only in my occupation, but in all my relationships. When Kimberly and I moved into our new home, the “master bedroom” was a loft open to the living room below. I promised Kimberly I would build a bedroom there, a foolish start to a marriage! Unfortunately, I have very poor skills in estimating the time a job will take to complete.
As the work dragged on, keeping the house a mess, I began to lose enthusiasm and Kimberly began to lose heart. I didn’t want her to suffer, so I prevailed on myself to keep working hour after hour. Since I was now working out of obligation (the obligation of love, as I saw it) and not a creative pleasure, the job became more and more loathsome, and I had to whip myself harder. I felt shame when I didn’t work on it, but my own needs were rejected when I did work on it, and that sharpened my sense of worthlessness at a deeper level. I have always struggled with this belief that the task, especially the God-given task, is more important than I am.
We tried to talk it through many times. Kimberly suggested that we pay someone to finish it, but I couldn’t bring myself to pay out that kind of money, especially for something I could do myself (another issue of mine). We finally decided how much of the bedroom she needed complete before we could move in, and this gave us a foreseeable end. But the work had long since broken down my sense of worth. I couldn’t bring myself to do any wood work, which I love, for the next two years. And the closet still does not have doors.
This same scenario has played out often in many situations, and I could find no way to resolve the problem—should I push through or not push through? Neither worked. Calcutta was the point when my determined willpower finally crushed my spirit. I kept driving myself throughout four years of deep depression until it started to hurt others, and then I benched myself. I did not resolve the dilemma, I just took myself out of the game. And now it seems I am pulling my uniform back on and the feelings are all too familiar.
More personal reflections to follow.
It does not cost me much to report on my experiences and feelings after the fact. It is more difficult for me to share in the moment, to invite others into my journey when I am still in the quagmire. I am more vulnerable in such times, so I ask those who leave comments to this post to be especially gracious in what they say.
I have been in a great deal of turmoil the last few days over my expected visit to Calcutta. India was my emotional Waterloo, an inescapable, pervasive black hole. I’m pretty sure these current feelings stem from very deep, unresolved issues while I was a missionary that tapped into an ocean of inadequacy. I did not learn Bengali well… I was so ethnocentric, seeing their culture as inadequate… I failed to make any significant impact even though I nearly died trying… I was arrogant… I was stupid… I was closed to input…. “I’m a failure, a failure, a failure” was the heavy drumbeat that struck against my soul throughout each day.
I had no weapon with which to challenge these beliefs, no argument great enough to disprove my self-condemnation. I thought my self accusations were a mark of true and deep repentance. Here is an example from the journal I kept in India, castigating myself for sleeping till 5 a.m. instead of rising at 4 o’clock to pray:
Oh, Lord, break me. Break this wicked pride so steeped in deceit. Break the great evil of my indiscipline – great because it keeps me from knowing you and seeking you and loving you with my whole heart. Lord, how can you possibly use me in this city, or in the lowest ministry, if I am not wholly given over to the infilling, anointing and outpouring of your Spirit? Oh, Lord have mercy on this foolish and hopeless child of yours. I have no strength of my own, Lord. I know I am completely bankrupt. I know how many times over and over I have failed you in the same things. It is a wonder that you still love me Lord. What an amazing love is yours! How much you deserve a better child than I. Make me fit to bear your name in this world or take me out of it, Lord.
When I returned from Asia, I was so broken that my only hope of functioning was to push all thoughts of that time aside, not deal with them, ignore them as best I could. I quarantined that huge section of my heart because I was too soul sick to deal with it in any kind of healthy way. Of course those self-condemning thoughts did not simply disappear, but festered in the dark, chewing like termites on my spirit. The less aware I was of them, the more easily they could undermine my sense of worth.
And as I open that Pandora’s box again, I find my life energy draining away and a settled anguish taking it’s place. I feel I am picking up a burden too great to bear. I thought I was emotionally ready (barely) to visit Calcutta again. I wonder. Perhaps this is God’s divine timing to draw me into facing this great vortex of shame. I would ask for your prayers as I wade into the river Styx
A Continuing Saga…
At Smith Mountain Lake Kimberly and I took a kayak ride, and, like usual, talked some more. One of our cars has over 200k on the odometer, so we have been talking for some time about getting another vehicle. I mentioned to Kimberly my desire to buy a truck, for which I regularly have a need. “We don’t need to discuss it seriously at this point… I just thought I would broach the subject for you to think about,” I said.
She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “I’m afraid that if you get a truck we will be inundated with wood. You know how you have been packing it in everywhere.” It’s true. I’m a scavenger. I find useful things on the street next to garbage cans, in dumpsters at construction sites, and at demolished buildings. With these I have built a bedroom, cedar flower box, a king size bed frame, and numerous other projects.
I responded, “Okay, the shed is full of wood, but I’m the only one who goes in there.”
Kimberly corrected, “You also have wood piled on the downstairs patio and stacked in the laundry room in the basement.”
I replied, “I didn’t know that bothered you. I can take that wood out if you like.”
This kind of interaction has often been a trapdoor to shame. If Kimberly expresses any dissatisfaction with life together, I feel I have been a bad husband. She does not intend to shame me… she is just telling me how she feels. But I was trained as a child that when someone expressed dissatisfaction, they were telling you how you must change to meet their expectations (and by inference, how you are currently inadequate). They were talking about their feelings not as an act of sharing their experience but as a means to pressure you to bend to their wishes, making you responsible for their unhappy feelings.
Kimberly and I have spent many, many hours working through this issue—about construction I am doing, my grocery choices, messes I leave. She has told me hundreds of times that her discomfort is not my fault, that she is not trying to manipulate me by guilt or shame, that she simply wants to share how she feels without burdening me with expectations. She just wants me to understand and empathize with her feelings.
But this is a serious problem for me. When she recounts her negative feelings, my past shouts at me, “She is telling you that you must change, that you are inadequate. There will always be something you disappoint her with. You are a worthless human being!” I could not listen, understand and support her emotions without condemning myself as a failure.
We have come a long way in the right direction. She has understood my struggle and learned to express her feelings in a manner that least provokes my fears. I have learned to trust her so much more and to start supporting her in her feelings without taking responsibility for them and shaming myself.
As we paddled up an inlet, we discussed our growth as a couple, and I reminded her how well she dealt with the issue of dirty dishes. Kimberly is a do-it-now person and I am a do-it-later person. She would like for us to wash each saucer as it gets dirty, even pausing our DVR movie to do this. I find it efficient to wait until I have free time, for instance during the two minutes my coffee is in the microwave. Our initial compromise was that if plates piled up, I would wash them. I was fine with this trade—I chose the timing and did all the dishes. Hey, if I have to wash everything, I’ll do it when I like… so I let them pile up. I preferred leaving them in the sink at night and scrubbing them in the morning, but she found it difficult to get her cup of coffee with a basin full of dishes, and it soured her mood to see a stack of pots covered with dried remains of food. When this had happened for a week in a row, she decided it was time to talk.
Kimberly explained the situation and said, “How about if we wash the dishes together at night?” I felt bad that my method was spoiling her mornings, but since she was careful in how she worded it, I was able not to blame and shame myself. I found that I was then free to respond to her out of love and care rather than out of shame and obligation. The resolution felt good to both of us, validating each of us and our feelings. I still wash all the dishes in the morning, but I do it before she comes downstairs.
The resolution is not a permanent fix for my underlying issues. I still struggle not to be motivated out of fear for what she will think of me, but we are both headed in the right direction. Our commitment to mutual support creates a world of trust, safety, and intimacy.
I do not know the source, but here is a story of diehard love:
Some years ago on a hot summer day in south Florida a little boy decided to go for a swim in the old swimming hole behind his house. In a hurry to dive into the cool water, he ran out the back door, leaving behind shoes, socks, and shirt as he went. He flew into the water, not realizing that as he swam toward the middle of the lake, an alligator was swimming toward the shore.
His mother in the house was looking out the window and saw the two as they got closer and closer together. In utter fear she ran toward the water, yelling to her son as loudly as she could. Hearing her voice, the little boy became alarmed and made a U-turn to swim to his mother. It was too late. Just as he reached her, the alligator reached him. From the dock, the mother grabbed her little boy by the arms just as the alligator snatched his legs. That began an incredible tug-of-war between the two. The alligator was much stronger than the mother, but the mother was much too passionate to let go. A farmer happened to drive by, heard her screams, raced from his truck, took aim, and shot the alligator.
Remarkably, after weeks and weeks in the hospital the little boy survived. His legs were extremely scarred by the vicious attack of the animal, and on his arms were deep scratches where his mother’s fingernails dug into his flesh in her effort to hang on to the son she loved. The newspaper reporter who interviewed the boy after the trauma, asked if he would show him his scars. The boy lifted his pant legs. And then, with obvious pride, he said to the reporter, “But look at my arms. I have great scars on my arms, too. I have them because my Mom wouldn’t let go.”
You and I can identify with that little boy. We have scars, too. No, not from an alligator, or anything quite so dramatic. But the scars of a painful past. Some of those scars are unsightly and have caused us deep regret, but some wounds, my friend, are because God has refused to let go. In the midst of your struggle, He’s been there holding on to you. The Scripture teaches that God loves you. You are a child of God. He wants to protect you and provide for you in every way. But sometimes we foolishly wade into dangerous situations. The swimming hole of life is filled with peril – and we forget that the enemy is waiting to attack. That’s when the tug-of-war begins – and if you have the scars of His love on your arms be very,very grateful. He did not and will not let you go.
“Fear Not!” occurs over 300 times in the English Bible. It has always been a rebuke to me, or at least a challenge to obey. After all, it is in the imperative mode—it is a command, and commands are to be obeyed. Combined with Jesus’ rebuke of his disciples, “O ye of little faith,” I was tried and found wanting. That was my take on it most of my life.
I am regularly amazed at how I blindly bring my own assumptions to Scripture. As I receive insight from the Bible, I also shape that truth to my pre-set ideas. I think to some extent this is inevitable, since we cannot make sense of a concept that will not somehow fit into our current worldview. In this case, my assumption was that any word of Scripture in the imperative is a command, its primary address is to my will, and it requires obedience.
If I do fear when I shouldn’t, I am being disobedient and condemned by my conscience, and fearing this feeling of guilt, I try to force my feelings to submit, usually by impressing on my mind thoughts that will countermand my fear—talk my fear down, so to speak. I was trying to eliminate my fear by increasing my fear (of something greater), and my greatest fear was losing God’s approval.
I remember when I started wondering about this. Does a God of grace really want us to be afraid of Him, to doubt His grace? Does the phrase “fear God,” which crops up way more often than “fear not” really mean that I should be afraid of God? How does the gospel address this question? How do we make sense of the Bible commanding us both to fear and to not fear… is God suggesting that He should be considered more scary than anything else… the Almighty Boogeyman?
As I wrestled over many months, perhaps years, with these questions, it dawned on me that the command mode in grammar is not always used as a call to obedience. We commonly use the imperative to encourage or grant favors to others: “Have another piece of pie” or “Take your time.” They are in the command mode, but are meant as gifts, not orders. As someone departs town, we say, “Stay safe!” Is this a blessing or a command, like parents scolding their teenager, “Drive safely!” They have such very different responses in our souls.
I learned as a husband that I can easily intend a statement to ease my wife’s fears which only shames her instead. She would be afraid of something happening, and I would feel sorry for her suffering in this way and try to give her relief by explaining to her why she did not need to be afraid. “You don’t need to be afraid! It is pretty unlikely that this will happen because ____________.” I would try to explain away her fears, but she heard me saying, “It is stupid for you to be afraid. Your feelings are completely unfounded.” I seemed to be shaming her for her feelings.
Over time I learned to validate her feelings of fear, “I understand completely why this would make you afraid. I mean consider X,Y,Z,” before I went on to try to calm her fears with some form of encouragement (the kind that works for her). All my life I thought that expressing understanding for someone’s fear would actually support their feelings of fear, but I discovered that, magically, the opposite happened. Hearing my empathy for their feelings (instead of arguments for not being afraid) seemed to relieve a lot of their anxiety. They could see I was with them in their insecurity.
When God says, “Don’t Fear!” is he trying to calm our fears or shame them away? Is it the voice of a tender father soothing his frightened little girl as he holds her tight, “It’s okay… I’m hear… don’t be afraid… I’ll protect you,” or is it the voice of a sergeant to his platoon, “Stop being afraid, you cowards! What’s wrong with you? Go out there and die like men!” Which seems to yield more healthy results in our lives?
After reading “Tattoos,” Kimberly and I drove an hour to visit a friend of hers at Smith Mountain Lake, and we continued talking about unconditional love. Why is it so hard for me to extend grace to those who show no remorse for the bad things they do? Why do I so naturally feel grace for the victim and balk at gracing the aggressor? Why am I afraid to love? What am I afraid of? Why does it make me feel so vulnerable?
As I talk this out with Kimberly, I suddenly realize the source of my fear. From the time I was in diapers I learned that transgressors can only win back a good standing by feeling very sorry for what they have done. To offer grace to those who are unrepentant is simply enabling their bad behavior. Instead, show your unhappiness and disappointment, give them the cold shoulder that they deserve so they will be motivated to change. When they change, embrace them fully. Giving grace to those who are hurtful is a sure way of giving them a green light to hurt again.
During the school year, I supervise student workers at Lynchburg College library. I was amazed at how my boss Belinda could be friendly to someone she was about to correct, asking them with genuine interest about their studies or family matters. This was not my style at all. I was sure that being friendly when someone was late to work or cut corners would simply encourage their irresponsibility. But the students listened to Belinda. If anything, her friendliness made them more inclined to do what she asked. She was for them, even if she had to let them go, and they sensed this. I could see her way of relating was better than mine, but it directly contradicted decades of thought patterns and emotional systems I had grown into.
I was sure that if someone disrespected or mistreated me and I was kind in return, they would continue their behavior, and I would slowly, inevitably grow more resentful and angry. I only saw two choices: I could be friendly and let things slide or I could be unfriendly and challenge them. I could not imagine squeezing care and confrontation into the same interaction or relationship.
I think one major problem is that I tend to evaluate behavior as right or wrong, and then try to enforce the right. It sure makes things appear simple and straightforward. However, I realize that conflicts with Kimberly are really personal and relational issues, and if I try to make it about who is right and who is wrong, we get lost in defensiveness and the argument simply escalates. When we try to approach a problem with sharing and understanding instead, we resolve the conflict and both grow from the interchange. I can support her feelings and experience without abandoning my own if I do not insist that there is only one right perspective.
If I suffer because of another person’s behavior, I can either determine that they are wrong and must change or I can see it as a relational problem that needs to be addressed. “You lied and that is wrong. Don’t do it again.” Or, “When you lied it hurt me. What was going on with you that you felt the need to lie?” I find grace is lost in the shuffle for me with the first approach, and grace is a very natural part of the second approach (though I have an uncanny ability to inject dis-grace into any situation, even with a tone of voice). When I assign blame and push for change, I turn the situation into a showdown and we square off. A boxer may have tensions with his manager, even irreconcilable conflicts, but the manager is always in his corner, he is not the opponent in the ring.
Because Xanga makes it hard for folks to leave comments, I have decided to switch my reflective posts to janathangrace.org. I may switch my informative blogs to a different site as well, but I will let you know.
Janathan Grace Reflections 