It’s a Hard Love...

So my pastor does this thing where he likes to preach on really convicting subjects.  Today it was, “Jesus loves you.”  To be clear, to someone like me there is nothing more difficult to hear.  “Jesus loves you.”  I’m that person in the back of the room going, “Nope.  La la la la la. Can’t hear you.”  Before you sit me down and let me know that this response is cray cray, let me assure you:  I’m well aware.  In fact, no one could possibly be more aware of her own shortcomings than this girl on the other side of the screen.  No one tells herself more often how little she deserves that love.  Because this girl?  She knows exactly what she’s done.

So while my pastor was doing his preach thing and my poor hubby was wondering why his wife was crying AGAIN, God and I were having a little tête-à-tête. I poured out my heart in my beat up journal, and He poured out His heart in my beat up spirit.  Words were had.  Gauntlets were thrown.  And finally it was just this:  

I’m mad at You, God.  I’m mad.  And this anger is boiling over onto EVERYTHING.  How can You hold me in this fire?  How can I do anything when I am shredded apart inside?  How can I keep going?

Here’s the part where I tell you that God is so sweet to me, and His answers in my spirit were soft and immediate.  The answer to Daniel’s prayer was delayed with good cause, Kayla.  I have a purpose and a plan for you.  Sarai waited far longer than you have been alive.  This is nothing in my time- a blink.  I have brought down kingdoms and carved out nations and appointed rulers, and I have not forgotten you.  

And I wish I could tell you that my response was soft in return- that I sat through that sermon with so much peace and grace and love.  That God and I did not get into a Jacob-style wrestling match.  That I held myself in the light of His love and let Him heal me. Here’s where I tell you that.  But it would be a lie.  What I really said was I don’t know what is so broken in me that I can’t let You in.  

I can tell you there was a spiritual blowout at that point.  And my most broken prayer yet resounded from the bottom of my bankrupt spirit:  I don’t want to be held by You.  I want to be able to hold this myself.  I don’t want You in charge of it.  I can’t trust You.  And then I left the room because when you’re in a wrestling match with the God of the universe, sometimes it’s best to minimize the collateral damage.  And (bless me) sometimes I still think lightning bolts might come down through the ceiling of the sanctuary.  

But He isn’t a God who lets me go far, and the carpet in our church library has collected an ocean of my tears.  

See, a few weeks ago I blogged about counting the cost and the honest response of my heart:  Lord, send me.  Because send me is an easy prayer for someone like me.  Send me is the response of a person who longs to go.  Send me is a cry out of the depths of me:  God, whatever You do, don’t leave me in this place.  I walked through the hard stuff.  I did that.  But don’t make me grow my roots here.  Don’t keep me in this fire.  Whatever You do, whatever the cost, it has to be better than this.  This can’t be the thing.  God, I NEED You to SEND ME.

But when the answer is not yet… or even worse… No… then what?  

I wish I could tell you that we resolved everything, and I got a perfect picture of the plan for my life.  I wish I could tell you that I got all the answers I was looking for.  What I can tell you is that I am constantly amazed that God loves me even though I’m a brat.  I can tell you that sometimes answered prayers come in the form of Let Me love you anyway.  I can tell you that sometimes God will just montage your life in tiny moments so you can take in his perfect provision in one fell swoop- just hard enough to knock out that wall you built to keep His love out.  

I can tell you that He’s big enough for your fear… your anger… your unbelief… and your stubborn persistence that you can do a better job at being God than He can.  I can tell you that He restored my joy.  I can tell you that He’s enough.  I can tell you that I’m not alone in the fire.  

I posted on Facebook today, “In oceans deep, my faith will stand.”  And that’s still mostly true.  My faith is standing… it’s not tall and proud on top of the waves, walking on water.  Today it’s walking in the deep heart of the ocean where the pressure is too much and the darkness is too full.  Today it’s waiting for the promise that You will split the sea, because You’re that kind of God.  It’s faith in the making, clinging to the rock that is higher than I.  I don’t know, God… maybe that faith is Your favorite kind?  And if it’s not?  I’ll just be over here on my knees… letting You love me anyway.