October 13, 2018
“Fallin' feels like flyin' 'til ya hit the ground...” ~Chris Stapleton
Nine months. Nine months of working and struggling on my own, trying to reconcile the fact that I had no Christian atmosphere by telling myself that I didn't need people and I could be my own source of fellowship (haha). Nine months of draining my own body and mind of energy and all healthy reasoning for people who didn't notice or care if I did any different.
Eventually I stopped trying. Anyone could have seen it coming. When my own fire faded, I had nothing left to back me up. Of course, everyone hits a dead end. I was no different, except I knew exactly why. And that was the most disappointing feeling I'd ever felt about myself. With that to eat away at me, I crashed and burned.
Crushed, filthy, and lying in the dirt at the bottom of that valley, I had to keep asking myself, what was I doing? What terrible choices had I made that had gotten me here? With every tiny, lazy mistake and shortcut I ever made, I set myself up for eventual failure.
I wish I could say I didn't see it coming, but the truth is, I knew it. Through my intuition, the Holy Spirit gave me ample warning and plenty of time to pull it together. Every time I refused to listen, and turned the other way, my heart became a little more hard, and my conscience a little more seared.
But the old has gone and the new has come. Yeah, it's come and gone more than once for me, and I blew it the first time, and I blew it again and again after. But God isn't done with me and His patience is everlasting.
Five days. It took five days for Christ to fill me back up. I'm finally in a physical place where I can go to church and I am around like-minded Christian people. It took five days of seeing hurting, wounded, abused women from the House of Cherith worshiping their Father despite their pain for my eyes to be opened and the holes in my heart to be filled. Those women came to this place to be ministered to, to heal and to receive Christ's love through people willing to serve them at a second's notice.
Yet God flipped it around. I was supposed to be the servant, yet I was the one served. I was supposed to give those women Christlike love, yet they gave it back tenfold.
I can't help but feel guilty. These women have been through so much pain and heartbreak that I could never even imagine. Here I am, living my perfectly comfortable life, when they were sold into prostitution by their parents. Here I am, with healthy and happy childhood memories, when all they remember of their childhood they try hard to forget. Here I am, complaining of a broken heart, when their entire soul and being has been erased, so that they have to rebuild their own identities. And here I am, accepting their love and grace, of which they barely have enough for themselves.
Oh, the disgusting sinner that I am. How, in my selfishness and pride could I take anything more from these people? How, after all they've been through, can they even think to give anything of themselves to another human being?
But I'll take it. After all, how can I refuse such a selfless gift?
2 Corinthians 5: 14-15
“For Christ's love compels us, because we are convinced that one died for all, and therefore all died. And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again.”
Am I alive in the way this verse describes living? I don't know yet, but I know I'm on my way.
© 2019 Jax