Tag Archives: loved

Today I Can Breathe

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Today I can breathe deep because when tonight comes God will not love me any more or less than He does this morning.

“God loves people because of who God is, not because of who we are.”

-Philip Yancey, in his book “What’s So Amazing About Grace?”

Today I can breathe deep because God is in charge and I am not.

“He’s got the whole world in His hands. He’s got the whole world in His hands…”

-traditional American spiritual

Today I can breathe deep because God is bigger.

“When did I forget that you’ve always been the king of the world?
I try to take life back right out of the hands of the king of the world
How could I make you so small
When you’re the one who holds it all
When did I forget that you’ve always been the king of the world…”

-from the song “King of the World” sung by Natalie Grant

Today I can breathe deep because I am fully alive.

“The Spirit of God, who raised Jesus from the dead, lives in you. And just as God raised Christ Jesus from the dead, he will give life to your mortal bodies by this same Spirit living within you.”

-Romans 8:11, Holy Bible, New Living Translation

Today I can breathe deep because it’s not about me. Even if I get everything wrong today, I am loved and God is alive and well.

“The faithful love of the Lord never ends!
His mercies never cease.
Great is his faithfulness;
his mercies begin afresh each morning.
I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my inheritance;
therefore, I will hope in him!’”

-Lamentations 3:22-24, Holy Bible, New Living Translation

Today I can breathe deep because grace multiplies.

“God does not just offer us grace, but He offers us grace, grace, and more grace. His supply is bountiful; no matter how much we use there is always plenty more.”

Joyce Meyer, in her book ” If Not for the Grace of God”

Today I can breathe deep because I am enough.

“No matter how much I get done, or is left undone, at the end of the day I am enough.”

-Brené Brown

Today I can breathe deep because I will never at any moment be alone.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sQmuxIzfJbI&ab_channel=TheHigherPower

It’s Me! Run!

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It’s Me! Run!

Reflections – week 2

Welcome to the second week of reflections inspired by my current small groups. Together with some of my favorite women, I’m exploring these books: Father’s House: The Path That Leads Home, and The Whole Language.

This is week two of eight. I’m finding joy here, and I’m pleased you’re with me on this journey.

The Paddle

When I was a child, a wooden spatula was the “paddle” at our house—used for spankings. I chuckle now, remembering the occasional days when my mother would carry the paddle in her back pocket. How well I know those kinds of days now that I have kids of my own.

I have two specific memories of spankings, one of which must have happened when I was quite young, I’m guessing preschool age. I don’t know what brought it on, but I had a meltdown of epic proportions, involving kicking, screaming, and the works. My parents put me on my bed to spank me, but I was kicking so violently they couldn’t paddle me. To solve this conundrum, one of them sat on my legs and the other spanked me.

As this memory accompanied my growth and development, it grew into a belief: the proper way to handle big feelings is to punish myself for them. Or better yet, try not to have them at all. I’m certain that’s not the lesson my parents intended. They probably figured they were enabling me to grow up and behave like an adult. (No one appreciates a 30-year-old who still throws epic tantrums.)

Fear of Self

Week two in Father’s House is about being lavishly loved. The authors write, “To live as a fully loved and accepted daughter in your Father’s House, He’s inviting you to let go of your former identity. You are no longer bound to your past, what anyone else has spoken over you or even what you say about yourself. As you journey Home, saturate yourself in who your Father says you are.”1 (emphasis added)

As I read and wrote through each day of the study last week, fear of myself emerged as a common theme. Starting as a young child I learned to fear myself, to fear my emotions and desires, my imperfections, my capacity to make mistakes. The religious community further intensified this fear by teaching me that I was sinful and needed constant spiritual supervision to avoid indulging the unforgivable person that I was. I became afraid of turning away from God. I figured He’s pretty nice—you know, amazing grace and all that—but if I intentionally, or unintentionally, turn my back on Him, He will be pissed off.

So there I was, internalizing my parents’ responses to me, into a belief that my emotional experiences are unacceptable; internalizing the religious community’s sin-message into the belief that I am a walking liability; and what did all that do? For twenty years, nothing. I was so good at being good that these fears lay dormant. It was unnecessary to face them when I managed myself exceptionally and performed well for every person in my life who expected something from me.

If you’re familiar with my story, you know when the upheaval began: stay-at-home momming. Suddenly, with loss of sleep and the demands of parenting, I was reacquainted with my emotional self in the most savage way. My best efforts to control and punish myself weren’t working. Anger, frustration, fear, and emptiness consumed me, and—given my beliefs about emotions and mistakes—it’s not surprising that a dark shame enveloped me.

Temper Tantrum

A few months ago when I went through Father’s House for the first time, during the activation exercise (meditative visualizing and listening), I had a (visualized) temper tantrum. It was just as I remember from childhood, heels hitting the floor so hard it hurt, as I lay on the ground screaming and sobbing out of control. Papa God lay beside me. I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t engage with Him. I could not receive comfort or accept reason or respond to reprimand. Mercifully, He didn’t expect anything from me. When the waves of emotion began to subside, I rolled into Papa’s arms. I was ready to receive comfort, and He was waiting to comfort me.

Papa God suggests there is no distance between Him and me. He is not cooled by the things that chill the people in my life: turning away, having needs, being impolite, tired, sick, stressed, confused, emotional, forgetful. God is warmly present with me when I am out of control. All of me and my experiences are folded right in, received without question or critique or hesitation. No part of me is a liability.

Holy Imagination

“Visualizing your future as a lavishly loved daughter is critical to your life,” I read in Father’s House. “In fact, it helps engage your heart with your head when you involve your divine imagination. Describe what that life would look like in as much detail as possible. What would you be doing, thinking, or feeling?”2 Here’s what comes to mind:

  • My insides will be still (not agitated). I will be at peace with myself, not warring against myself.
  • I will have energy to create and to love (not compulsion).
  • I will take more risks.
  • Forgiveness will come as naturally as breathing.
  • Suffering will fall into my embrace rather than being held at arms length. It may hurt like hell, but it won’t be fragmenting.
  • Pain, anxiety, depression, fear and anger will be experienced with God, rather than as separating or isolating experiences.
  • I will be whole, not fragmented, not always looking for parts that have been forgotten.

Not As Scary As I Thought

I assumed God was in on the idea that I cannot be trusted with myself. I am shocked to discover God trusts me with me. The shame is lifting. The fear is shrinking.

Lie: I am loved and accepted if I reject myself so I can be what I “ought” to be.

Truth: I couldn’t be better. I am loved entirely independent of my level of responsibility and emotional control. Papa received me first, to clear the way for me to receive myself. He invites me to love myself as He loves me. Now that’s crazy!

Gregory Boyle writes, “Ensuring, then, that we are never strangers to ourselves will give us access to our deepest longing.” I have been a stranger to myself, but I am learning to roll out the welcome mat, receive myself with open arms, and explore my deepest longings.

Endnotes:
1Father’s House, page 29
2Father’s House, page 34
3The Whole Language, page 18

God, Who Is Asking Nothing

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I have always thought I wasn’t supposed to like myself, and certainly not love myself. I thought loving myself would take me far from God. But one night when I was ruminating at 4am, I realized that God likes me and loves me; so liking and loving myself puts me in alignment and agreement with God, and therefore closer to Him. I can like myself and love myself. I can be kind to myself. I can marvel at what I am capable of as a human being, made in the image of God Himself.

As I mentioned in my March 2nd post, reading The Whole Language, by Gregory Boyle, has been transformational for me. One day I came across these words, spoken by the homie Raul: “I take myself to court every day…and every day…I find myself guilty.”1 And I cried. I sobbed. I could have written those words. I taste the pain they carry.

But what about this exchange? Victor, another homie who is discovering he is loved, says to Boyle (whom the homies call “G”), “Damn, G.—I’m in love and it feels proper.”

“Who ya in love with?” Boyle asks.

“Myself,” says Victor.2

And I wondered, could that be my experience? Dare I move from being on trial to being loved? I wrote in my journal:

I am not on trial. There is no standard I am being held to.

Previously, at times, I have felt some relief by adjusting the standard, but always it has been there, mocking me—jeering, prodding, torturing. I think it’s very much like being a prisoner of war, with perfectionism as my captor. No matter how I behaved, my captor tripped me and then laughed at me sprawled on the muddy ground; yet all the while telling me that if I just behaved better, things would be better for me. There was very little living as a POW.

But outside of camp I am not always afraid. I am treated with tenderness regardless of what I am experiencing. I am not watched, but I am seen. I am not becoming better, but I am healing.

God has been patient with me over the years as I have held Him at arms length with reasons He really didn’t love me—either because of me, or because of Him. I think, surely acceptance is tied to performance (haven’t my fellow human beings made this clear?). Surely God is not a masochist, eager to hang out with someone who is short-tempered and vindictive. I have been a wounded child, over-performing, because being loved is too good to be true.

But if I don’t love myself, God’s love stays “out there.” Every criticism I have of myself is a criticism I have of someone else. So when I learn to love myself, be playful with myself about my shortcomings, wink at my missteps, embrace myself when I have caused pain… can you imagine? Then I will do unto others as I have done unto myself.

My human experience tells me this: people don’t care about me unless I am performing well or operating on their agenda. And poor God, I slathered this mindset all over Him. I figured that since I was not performing well and was way off what I thought God’s agenda was, that He just didn’t care, didn’t have time or interest for me. I would have never put those words to it, but that’s the spiritual space I was living out of, whether I knew it or not. This had nothing to do with God, but with lies I believed about Him. The truth is, my performance was never on His radar, except for that afternoon on the cross when He took it from me and that resurrection morning when He replaced it with His life of perfection. It is His delight to remind me who I really am, to provide everything for me, and then to sit back and watch me enjoy being alive.

I’m reading a Bible study about parenting with the Holy Spirit, and I came across this: “The One who remains with us doesn’t need anything from us.”3 Wait, what? Wow. As a mother of young children, I find this exhilarating. I am needed, all day, every day, by everyone in my home. But God who dwells in me doesn’t need anything from me.

Jesus said it is better to give than to receive, yet we are confused that He is giving to us and not asking anything from us. Boyle writes, “God is only interested in lavishing us with extravagant tenderness, and yet we are convinced that God is thinking we all could just do a better job.”4

“Enter by the narrow gate,” Jesus said, “because wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to death and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and confined is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it.” (Matthew 7:13, 14). This is true not because God is not abundantly present, nor because it is hard to be good, but because it is hard to be loved. Love seems too good to be true, so we don’t believe it. We have settled for trying to be better, instead of being loved. But what riches, what broken-open extravagance, await those who receive frightening, crazy, juicy love, and who throw their arms wide open and love themselves.

What is God’s agenda? To love me. I have made this extremely difficult for Him. It is entirely my fault that there have been some necessary precursors to living loved: first, to take my eyes off my performance; and second, to rivet my gaze to His abundance. God who gives: His mind (1 Corinthians 2:16), His Spirit (John 14:16, 17), His resurrection power (Ephesians 1:19, 20), His faith (Revelation 14:12), His grace (Ephesians 4:7, NKJV), His love (1 John 4:19, NIV). He has given us every spiritual blessing, redemption, forgiveness, abundant grace, knowledge of the mystery of His will, an inheritance (see Ephesians 1:3-12), and so much more.

A God whose only agenda is to love me, and who has already redeemed me, does seem too good to be true. And here is where I sit with my back to God. I have come to Him, but I have not dared to look at Him. I have responded to His call, but I have come into His presence with my head down, holding in my hand a wrinkled picture of Him that Satan drew in the garden millennia ago. I know all too well that as long as I picture God holding a ruler instead of a rose—with an expression of disappointment instead of desire—I remain unchanged. But when I dare to let my guard down and look God in the face, for the first time I know who He is, and simultaneously who I am: His daughter. The devil’s drawing in my hand turns to dust as I look at God’s face and see compassion, welcome, belonging, tenderness, and joy.

Just as someone anxious for news looks into the face of their loved one, and without any words knows it is good news, and cries tears of relief; so I have looked into the face of God, known who I am, and cried tears of relief. The news is good. Death has ended in resurrection. Lies have been exposed and turned to dust. Slavery is over. Jesus is alive, and He has brought me with Him.

As I sit with God I can’t help but wonder, why now? Why didn’t I know I was loved when I read the Bible through at eight years old, or when I got baptized—also at eight years old, or when I prayer-journaled daily for 15 years, or when I was in ministry, or when I got married, or when I had babies? How could I spend all that time as a “Christian,” knowing that God doesn’t love as people love, but never truly knowing. This grieves me. I have interacted with myself and others from an identity of not-enough, which looks a lot like fear and anger. So I ask God, why this confused and bumbling journey? And He says, this journey has not been what you thought it would be, but you are what I wanted all along. I have always enjoyed being with you. That you are alive in the world delights me. I don’t need anything else.

It is in receiving the truth that I am loved, and that God doesn’t need anything from me, that I am finally able to give Him anything at all; that I sit down in His lap and know I belong.

Endnotes:
1Gregory Boyle, The Whole Language: The Power of Extravagant Tenderness (New York: Avid Reader Press, 2021), 32.
2Ibid., 28.
3 Jeannie Cunnion, Never Alone: Parenting in the Power of the Holy Spirit (Nashville: Lifeway Press, 2021), 28.
4Boyle, 9.

Growing Pains

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Have you noticed it is hard to be loved by God? It is the end of a long day, and I sit in the quiet of my daughters’ bedroom, tired in every way. Finally they are sleeping, and finally I take inventory of my cowering spirit. I let the discomfort and fear rise to my conscious mind and the falling tears are evidence of despair over my mediocrity. Sometimes I think it would feel better to fail epically than to struggle along day after day, doing what I need to do, but feeling purposeless; being possessed by a nagging ache that I could do so much better. I could be a better mom and wife and friend; a better housekeeper and cook and caretaker of pets.

As I sit in the quiet and feel the discomfort of my own existence, the whisper to my soul is one of love. “How do I go through the coming week?” I wonder. And God says, “Let me love you.” Even as my tears become tears of relief, I realize: being loved is hard too. I don’t know how to be loved. For 34 years I have believed that I must perform. This is so deeply a part of me that an identity based on being loved feels like insanity. I must be crazy. God must be crazy. What is going on? Is He sure He really loves me? Is He sure loving me and not fixing me this week is the best idea? At any rate, shouldn’t I earn His love by doing something good? Or shouldn’t the purpose of His love be to make me good?

And so I find before me a most difficult task this week. Not to become a better parent, or a better wife. Not to hold my tongue, or have a hot dinner ready at 5:30 every day. Not to make fancy after-school snacks and remember everything I need when I go to the store. Not to have the perfect ratio of social time and time at home. Not to always listen attentively to my children. Not to affirm my husband every day. Not to anticipate and care for the needs of my family, friends and community. My task is to be loved.

This is hard because I don’t really believe I am lovable – especially when I am performing so far below my own expectations. But if I am honest, I know in my spirit that love is exactly the right place to begin. Love is transforming. Love is a safe place to be when my own self is a minefield of lies and scoffing laughter at my attempts to be “good.” Love when I don’t deserve it is precisely what nudges me toward healing: what gives me permission to be broken, so that instead of fighting against myself I can embrace brokenness and know the first moments of healing.

God’s love is too good to be true. And haven’t I always been told, “If it’s too good to be true, it’s probably not true”? Well, this time it is too good to be true, but it is nevertheless true. God loves me. He really is crazy. And this really is good news. I can lay down this ungainly burden of must-get-everything-right, and breath some fresh grace-air deep into my bones, my spirit, my identity.

How does this all work? I’m not exactly sure. But maybe one tiny step is becoming aware of my allegiance. Dare I give more allegiance to the whispers of Love than to the well-worn paths of performing and earning? Could I choose to believe that I am loved, having done nothing to deserve it? Could I take one tiny step away from legalism and toward grace: away from starvation and toward abundance?

I learned from Dr. Caroline Leaf’s brain detox program how our thoughts occupy physical space in our minds. When we develop new thoughts they begin as little “bumps” in our brain, which then grow into “mushrooms” and then big healthy “trees,” simply because we think them over and over. Conversely, we can physically remove thoughts from our brain, reversing this process and deteriorating healthy “trees” down into “mushrooms,” then “bumps,” then nothing. Death.

Life or death. Choose this day whom you will serve (Joshua 24:15). This week, choosing to serve God looks like letting God love me, even though it makes no sense. Letting Him hold me after I belittle my children. Letting Him forgive me 100 times in one afternoon. Letting Him give me gifts I do not deserve. Letting Him withhold consequences I do deserve. Letting Him get a little crazy with me. Letting Him decide whether I am worthy, because He already decided on a cross a long time ago, when He was worthy for me so I don’t have to be worthy.