I don’t fully comprehend the next point in One Thousand Giftshttp://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=m0bdd-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=0310321913&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr. I can see it on the page like the word gravity.
I know what it means, that it exists, that it’s true but I can’t touch it.
Charis. Eucharisteo. Chara.
Grace. Thanksgiving. Joy.
Another step towards a fuller life in Christ is ironed out, nailed down as gratitude for salvation, for life, for breathe, for everything.
And then the tearing.
Everything? I am not grateful for everything. I want to be. I want my hand to be open to God but I don’t understand. Even as I write this I am not sure how to explain the struggle. My dilemma is not a new one but it is one I think many face in a crisis of faith.
The plot thickens and the cast is set. Tiny girl, perfectly and wonderfully made, abandoned in a lion’s den. A God who created the world, stopped time for a man in the Bible but could not see his way clear to preventing a cataclysmic, dark pattern of abuse from continuing. The same God gives tiny girl, now grown woman, salvation, shelter through good, faithful women and pretty much every good and perfect thing.
Which part am I supposed to be grateful for? Is my gratitude for the salvation after the fact? If that is true, do I ignore the horrible pains of the past? Is the God who is accountable for all of the good not indeed on the hook for allowing the bad? Or is he granted pardon because we chose the fruit? Should I be grateful that he respected my father’s free will or that he respects my own free will as I struggle through these questions?
This is my book of lamentations.
This is the in between that Voskamp describes;
It’s the life in between, the days of walking lifeless, the years calloused and simply going through the hollow motions, the self-protecting by self distracting, the body never waking, that’s lost all capacity to fully feel – this is the life in between that makes us the wild walking dead.
Is she living in my closet?
I am not blind. All of these questions revolve around a common theme. I have not died to myself and it is a painful admission. I want to know why. I demand from the creator of the world an explanation as to why He thought if fit for a tiny girl to live in a lion’s den? You have some splainin’ to do.
Is that true? Or am I selfish to think, that living in a world where man chose the consequences of sin, that I deserved special treatment? If I deserved special treatment, then what of the tiny lion’s den dwelling girls living in the Red Light District of India or the brothels in Cambodia or the prostitution rings in the United States. Where is their special treatment while I am demanding my hall pass. Why don’t they also get to check the opt out box?
If I could stop time for them I would.
I cannot ignore the graces but for every grace there is a pain to match it. For every pain there is a grace to match it.
Do you see my conundrum? Do you see the heavenly perspective and the human perspective clashing like cymbals over my head.
All those years thinking I was saved and had said my yes to God, but was really living the no.
No. But if I say no, I say no to it all. I say no to his grace, to his peace, to his healing, to his faithfulness.
I say yes, to the tiny bird cave in my heart, created by a God who intended for me to survive. I say yes, to the women who, throughout time and challenge, have been standing at my crossroads with the hand that says this way to the light. I say yes, to living the life he intended me to, fully and completely alive.
Yes. But if I say yes, I say yes to it all.
That terrifies me.
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