In the New Testament, there were so many mentions of being adopted into the family of God. Yet, all these generations of Christianity later, a person like me doesn't feel adopted. I feel like a descendant of Jesus. I was born under the name Jesus, I was raised talking to Him and praying to Him and never denying His name, His presence or His power. His dire warnings of the consequences of denying Him to his disciples are like a strange tale. In my Jesus saturated mind who could ever seriously deny His existence, preeminence, glory and holiness if they really searched their souls? Who? I make this all sound like its a gift, a special blessing. I suppose for my faith it is, but remember even the demons believe. I never connected to Jesus. I asked him into my heart a thousand times. I got baptized twice. I was a Christian. I loved the Lord so why did I go into a complete emotional tailspin starting sometime before my Dads diagnosis and finally ending in a fiery crash some months after his death. Complete with the crazy suicidal thoughts and fears of mental illness? Where was my God, my faith, my truth? I was sinking so fast and it felt like all around me people with life preservers were running away as fast as they could without a backward glance. All of this happened for a reason. I had pride. I was arrogant, righteous and prideful. I had gangrene right up to my knee bones so that's where God cut me off. He lopped those unfruitful prideful feet right off and I screamed and screamed and screamed. Then I finally stopped screaming for life preservers and asked God why I was swimming with no feet. He told me it all had to happen so he could make me a disciple. So I applied myself to that. I read the gospels as a disciple. I saw things, like how harshly Jesus chided them, calling them fools. I grappled and finally realized he was just cutting them down to size so they really knew who was in charge and how to model humility. Peter of course had the hardest time and opened himself up to all kinds of cutting down. He is always always the one who inspires me to keep on trudging. He never gave up. He was impetuous like me, prideful like me, spoke too quickly like me and yet Jesus knew what he could do with Peter, all he needed was to cut off his gangrenous ankles and so he did. Do you ever wonder why Peter didn't write a gospel? I would speculate that maybe Jesus didn't ask it of him after all He had gone through to become humble. Maybe He said "enough, Peter gets it, let's not have him relive that miserable process, the other disciples can tell it well enough."
After I saturated myself in the gospels and pulled myself into the safety of Jesus, he became someone different to me. He was my friend. And so, at some point Jesus came into my heart. And then I was no longer Peter the parrot saying yes I love you Lord, yes I love you Lord, yes I love you Lord. I was the broken humbled Peter listening to the damn rooster crowing and crowing and finally accepting grace I desperately needed.
After that it was a domino effect of God moving people and information into my life as needed. First he led me to join a codependent support group disguised as a Bible Study. I literally didn't even know what codependency was. I thought it was people who attach themselves to you like a leach and never leave you alone no matter how hard you try to give them a clue. I bought "The New Codependency" read it cover to cover, and felt faint, I hadn't known there was a name for one of my problems. I decided not to continue going to the group with my grief and codependency and terrible insane thoughts. It seemed like a bad idea, me controlling the group and talking too much and doling out cheap unwanted advice. I quietly never returned to the group that changed my life. I reached out instead to a friend who does healing prayer, I knew the Holy Spirit was leading me to. We met and I had wonderful healing. We met again and again, more and more healing. I had/have a lot of Satans lies torturing me. It was the most powerful experiences of my life. I let go of so much pain. I began to learn to offer to pray for the Holy Spirit to direct my friends when they had struggles instead of inserting my bogus advice that wasn't worth a penny. It was only through my immense failures that I was able to accept who the Holy Spirit is and how to access him. Prior to this, I spent hours doling out advice and asking for it from every listening ear. Now, I'm reading "Boundaries". I grit my teeth every time I turn the page but I understand. I drive Jody and Jenn crazy as I painstakingly piece together what should be so obvious and then say Aha! I'm not proud of my journey or ashamed. I just accept it. Healing is slow, it took a long time to get to a desperate point and it might take a long time to come out of it. God can heal you of anything. Read the story of Mary Magdelane and you might agree.
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