God has been working in my heart. The old me would be broadcasting from the hilltops how amazing He is and what He's teaching me. But the person I am today is a little too timid to proclaim Him boldly as of yet.
In an effort to truly share my Lord and His grace, I've decided to begin posting from my heart...just an open, honest account of His work in me. If I am unwilling to be transparent with others, why should they believe me when I try and explain how much He loves us? Why would they think He could make a difference in their lives if its not blatantly obvious how much He has changed me?
So, the following is a letter I wrote back in September. It kind of explains why I'm spiritually a baby again. I invite you to know me, and most importantly to know Christ more through His work in me. I covet your prayers. Thanks for reading....
My Dear Friends---
I write today to record a spiritual happening in my life; to make sure I do not forget. And also to have those who love me to remind me of the truths that have recently been exposed to me.
I have been on a journey this weekend…not physically, but emotionally and spiritually. You all know that this summer makes a year since my parents divorced. In the busyness of life I have failed to really sort through the wreckage in my heart. Instead, I subconsciously decided it was better to just keep moving…after all, no one else really knew what a junkyard there was in there.
Nobody but God.
And that’s where the true problem began. If God knows all, controls all, and loves all, then how could He really let this happen? I’ve been through some things in my life…sexual abuse, almost losing my eyesight, death of a friend, suicidal thoughts and depression, being told my baby was dead, having no money, and I mean no money…and every time I was faced with something, it didn’t matter because I knew my God. I knew He was real and He had it all under control. I knew His plan was bigger and better than mine…and whatever happened, I was okay with.
But in all of those situations, my God chose to allow what I consider “good” outcomes. Outcomes that confirmed He was trustworthy and loving; outcomes that encouraged my belief that He was always good. How small my faith has been.
I believed selfishly. I believed He would make an outcome pleasing to me. And when my Mom left for good, I realized I was wrong. So this past year, I didn’t just lose my family unit, I lost my God…
Before you freak out, I am NOT saying I lost my salvation or God left me.
I am a visual thinker. My knowledge of anything or anybody translates to an image. My family unit physically changed, but my God changed in my mental image.
When thinking of my Saviour, I always imagined Him near me, holding me. He was always smiling and radiating joy. I was safe around Him. He was wholesome and wore white linen. He was beautiful in every sense of the word. To be near Him was to feel purity and holiness. To be near Him was everything…my whole world.
Then my circumstances changed. Everything I knew changed. All the promises I grew up believing changed. Truth was no longer evident. Maybe there was no wrong or right; maybe it just depended on the moment. Maybe it was okay for feelings to be the determining factor. Who knows what love really is or really does.
My Jesus, my heart, was still there. But He wasn’t Himself. He was at a distance; always just out of arm’s reach, even if I had the strength to try. He was still and silent. His garments were lackluster and His skin was hard and leathery, like a really old chain-smoker. I could see Him. He sat in the chair at the dining room table while I was on the couch. He never left my house, so I didn’t doubt His existence. But a great chasm was there making closeness with Him unattainable. When I stood to try and cross it, a howling wind ripped across my face and knocked me backwards. A strange coldness left my heart shivering and afraid of Him. Was this what it meant to “fear the Lord”?
I would like to report this nauseous relationship with Him is over; that we are back in good-standing. But I can’t. Just this past weekend a dear friend and sister pointed out to me that my image of Jesus right now is that of a corpse, a dead man; at best He is paralyzed and incapable.
As she continued to point out, how is it possible to believe in someone who is dead or dying? After all, isn’t the hope of Christ in His resurrection? Isn’t His power in the gift of eternity? This image created in my mind is a wax figure of Christ, proposed by the devil himself and prolonged by my belief in it’s truth.
As she prayed over me, the wax figure melted away. Someone fresh was there. Someone with tears in His eyes and His arms stretched out toward me pleading with me to come; to feel His touch, to know His joy again. I tried to move and realized I couldn’t walk yet. I was a one-year-old precariously standing on wobbly legs. I reached for His hand and He grabbed my finger to keep me from falling. Realizing I couldn’t fully make that step yet, He chuckled and patted the seat beside bidding me to crawl over and pull up next to Him.
And after praying, for the first time in a long while, I felt something new. It took a moment to put my finger on it. It’s been so long. Maybe, just maybe, it might be hope.
So, friends, I’m not where I should be with Him. It will take me a while to get there. So I humbly ask for your prayers as I timidly approach God. Everything still seems so new and scary. But this I know for sure; HE IS ALIVE!!!
In the van yesterday, I prayed- for the first time in a long while – and asked God to fill my household again. Then for Him to fill me again…and He did! I rested! While driving, peace settled over me like a warm fuzzy blanket and a cup of hot cocoa on a snowy day; that sweet, unexplainable peace only He can give. How precious, how priceless! I haven’t known that feeling for a very long time.
Thank you for your prayers and your understanding! I love you all! Sheri
