I had the opportunity to share the sermon message at New Hope Maui on 3.13.11.
I spoke from Romans 14:1 thru 15:7, "Weak Faith"
Click here to download the message.
1 Inch vs. 3 Feet
9 years ago
Friday, April 1, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Who told you that you were naked?
I told myself I wasn't going to write another blog post until I finished the Freedom story. But alas, though I know a few aspects of the next couple parts, the flow of how do get there is not forthcoming.
So, since October, when I've had the thought, "I should write about [insert clever, witty or thought provoking post title here]" ... I would reply, "Not until you finish the story ... " Self-conversation aside, I have come to realize that the story will finish when it "needs" to (for me), but in the mean time, writing is a very good outlet to express and grasp some of the swirling thoughts in my head ... both trivial and spiritual. To muse upon my ruminations, so to speak.
At the core of the Freedom story are my struggles with guilt and shame. I think these are familiar feelings we all experience and they hinder us in experiencing the fullness of our lives. As God has been helping me along in this struggle, I have become very aware of the effects of guilt and shame in my own kids. It is heartbreaking to watch them lose their innocence and I find myself exasperated sometimes and at a loss of what I can do to protect them. I am also aware that I, myself, am a contributor.
That is hard to admit. However, the confession in itself brings freedom; the admission brings about a desire to become better; the awareness looks for opportunities to build up instead of knock down.
Who told you that you were naked? - God, Genesis 3:11
I delight greatly in the LORD; my soul rejoices in my God. For he has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of his righteousness ... - You, Isaiah 61:10.
So, since October, when I've had the thought, "I should write about [insert clever, witty or thought provoking post title here]" ... I would reply, "Not until you finish the story ... " Self-conversation aside, I have come to realize that the story will finish when it "needs" to (for me), but in the mean time, writing is a very good outlet to express and grasp some of the swirling thoughts in my head ... both trivial and spiritual. To muse upon my ruminations, so to speak.
At the core of the Freedom story are my struggles with guilt and shame. I think these are familiar feelings we all experience and they hinder us in experiencing the fullness of our lives. As God has been helping me along in this struggle, I have become very aware of the effects of guilt and shame in my own kids. It is heartbreaking to watch them lose their innocence and I find myself exasperated sometimes and at a loss of what I can do to protect them. I am also aware that I, myself, am a contributor.
That is hard to admit. However, the confession in itself brings freedom; the admission brings about a desire to become better; the awareness looks for opportunities to build up instead of knock down.
When my son pees his pants because he was distracting playing, I can encourage him to remember when his body is telling him to go potty, instead of suggesting he's not a baby anymore.
When my daughter flies into a dramatic fit because she doesn't remember I already kissed her goodnight, I can kiss and hug her again, instead of saying, "Just because you don't remember it, doesn't mean it didn't happen."
When I come home exhausted from work and I just want to rest, but my daughter says, "I want to spend time with you." Instead of demanding "me" time, I can swoop them up and ask, "What would you like to do?"
When my son comes to me deflating because his friend got in his face and kept yelling that he is a "F**king B**ch" for accidentally hitting another kid while playing basketball, I can give him a giant hug and suggest playing Minecraft, instead of "forcing" him to resolve the conflict.I heard someone say once, "Hurt people hurt people." That is so true. Guilt and shame make us feel naked and because we feel naked we want others to feel naked too. Sometimes, our response (even to our own children) when they say to us, "I've been beaten and stripped. I am naked," is to agree with them and say, "Yes, you are."
Who told you that you were naked? - God, Genesis 3:11
I delight greatly in the LORD; my soul rejoices in my God. For he has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of his righteousness ... - You, Isaiah 61:10.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Epiphany
Romans 12:2 ... be transformed by the renewing of your mind.
This is part 8 of a story to help me process ... and discover Freedom. (continued from part 7- Hysterical)
(Part 1- Where am I?; Part 2- Discombobulation; Part 3- Revelation; Part 4- Hesitation; Part 5- Veritas Liberabit Vos; Part 6- Misery)
____________________
"Are you OK?" Jesus asked.
The laughter had subsided and I was deep in thought. Doubt. I doubted so many things. Every thought seemed to be second guessed and then doubted some more. It was comfortable sitting here next to Jesus. Just being in his presence. It reminded me of the old days and our time together, but my mind was full of doubt. How can he still love me?
"No. No, I guess I'm not OK," I replied. The honesty felt right. As if just speaking the truthful words brought peace to my overwhelmed mind. I wasn't okay. I haven't been okay. I have been stumbling along trying to figure out what went wrong only to perpetuate my stumbling.
"Do you want to talk about it?" The words were so genuine. He wouldn't push me more than I was willing to go. For me, he would nudge, guide, prod and persuade, but that final step had to be mine. Seek and you will find. Knock and the door will be opened.
"Not really," I spoke honestly again. I did, but I didn't. I wanted to tell him my worries and fears, but I didn't. I wanted him to tell me where I went wrong, but I didn't. I wanted to explode my emotional frustration and have him tell me everything would be okay. But I knew it wouldn't be that simple. Core parts of me had to change. Core parts of me had to be refined.
"OK," he replied. He knew me so well. If he out right told me to do it, I wouldn't. However, if it was my own decision, I was committed. The fact of the matter was I had to talk about it. I had come to furthest reaches of my faith, and the chains that bound me up prevented me from going further. I was like a dog tied to a post in his yard. I had to be released from those chains to move on.
I stood up from where we were sitting under the tree and walked away a couple of steps. "I suppose I should," I finally said, turning to face Jesus.
"Probably."
"But I don't even know where to start." Thousands of thoughts flooded my mind. Every doubt. Every confusion. Every failure.
"Well," Jesus stood and walked over to me, "You started along time ago." He placed his hand on my shoulder, "And you are doing great."
I blushed. His words were such a contrast to my inner dialogue. I never felt like I was doing great. I felt like I had failed miserably. The times that were great I figured was the result of my wife and her faith.
Jesus' arm wrapped around my neck in a head lock and forced me to hunch over. "Ouch," I cried, even though it didn't really hurt. "What are you doing?" I was fighting trying to get away.
"I. Am. Just. Trying," he breathed heavily as if he were exerting himself, "To. Get. It. Off." He finally released me and backed away. I looked at him surprised as he scrutinized me. He stepped forward again, "Maybe if we ... "
"What?!" I cut him off, confused frustration filling my voice. He stopped. One minute we're laughing, the next he's trying to rip my head off. I was already on an emotional roller coaster, I didn't need this.
"You know I am surprised you don't have more bruises," he said and started pacing back and forth, still scrutinizing me, as if, at any moment he would pounce on me.
I looked at him with a puzzled expression. I was beyond confused. Sometimes Jesus did the most bizarre things, said the most bizarre things. Was this because it was my mind? Was I imagining these very things he did and spoke? The inner workings of my own mind were strange enough as it was. It certainly could be me. But I wondered, maybe Jesus was speaking to me the way I needed to be spoken to.
Here we were in my place of prayer, long ago an intimate place of connection with my Savior. He often had spoken to me in a way and with words that were exactly what I needed to hear. It has been awhile since we've met in this place. Our recent encounters have been so much more reserved on my part. Here, though, all pretenses were gone. He could say what needed to be said and I could be myself.
"Yes!" Jesus exclaimed and lept at me. Before I could fully grasp what he was doing, his shoulder barreled into my stomach as he tackled me to the ground. Our momentum tumbled us down the hill a little way. It sounded like Jesus was giggling when our bodies finally disentangled from eachother. "You're it!" he yelled and ran back up the hill.
This is part 8 of a story to help me process ... and discover Freedom. (continued from part 7- Hysterical)
(Part 1- Where am I?; Part 2- Discombobulation; Part 3- Revelation; Part 4- Hesitation; Part 5- Veritas Liberabit Vos; Part 6- Misery)
____________________
"Are you OK?" Jesus asked.
The laughter had subsided and I was deep in thought. Doubt. I doubted so many things. Every thought seemed to be second guessed and then doubted some more. It was comfortable sitting here next to Jesus. Just being in his presence. It reminded me of the old days and our time together, but my mind was full of doubt. How can he still love me?
"No. No, I guess I'm not OK," I replied. The honesty felt right. As if just speaking the truthful words brought peace to my overwhelmed mind. I wasn't okay. I haven't been okay. I have been stumbling along trying to figure out what went wrong only to perpetuate my stumbling.
"Do you want to talk about it?" The words were so genuine. He wouldn't push me more than I was willing to go. For me, he would nudge, guide, prod and persuade, but that final step had to be mine. Seek and you will find. Knock and the door will be opened.
"Not really," I spoke honestly again. I did, but I didn't. I wanted to tell him my worries and fears, but I didn't. I wanted him to tell me where I went wrong, but I didn't. I wanted to explode my emotional frustration and have him tell me everything would be okay. But I knew it wouldn't be that simple. Core parts of me had to change. Core parts of me had to be refined.
"OK," he replied. He knew me so well. If he out right told me to do it, I wouldn't. However, if it was my own decision, I was committed. The fact of the matter was I had to talk about it. I had come to furthest reaches of my faith, and the chains that bound me up prevented me from going further. I was like a dog tied to a post in his yard. I had to be released from those chains to move on.
I stood up from where we were sitting under the tree and walked away a couple of steps. "I suppose I should," I finally said, turning to face Jesus.
"Probably."
"But I don't even know where to start." Thousands of thoughts flooded my mind. Every doubt. Every confusion. Every failure.
"Well," Jesus stood and walked over to me, "You started along time ago." He placed his hand on my shoulder, "And you are doing great."
I blushed. His words were such a contrast to my inner dialogue. I never felt like I was doing great. I felt like I had failed miserably. The times that were great I figured was the result of my wife and her faith.
Jesus' arm wrapped around my neck in a head lock and forced me to hunch over. "Ouch," I cried, even though it didn't really hurt. "What are you doing?" I was fighting trying to get away.
"I. Am. Just. Trying," he breathed heavily as if he were exerting himself, "To. Get. It. Off." He finally released me and backed away. I looked at him surprised as he scrutinized me. He stepped forward again, "Maybe if we ... "
"What?!" I cut him off, confused frustration filling my voice. He stopped. One minute we're laughing, the next he's trying to rip my head off. I was already on an emotional roller coaster, I didn't need this.
"You know I am surprised you don't have more bruises," he said and started pacing back and forth, still scrutinizing me, as if, at any moment he would pounce on me.
I looked at him with a puzzled expression. I was beyond confused. Sometimes Jesus did the most bizarre things, said the most bizarre things. Was this because it was my mind? Was I imagining these very things he did and spoke? The inner workings of my own mind were strange enough as it was. It certainly could be me. But I wondered, maybe Jesus was speaking to me the way I needed to be spoken to.
Here we were in my place of prayer, long ago an intimate place of connection with my Savior. He often had spoken to me in a way and with words that were exactly what I needed to hear. It has been awhile since we've met in this place. Our recent encounters have been so much more reserved on my part. Here, though, all pretenses were gone. He could say what needed to be said and I could be myself.
"Yes!" Jesus exclaimed and lept at me. Before I could fully grasp what he was doing, his shoulder barreled into my stomach as he tackled me to the ground. Our momentum tumbled us down the hill a little way. It sounded like Jesus was giggling when our bodies finally disentangled from eachother. "You're it!" he yelled and ran back up the hill.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Hysterical
Romans 8:31 ... What shall we say then? If God is for us, who can be against us?
This is part 7 of a story to help me process ... and discover Freedom. (continued from part 6- Misery)
(Part 1- Where am I?; Part 2- Discombobulation; Part 3- Revelation; Part 4- Hesitation; Part 5- Veritas Liberabit Vos)
____________________
When we finally reached the beginning of the trail and the grassy meadow, Jesus continued on toward the tree at the top of the hill without stopping. I wanted to stop walking. I wanted to slump to the ground. I wanted to disappear, to be anywhere but here. But I continued following, my feet stepping automatically. I had asked for this. I had asked for help. I had wanted to be "free". Free to screw up.
I was numb. I was depressed. How easily I got there. I could go from confident and bold to defeated and depressed in a heart beat, when reminded of my ineptitude. I tried to remember scripture, but "we are more than conquerers", or "there is now no condemnation" didn't bring any comfort in my present state.
Jesus stopped at the tree and placed his hand on the trunk. His eyes were closed as if in prayer when I finally made it to the top. I stood and watched him, wondering.
After a long moment, he opened his eyes and turned towards me, "I love you," he said. No he doesn't. Jesus closed the gap between us too quickly, his hands grasped each side of my face, compelling me to look him in the eyes. "Yes. I do." Tears welled up in my eyes and my breathing heaved. How can you? He stared at me with such intensity, such love, such compassion, his eyes darting back and forth between my own. I wanted to believe him, I really did.
He released his grip on my face and walked back to the tree and gestured towards it looking at me, "A man had a fig tree, planted in his vineyard, and he went to look for fruit on it, but did not find any. So he said to the man who took care of the vineyard, 'For three years now I've been coming to look for fruit on this fig tree and haven't found any. Cut it down! Why should it use up the soil?' 'Sir,' the man replied, 'leave it alone for one more year, and I'll dig around it and fertilize it. If it bears fruit next year, fine! If not, then cut it down.' "
"I know that parable," I said, "So what? Are you going to cut it down?"
"I doubt it," he replied.
"It hasn't produced any fruit in a long time," I said defiantly. What was I doing? Trying to convince him to cut it down?
"I'll just ask for another year," he said simply.
He took a couple of steps towards the trail we had come down, "That was some trail." He chuckled, seemingly to himself, "Narrow and difficult."
I was indignant. "Well if that's not the way, what is?" My frustration seeping out in my words more than I wanted.
He took a couple of steps towards the cliff face. He made an exaggerated survey, straining to look as far as he could to the left and then to the right. His head tilted back as he looked upward and then he stumbled backward as if the height was too high.
"Wow, that is one big mountain," he looked at me with a mischievous smile, "Too bad you don't have more faith."
My jaw dropped in surprise. Did he just say that? Was he joking? Why would he say such a thing?
"Aw, come on. That was a good one." His eyes drooped in sadness, then quickly returned to a smile. He stepped back to the tree and sat down. "I thought it was funny," he said as much to himself as to me. "Come on, let's talk." He patted the ground next to him, inviting me to sit down.
I was guarded. Anymore, I was always guarded. This wasn't an eager moment for me. I wanted to talk to him, to hear what he had to say. I wanted to be free, I had to be free. I knew I couldn't carry on in my life the way I have been, but I was filled with so much doubt.
Doubt. I laughed. To myself at first, but then it caught momentum. It was uncontrollable. I would try to stifle it, but then burst out again. Doubt. I couldn't contain it, pent up emotion being released. Jesus was smiling and laughing with me. I doubled over, it felt unnatural to laugh so hard. I would start to settle down and then erupt into laughter again. I don't know how long I went on that way, but after some time, with tears in my eyes and a pain in my stomach, I made my way over to sit next to Jesus.
"I told you it was a good one," he said leaning into me and giving me a hug.
____________________
Mark 11:22-23 ... Have faith in God. I tell you the truth, if anyone says to this mountain, 'Go, throw yourself into the sea,' and does not doubt in his heart but believes that what he says will happen, it will be done for him.
continue to part 8- Epiphany
This is part 7 of a story to help me process ... and discover Freedom. (continued from part 6- Misery)
(Part 1- Where am I?; Part 2- Discombobulation; Part 3- Revelation; Part 4- Hesitation; Part 5- Veritas Liberabit Vos)
____________________
When we finally reached the beginning of the trail and the grassy meadow, Jesus continued on toward the tree at the top of the hill without stopping. I wanted to stop walking. I wanted to slump to the ground. I wanted to disappear, to be anywhere but here. But I continued following, my feet stepping automatically. I had asked for this. I had asked for help. I had wanted to be "free". Free to screw up.
I was numb. I was depressed. How easily I got there. I could go from confident and bold to defeated and depressed in a heart beat, when reminded of my ineptitude. I tried to remember scripture, but "we are more than conquerers", or "there is now no condemnation" didn't bring any comfort in my present state.
Jesus stopped at the tree and placed his hand on the trunk. His eyes were closed as if in prayer when I finally made it to the top. I stood and watched him, wondering.
After a long moment, he opened his eyes and turned towards me, "I love you," he said. No he doesn't. Jesus closed the gap between us too quickly, his hands grasped each side of my face, compelling me to look him in the eyes. "Yes. I do." Tears welled up in my eyes and my breathing heaved. How can you? He stared at me with such intensity, such love, such compassion, his eyes darting back and forth between my own. I wanted to believe him, I really did.
He released his grip on my face and walked back to the tree and gestured towards it looking at me, "A man had a fig tree, planted in his vineyard, and he went to look for fruit on it, but did not find any. So he said to the man who took care of the vineyard, 'For three years now I've been coming to look for fruit on this fig tree and haven't found any. Cut it down! Why should it use up the soil?' 'Sir,' the man replied, 'leave it alone for one more year, and I'll dig around it and fertilize it. If it bears fruit next year, fine! If not, then cut it down.' "
"I know that parable," I said, "So what? Are you going to cut it down?"
"I doubt it," he replied.
"It hasn't produced any fruit in a long time," I said defiantly. What was I doing? Trying to convince him to cut it down?
"I'll just ask for another year," he said simply.
He took a couple of steps towards the trail we had come down, "That was some trail." He chuckled, seemingly to himself, "Narrow and difficult."
I was indignant. "Well if that's not the way, what is?" My frustration seeping out in my words more than I wanted.
He took a couple of steps towards the cliff face. He made an exaggerated survey, straining to look as far as he could to the left and then to the right. His head tilted back as he looked upward and then he stumbled backward as if the height was too high.
"Wow, that is one big mountain," he looked at me with a mischievous smile, "Too bad you don't have more faith."
My jaw dropped in surprise. Did he just say that? Was he joking? Why would he say such a thing?
"Aw, come on. That was a good one." His eyes drooped in sadness, then quickly returned to a smile. He stepped back to the tree and sat down. "I thought it was funny," he said as much to himself as to me. "Come on, let's talk." He patted the ground next to him, inviting me to sit down.
I was guarded. Anymore, I was always guarded. This wasn't an eager moment for me. I wanted to talk to him, to hear what he had to say. I wanted to be free, I had to be free. I knew I couldn't carry on in my life the way I have been, but I was filled with so much doubt.
Doubt. I laughed. To myself at first, but then it caught momentum. It was uncontrollable. I would try to stifle it, but then burst out again. Doubt. I couldn't contain it, pent up emotion being released. Jesus was smiling and laughing with me. I doubled over, it felt unnatural to laugh so hard. I would start to settle down and then erupt into laughter again. I don't know how long I went on that way, but after some time, with tears in my eyes and a pain in my stomach, I made my way over to sit next to Jesus.
"I told you it was a good one," he said leaning into me and giving me a hug.
____________________
Mark 11:22-23 ... Have faith in God. I tell you the truth, if anyone says to this mountain, 'Go, throw yourself into the sea,' and does not doubt in his heart but believes that what he says will happen, it will be done for him.
continue to part 8- Epiphany
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Misery
Romans 8:1 ... there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.
This is part 6 of a story to help me process ... and discover Freedom. (continued from part 5- Veritas Liberabit Vos)
(Part 1- Where am I?; Part 2- Discombobulation; Part 3- Revelation; Part 4- Hesitation)
____________________
After Jesus had pulled me back up the ledge he stepped back and looked at me, beaming. His smile was so big, it caught me off guard. I gingerly stepped away from the ledge edge and rubbed my shoulder, unable to think of anything to say.
With a final appraisal, he said, "Ok, then. Let's go." He effortlessly hopped off the edge to the ledge below and disappeared where I had struggled up from before. He took a couple of steps where I could see him again and turned back to look at me. He raised his eyebrows in an unspoken, "Are you coming?"
I looked towards the cave I had fled from, confused. Not that I wanted to go back there, but surely that was where we should go. I looked back at Jesus below with a questioning look of my own.
"That's not the way. C'mon, I'll help you down," and he took a step forward his head dissappearing out of sight again.
I shuffled forward to the edge of the cliff and could see him waiting for me. Climbing down was always so much harder than climbing up. Looking past Jesus, I could see the river below, distant and ominous. The ledge I was on seemed a much safer place to be and I backed up a step or two.
I let out my breath, unaware I had been holding it. I really didn't want to go anywhere. I was emotionally exhausted. From the climb up, from the effort it took to walk into the cave, from the failure of having run away from it and from the certainty I was going to fall to my death. I was too tired to climb back down, but I certainly didn't want to go back into the blackness. "Urgh," I moaned, as I reflected on these things.
I was a mess. I was confused. How can Jesus accept me like this? Here I was thinking I was doing the right thing and he tells me it is not the way. You can't hear God. I can't hear God. How many times have I done something only to discover that's not what God meant? I wanted to do the right thing, but I got it wrong so many times why should I bother trying anymore? Surely, there were more capable people that can actually hear God. It used to be so easy to know what to do and I just did it. Now, it felt I had misstepped so often I would be more of a detriment to God's purpose than a help.
However, I still wanted to please God and the thought of letting Jesus see me in this state of confusion and uncertainty moved me to action. I smirked at the irony. I put on my false confidence and peered over the ledge again.
"Feet first would probably be best," Jesus said with a gentle smile.
I turned around and got down on my knees. I backed up slowly until my knees and then my thighs were sliding over the cliff edge. As I shimmied backward the rock began to dig into my stomach. I could feel it scraping as my shirt pulled up. Oh God, don't let me fall. My feet were searching eagerly for a place to step, and I felt Jesus grab my foot. I continued to lower myself down as he guided each of my feet into a foothold. Once I was on solid ground again, I brushed myself off and straightened my clothes.
Jesus looked at me, "You OK?"
"Yes," I lied, and immediately regretted it. Why would I lie to Jesus? He knows exactly what I am thinking and even that I'm lying. Stupid. Stupid. But somehow I managed to say, "Yes," a second time, as if saying it twice would make it truthful.
He smiled, "OK," and turned around and began making his way down the trail. Defeated and angry at myself I followed after him. Why do I do that? Am I so used to false pretenses, that to lie about how I am doing to Jesus himself came that easily? I shook my head in dismay. Maybe I should say something? Confess my sins. Ask for forgiveness. No words came to my mouth. You brought this on yourself. I don't deserve his forgiveness.
And so we continued down the trail. I trudged along, ashamed of myself. My inner voice making relentless accusations that were all true. Jesus would stop now and then and look at me. Maybe to see if I was still following, maybe to see if I needed help. I never made eye contact, how could I? Once I caught up, he would continue on and I just followed after, head hung low, lost in my own misery.
You are a failure. Nobody needs you. God doesn't love you. You've let Him down.
____________________
continue to part 7- Hysterical
This is part 6 of a story to help me process ... and discover Freedom. (continued from part 5- Veritas Liberabit Vos)
(Part 1- Where am I?; Part 2- Discombobulation; Part 3- Revelation; Part 4- Hesitation)
____________________
After Jesus had pulled me back up the ledge he stepped back and looked at me, beaming. His smile was so big, it caught me off guard. I gingerly stepped away from the ledge edge and rubbed my shoulder, unable to think of anything to say.
With a final appraisal, he said, "Ok, then. Let's go." He effortlessly hopped off the edge to the ledge below and disappeared where I had struggled up from before. He took a couple of steps where I could see him again and turned back to look at me. He raised his eyebrows in an unspoken, "Are you coming?"
I looked towards the cave I had fled from, confused. Not that I wanted to go back there, but surely that was where we should go. I looked back at Jesus below with a questioning look of my own.
"That's not the way. C'mon, I'll help you down," and he took a step forward his head dissappearing out of sight again.
I shuffled forward to the edge of the cliff and could see him waiting for me. Climbing down was always so much harder than climbing up. Looking past Jesus, I could see the river below, distant and ominous. The ledge I was on seemed a much safer place to be and I backed up a step or two.
I let out my breath, unaware I had been holding it. I really didn't want to go anywhere. I was emotionally exhausted. From the climb up, from the effort it took to walk into the cave, from the failure of having run away from it and from the certainty I was going to fall to my death. I was too tired to climb back down, but I certainly didn't want to go back into the blackness. "Urgh," I moaned, as I reflected on these things.
I was a mess. I was confused. How can Jesus accept me like this? Here I was thinking I was doing the right thing and he tells me it is not the way. You can't hear God. I can't hear God. How many times have I done something only to discover that's not what God meant? I wanted to do the right thing, but I got it wrong so many times why should I bother trying anymore? Surely, there were more capable people that can actually hear God. It used to be so easy to know what to do and I just did it. Now, it felt I had misstepped so often I would be more of a detriment to God's purpose than a help.
However, I still wanted to please God and the thought of letting Jesus see me in this state of confusion and uncertainty moved me to action. I smirked at the irony. I put on my false confidence and peered over the ledge again.
"Feet first would probably be best," Jesus said with a gentle smile.
I turned around and got down on my knees. I backed up slowly until my knees and then my thighs were sliding over the cliff edge. As I shimmied backward the rock began to dig into my stomach. I could feel it scraping as my shirt pulled up. Oh God, don't let me fall. My feet were searching eagerly for a place to step, and I felt Jesus grab my foot. I continued to lower myself down as he guided each of my feet into a foothold. Once I was on solid ground again, I brushed myself off and straightened my clothes.
Jesus looked at me, "You OK?"
"Yes," I lied, and immediately regretted it. Why would I lie to Jesus? He knows exactly what I am thinking and even that I'm lying. Stupid. Stupid. But somehow I managed to say, "Yes," a second time, as if saying it twice would make it truthful.
He smiled, "OK," and turned around and began making his way down the trail. Defeated and angry at myself I followed after him. Why do I do that? Am I so used to false pretenses, that to lie about how I am doing to Jesus himself came that easily? I shook my head in dismay. Maybe I should say something? Confess my sins. Ask for forgiveness. No words came to my mouth. You brought this on yourself. I don't deserve his forgiveness.
And so we continued down the trail. I trudged along, ashamed of myself. My inner voice making relentless accusations that were all true. Jesus would stop now and then and look at me. Maybe to see if I was still following, maybe to see if I needed help. I never made eye contact, how could I? Once I caught up, he would continue on and I just followed after, head hung low, lost in my own misery.
You are a failure. Nobody needs you. God doesn't love you. You've let Him down.
____________________
continue to part 7- Hysterical
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