A Struggle of Life and Death

I've heard a lot of people say, "When life hands me lemons, I make lemonade."  I know what they mean - I should have a positive attitude on life no matter what happens.  A tired cliche, excellent bravado, and very hard to live up to.  When I find myself in a deep pit and locked in mortal combat for my very sanity, the last thing on my mind is looking for sugar.  It seems like the world and everything in it is trying to bury me alive, and I have a crushing weight on my soul and I cannot stand or even call out for help. No, these are not the words I need to hear.  I need a shoulder to lean on, a bear hug, a listening ear that will let me vent and not judge me no matter what I say or how I say it, a word of love, of hope, of Grace.

Not too long ago I believed my inner pain was always something only between me and God. And when one has been taught that God is wrathful, vengeful, and jealous, such as I learned to view God after leaving home, God became something of a tyrant.  I began seeing myself as not being adequate, not just in my relationship with God but with those around me.  I began to believe the negatives I heard preached.  I must not be relying on God enough. I must not be praying enough.  I must not be reading my Bible enough.  I must not be tithing enough.  I must be really bad because I really like the "wrong" music.  Maybe God put me on a shelf and I am supposed to sit here in my pain until I have suffered enough to purge me of whatever I am to be purged of so that He will be willing to try using me.  Everything bad that happens to me and my loved ones is God's punishment on me.  Even my sister's death became God telling me how displeased He was with me. 

Therefore, I experienced rejection, despair, anguish, emptiness, and loneliness.  I resigned myself to my fate, and I bore my burden in silence.  Self-loathing became the norm, and the less time I spent with myself, the better.  So, I filled my time with distracting pursuits.  I devoured fantasy novels.  I played fantasy RPG computer games.  I dove headlong into Dungeons & Dragons.  Anything where I could be someone else for a period of time.  All my thought was bent on escaping reality. I hated who and what I was.  And secretly, where no one else could ever know, locked in a closet in a windowless room, (whispering) I hated God.

The pious say in their lofty tones "If all I have is God, then it is enough."  This may very well be true, but if all I had was the God I thought I had, then shove it.  It is NOT enough.  I wanted more, but I knew I could never have it.  Reprobate children such as myself never would get a smile from God.  Only a stern look.  My only hope became that one day, all of this would be over.  I knew I was going to Heaven, but I dared not ever hope for a "Well done, My good and faithful servant."  Oh no.  I was getting to Heaven, but I would have no crowns, no reward.  I would be standing on the outskirts of Heaven's throng where other rebels were who had their sins forgiven but wasted their life displeasing God.  My room in God's House would be a broom closet, if I was even that lucky.  Maybe a corner in the boiler room deep in the basement, or even a lean-to by the back gate.  I'd be wearing white but it would just be a plain gown.  Certainly no robe or sandals. 

And that is when suicide started looking like a viable option.  If I am not going to amount to anything, and I am going to Heaven anyway, and I'm not going to be getting any rewards, why not just end it now and get it over with?  Why continue in pain when there is nothing to live for?  Even after getting married I still struggled with it.  I knew how to stage a suicide and make it look like an accident.  I drove a truck. You know, hazards of the trade.  My wife would have a pile of money, so there would be nothing to worry about in that regard. 

Some would call suicide the ultimate expression of pride, utter selfishness, and the epitome of cowardice.  It can be, but I believe that in the majority of cases, I would call suicide the final act of a truly desperate and hurting soul. 

The truly desperate and hurting soul, if he survives suicidal thoughts, can go mad.  I know.  I fought off madness on more than two occasions.  Both times, as I was going down the road in my semi, I felt madness trying to overtake me.  As clear as day I saw before me a deep chasm, and voices were telling me to leap into the void.  It would have been so easy.  All I had to do was let go, to step off the ledge, and I would fall, fall, fall into sweet oblivion.  Madness would numb the pain.  The pain would feed the madness.  Madness would grow stronger and numb more pain, and the cycle would continue until the essence of what I was ceased to be.  It would amount to psychological suicide, for I saw it clearly as a choice.

Why, I do not know, but God allowed me to stave off madness and live.  And when God broke the chains of the Occult, for the first time that I can remember I had hope.  God cared enough to free me from this bondage.  It was only a sliver of one, but I had hope.  Nothing more than a match in a deep cavern, but brilliant to my dark and hopeless eyes.  Real HOPE.  Madness never more came to my door, and suicide left my thoughts as a viable course of action. I knew God cared.

At HeartChange, I finally met God.  I discovered that He had been trying to introduce Himself all along, but the spiritual environment I was in prevented Him from reaching me.  I discovered that He wasn't a tyrant.  I discovered that He paid my sin-debt because He wanted to, not because He felt obligated to.  I discovered that I wasn't good enough, that I could never be good enough, and that was OK.  He knew that going into the deal.  I discovered that He loves me more than I can ever possibly know or understand.  I discovered that He wants my company, that He is laughing and saying like the Ghost of Christmas Present: "Come, and know me better, man!"  And like Dickens' spirit, He has surrounded Himself with good things He wants me to have.  He presented to me the Cup of Divine Kindness and bade me drink my fill.  And I discovered that while my eyes were on Him,  I was being broken and unmade.

Tonight, I read on Face Book about some pain a friend of mine has.  I wrote her a public reply, and I will share that reply with you, my readers.  One of her friends commented that my friend was amazing, and then my friend denied it, saying that she is only a broken soul resting in God's Truth.  I have learned much since HeartChange, and it boils down to the following.  Here now is my reply:

"It is the broken soul resting in God's Truth that is refreshing to others. It is what draws us to you, like a butterfly to sweet nectar. The Water of Life pours forth out of those fractures that you find so painful and helps bring healing and rest to others that are suffering. God has to keep pouring His Grace into you because it continuously runs out from you to those in need. Your pain, our pain, though not pleasant, is part of God's indescribable work of Grace. Yes, we will all be healed in time, but while we heal God uses us to bring hope to the hopeless, healing to the broken, love to the unloved, and rest to the weary. We hurt, and through our hurt others come to see God.

"Our Beloved Himself endured great pain and anguish, both of the body and of the soul. He was broken so that we could be healed. He was rejected so that we could experience His love. He suffered exhaustion so that we could rest. He died so that we could live. He rose so that we could be conquerors.

"I know you do not see yourself as amazing. You are a sinner, saved by Grace, like the rest of us. What is amazing is the sweet work that God is doing in your soul. It is that work of Grace that mesmerizes and draws."

My friends, my beloved sisters and brothers, never forget that you are deeply loved of God.