sober living

I watched a movie that had been rated with only 3 stars on Netflix so my expectations were fairly low. I can't say I liked it, but it stuck with me. It was one of those examples of how incredibly hard life is - and the things we do to try and get from day to day. 

Sandra Bullock starred in 28 Days (2000) and portrayed an alcoholic, drug-abusing life-of-the-party. Rather than be sent to jail for destroying a private residence while under the influence, she checks into rehab and proceeds to break every rule in the book. 

What struck me the most were the rehab inhabitants' stories. Whether it was pills, booze, sex, or something else - they had each found something to "manage" through life. A voiceover of Sandra Bullock's drug counselor stated in his own testimonial as a recovered drug addict that if people only knew how hard it was for them to get through life sober, they wouldn't let them - they would willingly hand them more pills or more alcohol or more whatever it is. If they only knew how painful it was to be sober.

I looked at these fictitious accounts and realized that God looks at us and knows how hard it is. Life. And we try so, so hard to just get through it. We might have a traumatic past. An abusive relationship. A mind-numbing job. Chronic pain. Debt. A hopeless future.

I don't want to feel this so I won't. Life pain outweighs any other type of pain.

What brave souls to choose a sober life when it seems so much easier to be numb to it all. Isn't this situation the definition of the fall? We were meant to enjoy life abundantly. Instead, life becomes a grotesque perversion. Unhealthy relationships, misordered loves. Whatever it may be. We look at the mess and we have a choice - engage it or don't. 

I think Jesus looks at those rehab inhabitants (and really, all of us) with such love and compassion. He wants us to take all the sh*t and say, "Jesus, this is too much for me. Please take it."

He doesn't give us pills to numb us. Or a boyfriend/girlfriend to fill the void. He gives us himself - his entire self because he knows how painful life is. He knows we can't do it alone. He wants to walk with us.

*spoiler alert*

The movie ends with Sandra Bullock taking one brave step towards daily living while sober. There are no fireworks, no public citations of courage. She breaks ties with her drug-abusing fiancee. She is walking through the city when she sees a former rehab friend. They laugh together, they cry together. We weren't meant to do this alone.  

asking Jesus into your heart: then and now

When I was four years old, I sat in a circle on a rough carpet. The Sunday school teacher asked us if anyone wanted to ask Jesus into their heart. I joined the collective prayer. To me, Jesus seemed like this authoritative, distant figure who somehow knew us really well, too. If asking Jesus "into my heart" was what I was supposed to do then I would oblige. I didn't feel like I had to otherwise I'd receive an unknown punishment, but instead - it felt like it was the appropriate thing to do.

When I was seven, I remember looking at my ceiling in the dark, hands folded and beseeching the Lord into my heart. A deep-seated fear had begun to grow in my little mind that maybe the first time around hadn't "stuck." Maybe Jesus hadn't heard me. Maybe it needed to become a repetitious declaration in order to have meaning. I never felt a sense of satisfaction in my contrite beseeching, but it seemed better than ignoring the gnawing feeling.

I grew up. The nightly ritual of asking the Lord to come into my heart was long gone, but it was replaced with a sense of unworthiness. Instead of coming to the Lord with open, dirty hands and heart, I would hide. I would show half my face thinking that was good enough. I gave him permission into certain areas, but only so far. We'd sit in the formal waiting room and sip our tea in silence. Once in the darkness, I would mourn my dissatisfaction. My loneliness. My hopelessness. My disdain. 

I'm no longer that little girl in a floral church dress. Or a floundering high school or college student. Or even a recent college graduate. I'm learning to extend my trembling hands in offering to the Lord. I'm asking him again into my heart. My heart that's been diminished within an inch of its life. Offered to false gods. Frozen into unfeeling and fear. 

God, please once again come into my heart and make it come alive. Healed of its diseases. Satisfied with the goodness of purity and your presence. Jesus, I didn't know this when I was four. Asking you to come into my heart was a one time thing. But asking you to dwell there is not. I don't want it to be an obligation out of fear. It's an invitation out of love. Because you don't barge into a closed door in anger and vindictiveness. 

I ask you, Lord Jesus, to come into my heart into those places that are hopeless and beyond my knowing. I didn't know that the simple words as a child would become the words I'd utter in my most vulnerable, dark moments.  

Jesus, come into my heart. I believe you are who you said you are. 

weary

I don't even realize it's happening 99% of the time. I know after the fact. When I'm exhausted and weary. When I feel like a stage performer who's had two encores. 

The inauthenticity is burdensome and draining. 

I've been laboring and trying so hard to keep up an appearance of acceptability. It's been happening for so long that I wonder what is the charade. 

In the silence and solitude, I want to extract the memories of times I tried too hard. I labored too hard to be something I wasn't. More funny. More sociable. More smiling. 

I want to take those memories and replace them with grace. With rest. With the comfort of knowing that I only have to be myself. 

Do you feel like you're laboring? Like me, do you willingly step onto a treadmill at a speed that's too fast and now, you don't know how to step off of it? 

Come to me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. - Jesus

to have courage

Gratuitous love of Harry Potter post:

You've been warned. To expound though, I love Harry Potter (not getting a Harry Potter inspired tattoo-level love) like I love other epic sagas.

The aspect of stories that draws me in like a moth to flame is the "little guy", the seemingly harmless character drawing courage from somewhere deep inside and then, makes a difference.

In Harry Potter, it's the character Neville Longbottom.

He's a sub-par student, wizard, and overall buffoon.

Not to spoil anything, but he does make a difference.

He knows how he comes across to others. But deep inside, he also knows that he has the strength to stand up for something good. But it's been stuffed into the part that seems too good to be true.

Isn't that the dream? But we're afraid of ourselves. We've been told we're not talented enough. We compare ourselves. I'll slink back and wait.

But there's also that moment when you have to stop watching and act. You have to remember that you, too have courage. Open your mouth and speak the words of life in a lifeless situation. Do something good.

Most people relate to that guy in one way or another. The Neville Longbottoms of this world. There's so many of them. But when they finally realize the caliber of their own being, everything changes.

the greatest of these is love

I sat near the end of a pew in an old church. The rolling hills of Pennsylvania stretched outside the windows underneath multi-colored stained glass. The overhead fans churned up cooler air as we fanned ourselves with paper ones like tent revival participants.   

The preacher stood and greeted us. It would be a homily like the 46 others I'd listened to before. His words were light, but delivered enough solemnity that was appropriate for the occasion. Two people entered this building, but something miraculous would happen. They would pledge their lives to one another and that is something to leave us in awe. Two would become one.

What would possess this declaration? 

Love. 

The reader spoke the words of 1 Corinthians. The passage has been used in ceremonies around the globe; its words varying in its potency. For the first time in a long time, I really listened.

Love is patient. Kind. Isn't Proud. Not self-seeking. Always hopes. Always perseveres. Love never fails.

What else can be described this way? And moreover, is it really possible for something like that to exist?

I was embarrassed by my initial, jaded reception of this - this truth. Its words brought something dormant back to life. Weddings have become overblown events with more focus on floral arrangements or the variety of songs on the playlist. They're monumental crazy-makers. But love. It's uncomplicated in my world that becomes overly complicated.

Love is unconditional. It's what I'm trying to pray for each morning with outstretched arms. Jesus, I pray for your love that's unconditional. 

This kind of love doesn't hurt us. It doesn't leave us feeling hollow or lacking. It cuts through the pain and the hurt and the shame. And it never fails if we just let it permeate into our boarded up, wounded lives. Lord, let your love do something in my heart. Help me to not cling to the things - anything - around me in which I try to find acceptance, validation, love. Help me to love because you love me. 

The newly pronounced man and wife beamed as they were presented. Their faces were glowing and the only word I could use to describe the moment is love. 

Their love will have that complicated hurt that comes with being in a fallen world. But what a beautiful thing to come as close as a human can to the kind of love Christ has for us this side of heaven. 

I pray for this kind of love for all of us. A love with a source that is all of these things: ever hopeful. Kind. Patient. Never failing.

We left the ceremony for the reception. It was located on their family's farm and the expansive view of greenery was overwhelming. We danced under stars and strung lights. We celebrated their love.