A Work in Progress

People in recovery often speak of reaching their “bottom,” or absolute lowest before they actually begin recovering from anything. I guess when you’re lying there and looking up, and you finally become aware of your own mortality or that you may have lost everything that means anything to you, getting your act together and getting help seems like a pretty good idea.

Now, I’ve never been in recovery, but I recall with absolute clarity the moment I had the awareness I needed to change something about my life or I was going to eventually kill myself.

I think it would have been 2002 or early 2003, when El Tri got eliminated from the World Cup pretty early on. It may even have been the United States that did the eliminating. What happened was that I had some friends over to my apartment to watch the penultimate game, and there was drinking involved. It doesn’t really matter what it was, or how much I drank, but the end result was me lying on my bathroom floor, with several blended beverages splattered in and around my toilet.

I must have laid there several hours, trying to get the world to stop spinning, but it never did. I eventually passed out, and just lay there on the floor in a puddle. My friends–such as they were–eventually left when I did not make another appearance.

I woke up with the worst headache of my life, and the knowledge that I could have choked on my own puke and no one would have even noticed.

And the thought occurred to me that this could be what the rest of my life would be like.

Obviously, I made some drastic changes in my life. My act has mostly been cleaned up for a couple of years now, but I can’t take any of the credit for that.

I’m not sure really why my mind dredged that thought up, but after worship on Saturday night, I couldn’t get one of the songs out of my head–it was called “I Give You Glory.”

What I was thinking today is that no matter how enlightened I may feel, no matter how much I may feel I’ve “arrived” in my walk with Jesus, the truth is that even if I hadn’t arrived, or been edified, or even accepted Jesus for who He is I would have still been loved just as much.

The maker of the universe would have pursued me just as relentlessly in my state of disgrace, laying on my bathroom floor Lord only knows how close to choking on my own chunks as he does when I attend services with my hair neatly combed (OK, yes, I know I don’t have hair, but you get the point) and my NIV bible clutched in my nervous hands.

Why?

I don’t know if I’ll ever get done tripping on that.

What I wanted to say though is that I can’t take any of the credit for any transformation that may have occurred in my life, because without Him it would never have happened. I never would have gotten up off my bathroom floor, or for that matter never would have knelt on that dock (which I am ashamed to say happened nearly three years before the bathroom incident–no, I am not perfect) and started the path I’m finally walking on in earnest.

My life has been filled with amazing things over the past three years, and all the glory belongs to Jesus, without whom I would be but a vapor.

I give you glory.

Go back and listen to that song again, and think about the words. Chew on them. They apply to you.

I used to wonder why it was so hard to change my behavior.

Somewhere I got this notion that because I knew Jesus–and knew about him–that everything about me I didn’t like would just sort of melt away and things would be so much easier. I wouldn’t have to struggle anymore. I would no longer doubt. And when that didn’t happen, when struggles still occurred, and doubt crept around every now and then to wind itself around me and winnow its way into my soul, it was like nothing made sense anymore. And I began to find reasons why God couldn’t be real. They were everywhere, it seemed.

While my faith may have been distant, and I allowed the white noise and madness of the world to drown out Jesus, I still had the awareness of my sin. And even when I was sometimes wracked with doubt or pain, and right in the midst of self-medicating, I wanted to change. I knew somewhere in me that I needed to. I didn’t want to be the person I saw myself becoming, because I knew in my heart the man God wanted me to be.

But it was just so hard to be him. I remember praying and praying for God to help me be better; a better Christian, friend, brother–you name it. And to help me stop falling into the same patterns of thought and behavior, time and time again. But it was like Paul said:

14We know that the law is spiritual; but I am unspiritual, sold as a slave to sin. 15I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. 16And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. 17As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. (Rom 7: 14-17)

I knew my behavior was sinful (many behaviors, in many ways), but every attempt I made to change on my own met with abject failure, and it seemed temptation and opportunity were at every turn. Plus, it was easier to please myself than God.

So I did. And afterward I would feel terrible, and beseech God to help me never ever do it (whatever it was) again.

what’s going on inside of me

I despise my own behavior

this only serves to confirm my suspicion

that I’m still a man in need of a savior -DC Talk

But nothing changed, and any victory I won on my own was short-lived, at best. And I knew it would be. I would wonder why God would never change my behavior, no matter how earnestly I entreated Him. It wasn’t until the past year or so, after much healing, and much prayer, that I realized why:

God does not change behavior, he changes hearts. The transforming power of Christ works from the inside out, not the outside in.

Jeff talked about that last night at church, and again this morning. Changing from the inside out. It makes a lot more sense now than it did then.

I needed to change my heart. Or rather, I needed Jesus to change it from within. I needed Him to take away not the behavior that was drawing me away from Him, but to help me understand whatever was at the root of whichever base desire I felt the need to indulge at any cost. And to defeat that desire, and whatever lies the enemy would have me believe about myself and replace them with Truth.

26 I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. (Ezekiel 36:26)

It was this realization that just…well, shattered me. I could apply it to so many parts of my life, so many struggles. Even now I think about it.

I will give you a new heart, and put a new spirit in you.

So, it was possible to cast off the old man. It was possible for my self-made shackles to fall away like torn paper, and to rise from them free.

Struggling with lust, or pornography, or acting out sexually? Don’t just ask God to change your behavior, and take away desire. Ask him to change your heart, to reach into it and find that Love that transcends all other types of love, and all substitutes for it. There are so many people out there reaching out for something–for anything–that will make them feel whole. Because it’s so damn hard to go through life feeling like you were torn off from the one thing that meant you were real, and loved, and…seen.

It’s been my experience–and part of my struggle–that my own struggles with these things were simply that. A search for something to fill the void–the sucking chest wound–the perceived absence of love had created in my life.

I had to ask God to fill that dark vacuum with light. With Love. And it wasn’t until He did that I began–just began–to become the person He had in mind when He made me. Without that transformation, I would not exist as the person I am today, and my life would be…different. And likely not in a good way.

The funny thing is, there are so many things to fight–so many struggles. And no time to enjoy a victory before the next battle begins…

like my struggles with eating, or diet (which remain). Why is that so damn hard to change?

Maybe because, even though I know better, what I’ve been praying for is for God to change my behavior. To take away desire. To take away my tendency to do what I don’t want to do instead of what I do.

Not to find what is lacking in my heart that causes me to eat like a Roman at a banquet, and replace it with a desire for Him.

Not to find that part within me that causes me to want to please everyone and replace it with a desire to please Him.

Not to find that place within me I retreat to when it gets hard, and dark, and cold, and to speak truth to me there.

Not to find the real me, the ME God wants me to become within the person I am right now.

I want to be that person, and I want to do those things, and I want to struggle less with certain things, and I want to see God everywhere, because he IS everywhere. But to do that, I also need to to this:

5 Trust in the LORD with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding; (Proverbs 3:4)

I need to trust in the Lord with all my heart.

I need to trust the Lord with all my heart, every part of it.

I need to be changed from the inside out.

And even though when I think about all the battles ahead, it almost makes me feel like it’s too much, and I can’t go on anymore, I remind myself there is hope.

There’s this “church” I keep reading about (I won’t mention their name here, because they do not deserve the recognition) that has received no small amount of notoriety for picketing places that really could do without a group of angry, shouting, hate-filled people trying to draw attention to themselves and their organization by deliberately causing pain to people. They do this by telling people who and what God hates with amateurish signboards, and marching dolts barfing rhetoric that is about as far away from God as East is from West.

That’s crap.

And it isn’t church. This particular organization seems to me to be little more than a forum for its mad-as-a-hatter leader to spew his vitriolic garbage. Please correct me if I’m wrong, but to my knowledge, the bible doesn’t say anything about God hating people for the things they do. He just hates the things they do sometimes, in the context of hating sin.

Not sinners.

And the thing that occurred to me was that telling people who and what they should hate is about as stupid as the day is long.,

I realized that, for me, it takes way too much energy to hate. In my opinion, it’s easier to love, and to forgive.

Hatred is tiring, time consuming, and no matter how justified a person might feel in “owning” that particular emotion, it will add nothing to that person’s life in feeling it, save bitterness.

Jesus did not come here to die a criminal’s death because he hated the world or anyone in it.

He loved the world (John 3:16).

He came so those living in it could have life, and have it to the full (John 10:10).

If you have a little time, go through Psalms, and count how many times you read the words “unfailing love” in regard to God.

Not unfailing hatred. Not for homosexuals, or thieves, or money launderers, or congressmen, no matter which side of the political spectrum butters their bread.

I realize this probably all sounds more than a bit disjointed, and probably doesn’t make sense to anyone but me.

But I feel moved to tell anyone who might read this not to waste another second hating someone for voting differently than you. Or having more money than you. Or praying to a different god, in a different way.

There was a person who in my youth was very close to me, who wounded me in many ways, and in fact was personally and nearly solely responsible for the lies I believed about myself for most of my life.

I wasted most of my life hating him with a passion that while I may have thought kept me warm, was really just chilling my soul.

I blamed everything wrong in my life on him, even years after he was no longer part of it.

I had all these morbid fantasies of exacting my revenge–I would even daydream about it.

The result was that the bitterness and unforgiveness that had taken root in my heart was really little better than taking a drink of poison and hoping this other person that had wronged me would die.

He didn’t, but had I kept going along that route, I don’t know what would have happened to me.

What did happen was that through the grace of God, I was able to first forgive myself for cowering in the stronghold I’d created, and then forgive this person that had wounded me.

Not just say “I forgive you,” because those words spoken without meaning are worth about as much as a Euro in Lakeside.

I’m talking about forgetting revenge, or payback, or rectification of any kind. I mean actual forgiveness, that I thought I would never feel.

And what it felt like was shackles falling away from my soul.

This forgiveness is available to anyone that wants it, but you have to let go of hatred for whatever is holding you back from receiving it.

Because

This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins (1 John 4:10).

He loved us that much. Still does.

Think about that…and then think about whether or not holding onto your hatred is worth it…

The Boy and his Father enter the swap meet and immediately the boy becomes aware of the assault on his senses. It’s in the parking lot of a drive in movie, and it’s immense. Everywhere, there is something bright to look at, some toy or game. He can smell popcorn from the concession stand, and grilling hot dogs.

Immediately next to the gate, there’s a display of three or four bicycles, and the Boy is enthralled. His brother has a bicycle, and he’s been coveting the three-year-old Schwinn for months. Maybe if he asked his Father, he could get one. The blue one was small enough. But they pass the bikes and the Boy does not speak up. He does not yet know how to ride one, but he’s seen other kids doing it, and his brother, and he hopes to learn soon. Maybe for Christmas. But his eighth birthday has recently passed, and he has five dollars to spend on whatever he wants.

As he walks through the market with his Father, he notices once again how impossibly tall his father is. What would it be like to be that tall, he wonders—to almost touch the sky. As they pass through a swirl of people going the opposite direction, he briefly considers taking his Father’s hand. The World Is Full of Perverts, his Mother always says. He has only the most rudimentary idea what a pervert is, but he knows it can’t be good. His Mother has only spoken of a nameless, general sort of danger, and has never given it a name, or even a good description. But she has made him afraid, and is satisfied with that. She thinks it will make him cautious.

But his Father is here today, and he is safe.

And anyway, he thinks, they’re just people. He’s eight, but he somehow feels the truth of this. Not everyone is a Pervert.

His father has gotten a little ahead, but he’s stopped to look at an outboard motor so the Boy can still see him. It’s OK. He can see the back of his head—gray hair with the round circle of his scalp poking through—and it’s OK. As long as he can see his Father and know the safety, the freedom from fear his presence brings, it will be OK.

The Boy sees a display of books spread on a blanket and he stops to examine them. They’re old-looking hardcovers—what looks like the entire Hardy Boys series—and he suddenly wants them desperately. He doesn’t know how many of the books five dollars could buy, but he imagines at least a few of them, possibly as many as four or five. He hasn’t yet bought a book for himself, and the only book he owns is a copy of The Black Stallion, and he is excited. He’s heard about the Hardy Boys—about Frank and Joe—and he knows the stories will be good. And as he stops to examine the books, crouching down to flip open the cover of the first book, his Father slips away into the crowd.

It turns out his birthday money buys an even ten of the books, and he looks forward to reading them, and the additional dozen or so that a list inside the cover promised. He can’t wait to tell his Father about the books, and proceeds over to where the outboard motor is to find him.

His Father is gone. He stands on his tiptoes and searches the swirl of people for his gray head, but it is nowhere to be seen.

He is gone.

The Boy feels a snake of fear uncoiling in his stomach and he looks around desperately for his Father.

“Dad!” he calls. His Father does not answer and he starts walking down the crowded aisle. His eyes sweep left to right, right to left, but he does not see his Father. He’s not at the Craftsman tool display, and he’s not looking at the old records.

What if he can’t find him? How will he get home? His five dollars is spent on the books, and he doesn’t even have a dime to call his Mother. Panic starts to set in and he feels himself begin to cry.

Sissy, he thinks. And he knows it’s what his brother would say if he were here. Boys don’t cry, and they don’t complain.

His hands are sweating around the books and he walks further into the swap meet. “Dad!” he calls every few seconds, “DAD!” A man comes up to him and asks if he wants some help. He’s wearing a fisherman’s cap, but without the lures, and the boy is reminded of his Uncle. He’s afraid, because his Uncle is scary, and perhaps even a Pervert. More people begin to gather.

He’s crying harder now, and he can hardly breathe, and the Man who is not his Uncle says “It’s OK, son. We’ll find him.”

He tries one last time, and pulls in a deep lungful of air, “DAAAADDDD!!!”

And then he’s there. The Boy sees the familiar shock of gray hair, and his blue and gray flannel parting the crowd of people and his Father is there. He has a bag of popcorn in his hand and a slightly annoyed expression on his face, but then he pulls the Boy into his chest and things slow down. He’s in the presence of his Father. He is safe.

“I’m sorry I cried, Dad.” He says. He knows his Father does not think much of crying, and he buries his face in his Father’s chest because he hasn’t quite stopped yet. He’s more embarrassed than he can ever remember being. He doesn’t want him to see. “I couldn’t see you. I thought I was lost.”

“It’s OK,” his Father says. “You’re not lost. I would never lose you…”