Non Nobis, Domine

(I've been working on this post for months. It's personal and doesn't make me look very good (am I missing the point of blogging?), and clumsily told at best.) 

I'm not sure why I'm telling this story. Probably because I know how dangerous it would be to forget. Also out of thankfulness that it's over, and that God is good.

Last spring and summer were one of the darkest times of my life. In the past year I had watched so many people I loved fall apart, turn against each other, attack those they should have protected. I watched loved ones betrayed by their bodies, citizens betrayed by the system, families and churches steely and cold with conflict. Me and mine were torn apart by sin.

I had spent years getting through hard times by relying on what I thought was my "hope for the future", that someday my time would be up and I would have a love, someone else to lean on, a companion in the hard times. I didn't realize this at the time, but I spent so much time looking forward to not relying on myself that I forgot to rely on God. 

I got through. I kept my chin up. I knew things would get better. 

Through all this I'd had my partner in crime, my best friend. Even when we didn't talk about the trouble, even when we couldn't share, we bore each other's burdens, soldiered on together. Her troubles were deeper than mine, her load so heavy all I could do was stand next to her. She's the most faithful of faithful. 

Then, suddenly and at last, God gave her something (someone) new. I had this unacknowledged Cosmic Vending Machine idea of God, this "insert faithfulness, receive one godly husband" thought process. It was like she had the reward I wanted, like she got out for good behavior years before her allotted time and I was left behind, broken by this final blow and wondering what the hell I had done to deserve this. I was angry, but not at her. Suddenly I was empty and hopeless, all the bare-knuckled getting-through of the past year gone. I drifted along like a balloon rapidly losing helium. How. What had I done wrong. Why could I not handle this, the silliest, most every-day joy on her part. I couldn't begrudge her happiness and hope, I couldn't object to the fellow. But somehow my feelings went beyond jealousy. Betrayal.  

All I felt for months was ugliness and emptiness and guilt. I had panic and anxiety attacks every day. Depression hung over me like a heavy fog bank. Food nauseated me so much I could barely choke it down. 

After a time I talked to my friends and family about how bad things were, but as it so often happens when God is allowing us to be battered and broken, nothing they could do helped much. I knew I would get better, I knew that I would be stronger for this, I just had to hold onto the hope of His promises and not let go. Ironically, it wasn't my own strength that got me through that time, but the acknowledgment of my own utter weakness and complete reliance on Him. I remember hiding by the ice maker at work, shaking with weakness, fighting against tears after harsh words bit me, words that six months before I would have shaken off with self-righteous indignation. Now I had no armor, no defense. Everything cut me to the quick and left me incapacitated. I remember praying, grasping, pleading with God to help me get through this. Out of nowhere the song popped into my head "Non nobis, Domine," Not to me, Lord, but to you be the glory. From you the strength, to you the success. From you the challenge, from you the grace to overcome failure. I had no strength, no personality, no passion, no hope, no possibility of success. The only thing I could do was to be as small as possible. I had to die to self, give everything and everyone, every moment and mistake and hardship and heartthrob, right up and right back to Him. Elizabeth Elliot calls it "material for sacrifice". All I knew was it had to be all Him, because on my own I had and was absolutely nothing. 

I remember climbing to high places, baking cakes, anything to fight against the darkness.

I remember coming out of the fog. Slowly.

I remember noticing the sharpness of my bones underneath my skin. I realized all summer I'd been able to wear clothes I never would have been able to in my normal curvy-girl happy body. I stepped on the scale one day and realized I'd lost 20 pounds without noticing or caring. 

In the depths of my emptiness I had so many revelations, so many crystal-clear moments of decision. I made choices and changes. You might say I found self-reliance, but you and I know that's not what it was. 

I remember the end of August, looking back and being surprised by the thought that it had been a good month. Seeing the razor-sharp moments of joy, the sometimes peace. Things were getting better.

I listened to some pretty sad music over those months. Recently I stumbled upon a playlist from last spring, and was moved to tears by the lyrics I'd clung to: "I know in a year 

It's gonna be better."

It's been a year, and it is. 

Isaiah 41:17-20: 

When the poor and needy seek water,and there is none,and their tongue is parched with thirst,I the Lord will answer them; I the God of Israel will not forsake them. I will open rivers on the bare heights, and fountains in the midst of the valleys. I will make the wilderness a pool of water, and the dry land springs of water. I will put in the wilderness the cedar, the acacia, the myrtle, and the olive.I will set in the desert the cypress,the plane and the pine together, that they may see and know,may consider and understand together, that the hand of the Lord has done this ,the Holy One of Israel has created it.   

(I don't know many people who have never struggled with depression or sadness. I know a matter of months is such a short time to be under this fog, though this wasn't the first time I've experienced a time like this. I never felt the need or was encouraged to seek professional help. I never wanted to end my own life. I realize things could have been so, so much worse, and I'm so grateful. I'm not trying to "one-up" anyone else's story, or solicit pity or freak anyone out. I'm not a different person than I was before this happened. I still struggle with pride and expectations. This is a story that I choose to tell for story's sake, but first to glorify the writer and Creator of it. To God be the glory.) 

You Again.

I'm familiar with this hard place. I know it, know its changing temptations, its longing and grasping and wanting. I know its possibilities and hope, hope I have to dig for but know can be found. I've spent some time here. I know the ropes. 

That doesn't make it any easier. 

*edit*

Now I'm laughing at myself. Of course I'm back, I have so much more to learn. Maybe I got one star on all these levels, a C on these assignments the first time around. Here's to college algebra, to level 2, to the same but more, the same but harder, more challenges, bigger giants. 3 stars this time. A+ on the tests. Here's to not scraping by, here's to winning, here's to humbling, grating, sweaty re-do's. 

After all, I know this place. Just not as well as He wants me to.  

come and hear

Sometimes God breaks down our pride with a hammer, melts the rock of our self-confidence with a torch, crushes the solidity of our confidence in our own wisdom with unbearable weight until we crumble, break, and melt with weakness and can only turn to Him to be healed. 

And sometimes He breaks our pride with a waterfall of kindness, of grace, of mercy. 

For you, O God, have tested us;

you have tried us as silver is tried.

You brought us into the net;

you laid a crushing burden on our backs;

you let men ride over our heads;

we went through fire and through water;

yet you have brought us out to a place of abundance.

...Come and hear, all you who fear God,

and I will tell what He has done for my soul.

muscles and loves

Some loves are voluntary, like a step or a wave of my hand. They're deliberate, purposeful. They're  growing and becoming. I love, actively. I learn this love.

Some loves are like a heartbeat - involuntary. I never chose this, it's stronger than I. This love is deep. I can't stop or control it any more than I can direct the blood through my veins. This love is essential, the wood-grain of my being.

But this. This love is an inhale. It's as vital as my heartbeat, but for a moment I can control it. I can hold my breath, stop the rhythm, hungry lungs burning. Against my will it returns, inhale and exhale. It's been with me so long I sometimes hardly notice it. Maybe someday it will change, go one way or the other. It could become a hand wave or a vein, either something I can let go or a piece of my soul. 

But for now, there it is. Balanced, tense, peaceful.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

God knows my heartbeats.

a small, quiet joy has found me.

worth

{I've been writing a bit over the last few weeks but not sharing. Here's something from May.}

I am worthless.

On my own, I'm a naked, ugly human, fallen and broken and full of bad things - bad desires, thoughts, urges and impulses.

I have no beauty. I am created by beauty, for beauty, but I fail and fall and screw things up. If I keep striving, trying, relying on myself and my own standards of goodness to make me lovely, I will only decay more.

The only beauty I can convey is His. The only way I can shine is with His light.

Lord, take away the smudges and grime of self-serving, the smears of confused loyalties, the mildew of misplaced expectation. Make me a cloudless glass, undimmed by self and clear enough that only You come through.

To 18-year-old me

First, don't avoid starting second best because you think the best will interrupt it. Second best is better than nothing at all. 

Second, even when God closes door after door, don't stop looking around for windows.

Hope (says the Epistle to the Romans) does not disappoint. So don't lose it.