This is the deal. As far as I have come. I still go back. I
keep returning to what I know. It is so much easier to live in fear. To coddle
insecurity. To remain in self-loathing and self indulgence than to lovingly,
humbly accept and embrace the person that I am.
I see it crop up in my parenting--in my relationships with
others. When before it was so subtle and almost unrecognizable-- now it is
screaming at me. Because I have become aware of something greater. Something
better. Yet I refuse to let it become my
new normal. It is scary and unknown. So
I allow the anger and bitterness to rule. I take things personally and judge
others far too critically.
That gift of freedom comes with a cost. It comes with
letting go of repetitive thought patterns and negative self talk. It means I
have to start showing myself compassion and empathy. I have to begin to see myself
as a human with intrinsic worth and value even when I KNOW all the dark ugly
things about me. Ultimately what it means is I have to relinquish control over
my life. At least I know what to expect. At least I can’t really let myself
down because I already expect the worst. There isn’t room for failure when risk
isn’t involved. Or is there?
I believe there is such thing as healthy fear. Fear that ultimately
protects. When passing a snake I become fearful and my brain tells my body to
back away slowly and get the hell out of there. I’m thankful for that fear.
But there is another fear. A debilitating, crippling,
paralyzing fear. Fear of man. Fear of failure. Fear of being fully known. It
keeps some locked up in their own dungeons of if only and what might have
been. In an effort to “protect” myself
from disappointment or discouragement those are the two things that arise from
the life lived in fear. This season of discontent because someone else has it
or does it better or is favored among
men. It starts as a season but if fear continues to rule, it becomes a
lifetime.
I’m not sure the origin. Probably somewhere early on in childhood
someone whispered, don’t risk or you’ll be rejected, unloved, unworthy. So to make sure that didn’t happen I made sure
to follow the rules. To color within the lines. Any time I had a “different”
idea I would feel guilty or stupid. I’m
pretty sure fear and guilt are best friends. They love to team up with each
other. And I suppose with the theology
of being inherently evil since birth I believed nothing good could come from
me.
Lord have mercy. All that I know to be TRUE of my God. I’m wondering when I will really start to
believe it. Like somehow I’m a better person believing the worst about myself
than actually saying, oh wait, right- I am loved. Worthy of love. So much so
that He died for me. Yikes. That sounds
so self indulgent. It was the world, I argue,
everyone in it. But how does that
disclude me? As if I want to set myself apart from all the others… but I’m
BEYOND redemption. Good Lord.
“As a dog returns to his vomit, so a fool repeats his folly.”
So very foolish. I keep going back.
Yet I’m thankful that I can see it--That I can actually taste
the bitter disgustingness of it all. That it benefits no one. It damages me and
those around me. It prevents and stunts creativity and beauty which the whole
World desperately needs.
So this is risky for me. Showing the true side. What really
goes on. Why I write, then go on month
long sabbaticals questioning, analyzing, evaluating. Judging and criticizing my
journey because it isn’t as pretty as others. Or positive. Or geez, whatever.
All I can think of is “Who will save me from this body of death?” This
repetitive cycle of consuming vomit? I know. We know. And thank God above for
Him.
Today I write with hope that because I see it for what it is…
something might actually change. The scales seem to be lifting. And for today
that is enough.
