Remember these days
As if they were your own
Because you and I both know
We are merely living on borrowed time…
I’d like to think that I’m a decent person--you know, a kind and likeable person. You might even feel the same way about yourself.
It’s so interesting how we view ourselves, right?
I mean, have you thought about yourself lately? What is the first word that comes to mind, when you describe yourself?
Really. You should take a second to answer that.
I’ll wait.
photo credit: evan kaufmann
For me, the first word that comes to mind is kind.
Is that weird to say? I mean, I hope I am…Most of the time? Well, I’ve been told I am.... on occasion. And I truly do love being kind to people, its one of my most favorite things. (Especially being kind to mean people. Something about it just gets me goin’)
But just like when I’m driving in a car and I can’t see the big Jeep driving next to me, because it’s in my blind spot—(completely unaware, until I actually look in my blind spot) -- I’m afraid I’ve come upon some additional blind spots in my own heart and character.
So now I’m questioning a few things.
It’s so easy to get into a dialogue of how Susie Q. and Johnny J. are to blame for our distress and how these two are horrible and incompetent human beings, without realizing you just glossed over your own blind spot to say such a barren sentence.
Yes. Your childhood is showing.
I’ve encountered a slew of influential people in these past two months. People that I’ve laughed with, wept over, trembled in their presence, felt the most peace I’ve ever felt, and folks that I could throw a hot brick at and feel no remorse whatsoever.
It’s been a long time since I felt rage.
Actions are often a mask or a bullhorn to the internal battle raging inside of us.
And I’ve seen rage.
I’ve tasted it.
Of course, being a teenage girl and living through the tumult of hormones and learning with great attention to detail that life isn’t always fair, helped to fuel my rage in my early years.
It was just below the surface. Just enough to make my kindness shallow and religious.
But then, when rage remains unchecked--seen only by the secrets we hold, it begins to eat away at our souls and our bodies ever so slowly.
Yes, I had inner rage.
I think that’s why I made a decent youth pastor later on in life. Or at least an honest one.
I was able to understand with heartfelt clarity, teenage angst.
The battle lies within the incongruence of wanting to be heard, but too shy or ashamed to speak. Wanting to be held like a child, but told to understand life like an adult. And wanting to deal with demons, but too afraid to find out if they truly exist.
All the while, not realizing there is already someone that wants to jump into the fire with us.
And isn’t that what we all want.
Contact.
Someone to reach out and touch us.
To confirm to our hearts that we are not lepers.
That we -- in all our ugly -- are not destined to be alone.
Something of a surrender happened to me around age 19.
It wasn’t a lightning experience necessarily.
But rather a series of thunderstorms and sweet peace.
And there, in that place, I put all my weapons of mass destruction down.
Someone got into the fire with me.
Thank you, Jesus.
The ways of Love continually show us that actions will always speak with more weight than the words we try to convince people of.
Sometimes an apology is not enough; sometimes we actually need to change.
In a day and age where people are rarely what they present themselves to be, I find myself questioning my own intents and motives.
I can try and second-guess all day long, your heart’s true intents and motives in life and towards me, but in truth, I won’t know with the same type of clarity as I do my own heart.
And that is where faith and love come in, ever so fiercely.
God alone sees and knows the true intent and motives of the heart.
So this is a heart matter.
This is my heart matter.
This is our heart matter.
And I’ve learned over the years, there’s variety of ways in which anger and rage beset us--which can almost always be attributed to deep wounds of pain, hurt, or loss.
And whether you are the “feel and deal” type or the “great suppressor”, you, at some point in your breathing life, will come face to face with yourself in the Great Mirror and will need to give an honest account of who you are and what you’ve done in the context of your own life and within the relationships you were granted for your time here.
In my thunderous surrender of sorts, I also realized that no one else is responsible for my happiness and my joy. Not to say that I don’t experience a sense of defeat and frustration at times, but those moments no longer get to define me, or my behavior, or my relationships.
There’s no need or desire to live a fragmented life.
Someone has already gotten into the fire with me.
I know it. And I feel it.
Sometimes our hearts need to be heard and our blinds spots need to be seen.
I’m letting my rage go.
It’s time to release that thing.
It’s time to get free.
Grace and gentleness have been given to you and I.
Use such tender mercies wisely. Find shelter for your soul. And allow love in.
I promise—there’s one that’s not afraid to get into the fire with you.
Wisdom’s Knocking:
Honey load up your questions
And pick up your sticks and your stones
And pretend I'm a shelter for heartaches
That don't have a home
Choose the words that cut like a razor
And all that I'll say
Is fire away
Take your best shot
Show me what you got
Honey, I'm not afraid
Rear back and take aim
And fire away
-Chris Stapleton, “Fire Away”