Back on campus for nearly a week, now. Almost feels like summer break never happened...
–
I've been reading Francis Chan's Crazy
Love for the past couple days. My uni schedule this semester
allows for at least half an hour or an hour of reading between
breakfast and my first class, most days of the week. This book has
been rocking me -- I would make notes all over the pages if it was my
own copy, but as it happens, I am borrowing it from a friend. So
sticky notes will have to do.
This book has also been a seriously disrupting wake-up call, to the extent that it forces me to face what I know has been wrong for a long time. If you haven't read the book already, Chan devotes an entire chapter to describing the "lukewarm" Christian. The one who goes to church once in a while, does "Christian" things, and will say they believe in Jesus, but then don't follow through with the endlessly chasing after Him and loving Him completely, like you would if you really did believe in Jesus and what His crucifixion means.
I have been a lukewarm Christian, and I have been so for a long, long time.
I knew it when I stopped getting so many prophetic images in my head. The past winter, I was practically on fire with them, when I worshiped and when I had intimate conversations with people. But then it started to peter off, and I can think of many reasons why that might have happened.
1 - Uncomfortable truths about my relationship with my ex-boyfriend, and the aftermath, were being dragged into the light. It's a first-world problem, but I've had not really good luck in the romantic relationship department, and it's really hard for me to have a charitable view of any man outside my circle. The break-up itself wasn't that explosive, but the months following just about ruined me. I had buried it as best I could, but erosion brought it all up again.
2 - At the same time as this, I was reeling from attacks of anxiety about the future, in multiple dimensions. I don't know if it was some bizarre way of the "2012" culture getting to me, but I couldn't go one day without thinking "What if--?"
3 - I've been growing more distant from my parents since I've started living on campus for college. When I go home for summer, I don't feel so close to them. I still have talks with Dad, but I can rarely have a conversation with Mom anymore without inadvertently saying something that raises her hackles at me. My love for my parents doesn't feel so desperate anymore, and that's cooled love I felt anywhere else -- including for God.
My job is to love God, and to love others, and I haven't been doing much of either.
If love is supposed to be like a river, then I feel like my love is a river that's been dammed. And it hurts, sometimes. And I'm the one who's keeping it there.
I judge. I'm selfish. I'm self-centered. I hold grudges to a person's face even if I say in my solitude that I've forgiven them.
I project things onto myself that probably aren't true. I purposefully exclude myself. I come up with reasons that someone in particular might not want me around. They have homework; they have work work; they have other friends they'd rather hang out with; they have a boyfriend or girlfriend they haven't spent time with in ages; I'm not their best friend, and they'd rather hang out with their best friend.
This book has also been a seriously disrupting wake-up call, to the extent that it forces me to face what I know has been wrong for a long time. If you haven't read the book already, Chan devotes an entire chapter to describing the "lukewarm" Christian. The one who goes to church once in a while, does "Christian" things, and will say they believe in Jesus, but then don't follow through with the endlessly chasing after Him and loving Him completely, like you would if you really did believe in Jesus and what His crucifixion means.
I have been a lukewarm Christian, and I have been so for a long, long time.
I knew it when I stopped getting so many prophetic images in my head. The past winter, I was practically on fire with them, when I worshiped and when I had intimate conversations with people. But then it started to peter off, and I can think of many reasons why that might have happened.
1 - Uncomfortable truths about my relationship with my ex-boyfriend, and the aftermath, were being dragged into the light. It's a first-world problem, but I've had not really good luck in the romantic relationship department, and it's really hard for me to have a charitable view of any man outside my circle. The break-up itself wasn't that explosive, but the months following just about ruined me. I had buried it as best I could, but erosion brought it all up again.
2 - At the same time as this, I was reeling from attacks of anxiety about the future, in multiple dimensions. I don't know if it was some bizarre way of the "2012" culture getting to me, but I couldn't go one day without thinking "What if--?"
3 - I've been growing more distant from my parents since I've started living on campus for college. When I go home for summer, I don't feel so close to them. I still have talks with Dad, but I can rarely have a conversation with Mom anymore without inadvertently saying something that raises her hackles at me. My love for my parents doesn't feel so desperate anymore, and that's cooled love I felt anywhere else -- including for God.
My job is to love God, and to love others, and I haven't been doing much of either.
If love is supposed to be like a river, then I feel like my love is a river that's been dammed. And it hurts, sometimes. And I'm the one who's keeping it there.
I judge. I'm selfish. I'm self-centered. I hold grudges to a person's face even if I say in my solitude that I've forgiven them.
I project things onto myself that probably aren't true. I purposefully exclude myself. I come up with reasons that someone in particular might not want me around. They have homework; they have work work; they have other friends they'd rather hang out with; they have a boyfriend or girlfriend they haven't spent time with in ages; I'm not their best friend, and they'd rather hang out with their best friend.
I
don't tell myself I don't contribute anything once another friend
takes over the conversation. I feel like I have no influence, without
nagging or guilt-tripping someone for ignoring me. I don't want to
bother anyone.
I
resign myself to solitude. But I don't want to live my life alone.
–
Jesus
didn't do that. He knew whether anyone really
wanted Him around, but He never let that stop Him from doing what He
wanted. He would have presence whether it was a "good time"
or not. His love never paused, stopped, or ran out.
–
So how
do I break that dam across my heart?
I know
I need to take this to God. But I don't, because I'm scared of what I
might find out, and that fear always holds me back. I am meant to
fear God as I love Him – but I do not love Him as I am meant to,
which is fully, completely, essentially; so I don't fear Him as the
One who can take my life with my next breath.
Instead,
I fear the repercussions of the secular world. I fear what might
happen if I stop taking refuge in what I have to concern myself with
– school, money, finding a job – and run head-first into Him. I
know that the Bible says He will cover me in a all ways. But I don't
believe that in my heart. I have faith that He will carry me through,
but not enough faith to let go of the ground.
Even
now, I'm seeking distractions from this important reflection because
I'm scared of the tears that I know will come out of the
uncomfortable truths. I'm not scared enough of what will happen if I
don't give everything
up for Him. Why, when I know and have seen what happens in the lives
of those who devote their very existence to worshiping and following
Jesus?
I
would ask for prayers, but my heart doesn't believe they can do
anything. And this is a huge problem that definitely needs some
prayer.
