Thrashing: Day 12: Push a hand away

What is most interesting to me is that though the fear washes over me in waves, there is a bravery i have never felt before. A willingness, a desire, a passion to fight. I'm aware of a commitment to be in the dungeon for as long as it takes. So much so that I am fighting off the hands that are reaching down for me from the lightworld above. "Let us save you," they say. "Let us fix you," they call. "Let us dry your tears. Let us overwhelm you with light once again so you'll forget all of this, and it will be just a dwindling nightmare." Where were these concerned voices when I was drowning in all that light, living an empty religious life?

                                                                                                       - Mandy Steward, Thrashing About with God

periodically, throughout this time of absence from church, i receive a message from friends who want me to return. they promise me it won't be weird, and that the longer my absence, the more the darkness will win. they pray for freedom from my chains, and my heart responds "isn't this the freest i have ever been??"

i know they love me. i know they are well-meaning. but they cannot love me well right now. they are not a safe space for my heart.

for a while, i was responding to their messages, defending my decision to take a break, trying to help them see how this was God leading me away into the wilderness for a time. but they would see only "do not forsake the assembling of yourselves together" and tell me the Spirit would never prompt something that goes against His Word.

maybe so.

but maybe it's possible that the interpretations they are working with are too narrow, even as they try to apply them too broadly.

Because I would never naturally take this course - it had to be divine intervention to prompt me to move away from the expectations and toward his heart (as i have said before, rebellion is a spiritual discipline for me - it is not my bent. i am wired as a "good girl", and am slowly unlearning, rewiring).

i had to quit "stating my case" a few months in, since it always seemed to fall on ears that care about me, but care about being biblical more. 

my heart is not held in that space. 

so, i have stopped responding.

{{but i feel the urge to run just under the surface of that healthy boundary, so i think this silence with them will only be for a time. because i am sick of running, hiding, avoiding their judgments and questions i have no answer for. i am sure i will need to stand, as myself, even in their presence, at some point.}}

but not yet. right now? i run, and run wild.

"Don't you dare!" I yell back. "This is not about you. I'm sorry that it makes you uncomfortable to see me this way, but you're not going to rob me of this richness. I am with God. He is here. Imagine that. In the darkness. There is no place I'd rather be. And I will come out when He says we are done, because I want to be healed this time. I want the holes in my body to be forever mended, even if there are brutal scars to show for it. When i resurface, I want to be able to contain the fullness of God within me without it leaking out all over the place. Down here, I am closer to my life to the full than I ever was soaking up sun on the beaches of pretending and performance and duty and devotion. Leave me alone. This is something I must see to."    

                                                                                                                          -Mandy Steward, Thrashing About with God

bent

she said, “do you hear that? it sounds so sinister to me! what an accuser!!”

 i hadn’t noticed.

she pointed out that i have been moving toward - stepping into - my purpose. that I had heard affirmation, words of life directed at my identity, at my desire to bring healing, felt that spark of “yes! this is it! what i’m made for!” and, within two days, the very same places were attacked, twisted.

my value, beauty, worth all called into question by an enemy of my soul’s life.

bending almost certainly innocent words into strangleholds.

i had told her, with a sigh, a few weeks ago, “i wish everyone had a jolie*…” someone who speaks life-giving truth into hearts that need it. someone who can walk alongside, witness the heart of another, engage spiritually with them, and – in a way – love them, be jesus to them. her response was, “maybe they need an ailey.” wait – that’s my name.** like, i could actually be that type of a presence with people?! heart-racing excitement and terror came with that thought. that maybe, just maybe, i could offer the same Life that i have found.

obviously, you might be thinking.

but i'm thinking: i’ve tried that before. been vulnerable, opened my heart, spoken truth… and been held at arm’s length, rejected by crumbling brick walls they think will protect. and i’ve believed that the reason for that was my inadequacy. my inability to stand in the face of rejection, in the face of spiritual pressure. i’ve seen myself cave, give in to the warfare. let it take me.

not this time. not now that i know.

because, far from scaring me into inaction, when i realize the dark forces at play, it ignites something in me. i find a fight in me i didn’t know i had. i discover this part of my heart that refuses to allow the ultimate liar-thief-destroyer to have his way in the hearts of people i love, people i see.  myself.

so when my 3-year-old tells me i used to be pretty, and the enemy turns it into an attack on my worth, a foothold for lies about motherhood-failure and beauty-lack and all the other inadequacy-talk… i will stand. on my own two beautifully purposed feet. and breathe in oxygenating presence, and breathe out healing truth. truth of my worth and yours, our beauty, our love and lovability, our purpose.

like c.s. lewis' lucy with her dagger and cordial, tending the wounded... as a healer-warrioress i will join the battle. Stand with me?

*names changed to protect, well… me. This is an anonymous blog, ok? (baby steps.)

**no. it’s not. It’s a pseudonym.

a blessing

by all means, go deep. embrace all those true and vulnerable places.

see the ways that what was beautiful

became broken

scarred, limping

agree that what was done was wrong,

and forgive anyway,

because then you become

so free

and your love unstoppable.

by all means, dive down into the darkness

take your courage with you

because only then

can you defeat the old enemies

that lurk, waiting to bind you up again

in the fear

and the shame

and all the lies 

you have no business believing 

when the truth lives in you.

by all means, go deep,

but hear this:

don't forget to play.

because when you are a child

in all the most real senses

you are free and alive

and suddenly

people are joining you in your freedom

and discovering a God

who doesn't want their perfect performances

doing all the "should"s, all the right ways.

they, together with you,

explore, and discover

that this God

loves to play

right there with them.

because it means you're together

and engaged

and delighting in love and beauty and presence

together.

together.

together.

when your calling is a faint orange glow

laughter in the dark

vital abandon

voice being drawn out

aware of her windy reality.

(found poetry in my art journal)

***

A faint orange glows through the fog and gives me hope.

My life chaotic at best; at worst, a failure.

I dream big dreams of light cast into dark. Of artist-birthed life making its way into a hurting world. Of hearts healed. Of beauty and spirit-wind wrapped holy together, bringing truth that frees instead of binds.

And then I live.

Isolated, unfree myself. Wrapped wholly with the whims of beloveds and their bedlam. Unseen, unheard because I do not speak. I long to bring life, bravery. I live fearful, greedy for solitude, shamebound.

They say the area of your struggle is inseparably woven with your calling.

If I was having coffee with you and these words poured out of you, I would be so drawn to offer grace, rest. To make sure you knew you don’t have to meet anybody’s expectations (yours included). That, yes, you have this amazing calling to offer light and life and beauty and freedom and healing. But the failing is the lie.

All the trying, beating up the beauty because it’s not quite beautiful enough.

The fighting with life instead of living it.

And most of all, I’d want you to know he’s right there.

In the afternoons with a three-year-old anarchist whose heart you desperately want to guard in ways yours never was.

In the hundreds of minutes you feed and lullaby your baby, hoping for a soul that knows it’s worth rescuing.

In the confusion of intimacy.

In the tension between beauty-longings and real-life mess.

Even when you haven’t given him the time you “should”. There is no condemning coming from his heart, so if you’re sensing damnation-emotion, you gotta fight, albeit an unseen enemy.  One that pretends he’s not there so you think it’s your own voice, or even that of the life-way-truth. It’s not. He may even sound like people you love. He likes to put flesh-and-blood to his lies like that. But no matter what, it’s not true.

You are enough.

Your heart is worth fighting for, just like those little boys’.

And those women you dream freedom for.

He bled to rescue your heart, so you simply can’t give it back over to the liar. To the hater of your aliveness.

it might look like the easy way out – to wallow, to believe in your worthlessness. Because then it doesn’t matter so much that your days don’t look like your dreams. But think of the alive-in-your-purpose days. Isn’t even that handful worth the fight?

Well, isn’t it?

And I am surprised to hear my own heart answering yes. Oh, yes. 

fought for. rescued.

 

we still don't know what happened.

two teenagers realized they were lost in the Cleveland National Forest sunday, and made the 911 call that probably saved their lives. their phone died right after calling to describe as best they could where they believed they had lost their way. because they called, people immediately began to search for Nicholas and Kyndall.

days, a thousand prayers, and dozens of searchers - many of them volunteers - later, they were found.

Nicholas was found wednesday, a mile from his car, exactly as he'd described in his emergency call. it took another day to find Kyndall a little ways away on a ridge, disoriented and dehydrated, both of them. but both of them alive. rescued.

i only knew about this because a very new online friend posted on her instagram feed that they would be praying that night at her church for these two teenagers to be found. i joined their prayers, though not in person, and continued to expect the worst.

then, tonight, i walked into starbucks to see the huge title of the OC register scream at me "weak, but alive". relief flooded, and in that moment, more than one of my prayers was answered.

they were safe.

that was one.

the other one had been spoken on the drive to starbucks. i have been feeling so disconnected, lost, and was just longing for God to speak into me. jesus, speak.

***

ever since i watched my first episode of parenthood last week, my heart has been longing, asking a question without ever verbalizing it. both episodes i've seen of that show now have ended with a scene where Max and his heart are fought for.

Max, maybe eight years old, has just been diagnosed with asperger's, and they're all reeling. in the first episode, when they realize he unexpectedly wants to join his team to play baseball that day, his entire extended family drops everything and rushes to get ready for the game. they had just sat down to a lovely backyard lunch, but they leave all that, calling out "you get his uniform?" "i'm snack mom this week! help!" and they are all delighted to fight for this young boy.

the second episode ends with Max's dad putting on a pirate costume to enter his world, try to understand him, to reach his heart. as they run around the yard with red handkerchief-heads and tennis racket-swords, my tears fell for the second time in two episodes. over a dumb television show. but i knew where the emotion was rooted.

i want to feel fought for. i want to believe that i am worth fighting for. worth whatever it takes to rescue this heart of mine. 

there have been moments i believed this, little glimpses into the father-heart of God, into his love, his delight for me. and yes, i have been rescued. but i need to be rescued every day. from the lies, the self-deception, the accusing voices. i need to know: are you on my side? will you fight for me, rescue me? am i even worth it?

and tonight? he answered yes.

in the stories of the many rescuers that went out to fight for the lives of these kids. the ones that got lost themselves in the process, the ones that were injured. one even had to be hospitalized; he was lucky to be alive, the sheriff's department said. people prayed, people searched, people risked their lives to fight for these two teenagers.

and my God fights for me. he doesn't let me stay in my same old ways of self-loathing, believing defeated-enemy lies. he risked GAVE his life because my alive-heart is worth it to him.

and so is yours.

a light spirit

 

in some ways, this is a misnomer.

my friends will tell you i am one of the most heavyhearted people they know.

i have struggled my way through mild depression, even before it could be called post-partum. never enough to be diagnosed, just enough to weigh on me. dysthymia, one psychologist-friend said. i've been to therapy, but never on medication. (yet. when i'm done breastfeeding, i am definitely considering it.)

but i wonder to myself if this is just the condition of those who choose to go deeper.

destined to the depths. with kelp wrapping, shark-fears circling... ever clawing our way to the surface for air. so then, why go deep at all? why dive down below the sparkling surface? why make new discoveries of beauty in the darkness?

because we must.

we must because we are no longer content with words that sail us happily along a glassy-flat experience of a one-sided life.

we must because we know he meets us there, more than anywhere, because we need him most there, where our ships have sunk. where our treasure can be regained.

and we must because of all the souls sinking around us. we are rescuers, those of us willing to plunge beneath lovely exteriors. bringing our diver's headlamp and what oxygen we have to the ones fighting for life. it's not enough for all of us sometimes, especially when the victim thrashes, disconnecting our breathing apparatus, headlocking us in their confusion, and we have to come up for air. but then we're right back in the frothy fray, stealing wriggling ones straight out of hungry jaws.

so this blog's title is maybe more of a twofold prayer, than a descriptor at this point.

a prayer for a light spirit - a spirit full of light, buoyed with purpose.

and a prayer that says, "alight, spirit. speak your light-words through me in this space."

jesus, make it so.