As I'm waking up, I keep having to readjust to the bright light. Memories flash through my mind, words I said, things I did, ways I treated those I loved so much. They hurt my eyes. Many times a day I find myself hanging my head in regret, wishing I could capture back those moments. Please tell me this is a bad, bad dream....
No such luck. This is life. This is what pride begets: regret. Oh Lord, forgive this ragamuffin.
He takes me back through my misdemeanors and high crimes, gently walking me through every moment, helping me see the ultimate travesty, a motivation based only on self. Every moment of false love, of the right words spoken at the wrong time, the truth shrouded in self-righteousness. Times if congratulatory self-deception. Wasn't I a good little girl... A perfectly clanging gong pealing out a desperate plea for love and approval. Ironic. I spent so long, so much energy, so much testimony impugning others, patting myself on the back for a job well done, all the while, moment by moment I lost more and more of myself. I worked so hard to "find myself" I lost what was the best of me in a deep addiction to approval and the need to feel good.
I couldn't hear anything. I couldn't hear how I had broken others, I was too busy protecting myself from the horror of being a horror. I couldn't admit to my brokenness, I was too busy fixing myself. I couldn't risk being wrong, just in case I really was.... if I was, who would love me then? If I have nothing to recommend myself on, why is there a reason to love me?
I had forgotten the message of deep abiding grace. I forgot that I was right all along. The truth I was running from was the very truth I needed to succumb to. I wasn't good enough. I never would be. I was terrible, wrong and unlovable. I was an awful version of a Christian: a hypocrite. Nothing I was going to do was going to change that. Pride kept me running, and need kept me broken with no repair.
The worst fact of all was the one I revel in now. Oh how awful I am. What a ragamuffin, prideful, selfish, unacceptable, terrible person I am. How wonderful.
A deep sense of peace and freedom rushes in as I feel these words wrap around myself. Finally, no more running, no more justifying, no more exhausting sleepless nights trying to excuse inexcusable actions. How restful to throw myself at the feet of mercy and stop fighting a losing battle. Oh Lord, how tired I am.
I don't even want to move forward, or backward, or anywhere. Can I just be ugly for now? Let me sit here and be ugly, be terrible and selfish and rude and for once make no attempt to change it. I am powerless to a sinful nature, to flesh that seems to win every battle. I have no goodness, I have nothing to offer. Nothing. I am but a dirty rag in the presence of brilliance and I don't have the energy to try and change it. I'm done for a while.
I've stopped wearing makeup. I stopped dressing up. I wear my ripped jeans, my tee-shirts and my hair pulled back in a ponytail, everywhere I go. Trying to make even my physical appearance somewhat presentable is out of place and awkward. If I could get away with sackcloth, I probably would do it. I have to force myself to shave and wax, if only because I don't need humiliation on top of humility. Why gild the lily? (A small 'chortle' exits me as I write this. Well at least I have my sense of humor intact).
I got a tattoo Monday. It sits across my ribs on the right side, hidden from view. It says "Grace must wound." The guy who did it said it was boring. I told him what I wanted and he kept giving me this flowy, showy crap. It was all bold and whatnot. It took an hour and me having to almost grab the pencil from his hand to get the idea across to him. "Simple dude. Simple. Just script. Like you would write it on a piece of paper. This isn't some gang-bangers homage to a fallen homie (no offense). No capital letters, no dramatic movements from top to bottom. I may look like a girl, but really, I'm a broken soul that wants to remember how broken she is. Give it to me straight." He looked at me like I was a waste of his time and efforts. Yeah, well, get in line. I laughed a lot that day. He thought I was crazy. I thought it was beautiful.
I look at it everyday. I smile every time I do. It sits in the same place I assume Thomas stuck his finger in Jesus' side. It reminds me that every moment of everyday I have to stick my finger in His side, remembering a grace that must wound. I look at it and remember the grace that has wounded me. I smile thinking of all the times I have let pride enter and have broken myself and others in the process. It reminds me to be thankful for His unrelenting grace. I am so thankful it will chase me down and never, ever let me remain prideful. I look at it and ask Lord, please, break me to know how You were broken. Lord, please break my legs like the Great Shepherd You are to carry me on Your shoulders home. Let the pain be a reminder of what I do when I forget You.
I never knew how beautiful being poor in spirit, being needy, being desperate, being ashamed, hopeless, weak and aware of my own ugliness could be. I love it. It's a feeling of freedom deeper than I have ever known. It's a victorious rest. It's a defeated rest. I guess its just rest.
I have no idea where I will go from here. What He will do. I just know I don't want to know. I don't want to predict. I don't want to be in charge anymore. For once, my growth, my development, my goodness is not dependent on me. I am full of everything that has to be purged and can create nothing of worth on my own. I am a hapless, helpless soul, just happy to be in the presence of someone that doesn't care.
I'm the prodigal son walking home, getting to the gate, feeling the reassurance of safety before his father even sees Him. I'm just happy to be back on familiar, safe ground. I can't screw up anymore and there is some comfort in rock bottom. At least there is no farther to fall. It's not as bad down here as I thought, I guess once I stop fighting it. Actually, it's kinda nice. There is a Presence in it, a hope, a sort of security I have been searching for a long time for. No one else may be here with me, but the only One that matters is.
The door to the house is still far off, almost out of sight, but the gate I just entered back through is familiar. I don't want any attention right now, I don't want the servants gathering around, I don't want a feast. I just want to sit by the gate that boundaries my Fathers property and sit. I want to prop myself up against the fence in my rags and tattered clothing, still smelling of muck, and take a nap knowing for once, I am out of the reach of torment. Soon I am sure I will have the energy to enjoy a feast, but for now, for now I just want to sit and watch the clouds move, thankful I got here alive. It's been a long journey and before I go to see what My Father has for me, before I can even receive His love, or His scorn, I just want to rest. I want to fall back asleep and this time, not wake up to a different reality, but for once, wake up knowing exactly where and Who's I am.
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