Playing Dress-Up
Ever since I was a little girl, I have dressed up for church on Sundays. I think the first time I ever wore pants was just a year or two ago. It was snowy outside, however, and pants and flats seemed like a more intelligent option than a skirt and heels. This felt so strange to me, wearing pants to church. The church I’m a part of is quite casual, so even though most people are always in pants, I felt so dressed-down.
For anyone raised in church, there is this idea that we must dress up for it. There is this idea that an effort must be made. We don’t have to bring out our finest clothing, but most do dress up for a Sunday service more than they would during any day of the week.
I think that perhaps this idea of dressing up for church has gone beyond just clothes. I know for me it has. Not only have I felt the need to look my best on the outside everytime I step through the sanctuary doors, I have also felt the need to look my best on the inside. I have spent so much of my relationship with Christ feeling unworthy and dirty.
I felt both feelings strongly recently. In so many cases, my heart has grown so calloused to certain sins but recently I actually felt the weight of my wrongs. I felt gross. I felt undesirable. I felt as if anyone with any personal value would wash their hands of me. Usually when I feel like this, I make an attempt to fix the problem. I analyze it, I might even talk about it, or I write about it. A few days pass and suddenly I feel better. But this time, I went to Jesus and told Him that I was ugly and dirty and covered in shame. My prayer made little sense; it was really just mumbled words. But I believe that God would take a honest mumble over a grandiose speech any day.
I didn’t immediately feel the relief of forgiveness or the freeing release that mercy brings with it. I woke up this morning still feeling restless, like even though I was forgiven, I was somehow not loved in the same way.
A couple of months ago, a dear friend of mine was talking with me and told me she had something she needed to talk to me about. I knew something was going on with her, but I didn’t know what. She had seemed stressed and tired, very different from her usually sunny personality. She called me on a Thursday and we agreed to meet for ice cream later that night. I went to meet her and when I got there, I could see how nervous she was. It took her several tries and eventually she told me she was pregnant. Her wedding was in June and she told me this news in April. She felt ashamed that she had given in to temptation and confessed to me her fear that I might not be able to forgive her. I was surprised at her pregnancy, but I felt even more shock that this friend of mine ever thought for a second that I would stop loving her because of it. I told her there was nothing she could ever do to make me not love her, no crime too severe or sin too harsh. I meant that and hugged her, rubbing her belly and saying hello to her precious baby girl.
I was thinking about this the other day and suddenly it hit me: My love is shaky and human, trapped in bonds of mortality. Even still, there is nothing any of my friends could do that could kill that love. I might be disappointed in them or hurt because of their actions, but nothing would take my love away. So how foolish of me to presume that Christ, who is love incarnate, could ever stop loving me, His chosen bride, because of my sins.
When I sin and come to God, filthy and burdened, it is not a chance for Him to scold me and push me away; it is a chance for Him to pick me up, a chance for His glory and amazing redemption to shine through my stains and brokenness.
For so many years now, I have been trying to get clean before enterting the presence of God. I have been “dressing up” every Sunday, trying to make myself presentable before the Almighty. But I didn’t realize that by doing this, I was only making myself more and more dirty. I am not able to cleanse myself because I live in a fallen world and I own fallen hands. But Jesus promises that those who come to Him might have life and have it to the full, that they will not know condemnation but His eternal love.
I went to Starbucks this morning and was sitting in a chair reading through some Scripture before I went to work. I wanted to read something showcasing the love of God so I turned to the book of Hosea, which contains one of the most beautiful portraits of love. Here is the section that struck me most in my reading:
“Therefore, behold, I will allure her, will bring her into the wilderness and speak comfort to her. I will give her her vineyards from there, and the Valley of Achor as a door of hope; she shall sing there, as in the days of her youth, as in the day when she came up from the land of Egypt. And it shall be, in that day,” Says the LORD, “ That you will call Me ‘My Husband,’ and no longer call Me ‘My Master.’”
I have always thought of God as Father rather than husband. Fathers love their children because they are simply their children. Fathers do not choose their children; they just are. But husbands choose their brides. Husbands puruse their brides. They romance them and woo them and invite them into a wonderful journey of love. A father’s love often comes automatically, but love from a husband takes time.
Thinking of God as a husband makes me feel like I haven’t in a long time. I feel beautiful and captivating to Him. I feel secure in His devotion to me. I feel free for the first time in so long. No longer must I come before Him bearing my penance. Instead, I must come as a wife might come to her beloved, confident in His love and in His acceptance, ready and willing to be vulnerable, to show Him all the hidden places so that He might come inside and heal them. I must come ready to take off the dress.
A Dozen Papercuts
It’s the quiet night that breaks me
I cannot stand the sight of this familiar place
It’s the quiet night that breaks me
Like a dozen papercuts that only I can trace
I read a quote somewhere that said something like before anyone can be used by God, they must first be broken. It all sounds very nice and religious, but as I think about it more I find it somewhat strange. I wonder if, like a parent, it hurts God to break those He has chosen. I wonder if it’s hard for Him to let a friend be lost, a love betrayed, a hope stepped upon. I wonder if it is any easier for Him because He sees the big picture, the finished tapestry instead of the chaotic threads. I wonder if He feels our loneliness while we’re in the midst of it, if He feels the sting of our wounds.
All my books are lying useless now
All my maps will only show me how to lose my way
It’s often strange where I turn when I feel I need answers. I will search everywhere before turning to God and simply asking for wisdom or direction or strength or faith. And that prayer is not some poignant, eloquent speech; instead, it is muttered and confusing and drips of weariness. You’d think I’d have learned a thing or two by now. As much as I hate it when people reduce the Gospel into a three-step plan for betterment, I want that. I want it to be easy. I want to followed the steps and have my life better and become more joyful, etc. But the Gospel is challenging and difficult and so full of wonder that my small, small mind can hardly ever take its truth in.
Oh, call my name
You know my name
And in that sound, everything will change
Tell me it won’t always be this hard
I am nothing without you
But I don’t know who you are
Last week in Sunday school, we talked about the difference between knowing and understanding. We all went around and shared the things we feel we know in our heads, but have a difficult time understanding or accepting. I shared that I cannot wrap my mind around the fact that God demands nothing from us. So often, I feel unworthy to come before Him. I attempt to clean myself up before I approach Him, not understanding that my attemepts to beautify myself only make me more dirty. I will never be worthy, yet I still fight for it. I do not understand a love that empties out like oil on the heads of rebellious children who are not only blind to that love, but who, when they do see it, spit all over it.
It’s the crowded room that breaks me
Everybody looks so luminous, and strangely young
It’s the crowded room that’s never heard
No one here can say a word of my native tongue
I have a hard time around certain people, especially certain Christians. I don’t respond to people who seem to have it altogether, who seem to live a struggle-free life of faith. I judge these people, and I shouldn’t. But when I am around people like this, it’s very hard to take them seriously. Anyone who is honestly pursuing a relationship with Christ, relationship being the key word there, will know doubt at some point. They will know what it feels like to be on your knees seemingly shouting at the heavens and feeling as if the God who is supposed to be listening is not. They will know what it feels like to wonder about the future, to wonder if He really does have a plan, and if He does, if it’s something easy and good. They will know the struggle to get up again after failing one too many times, the struggle to be rid of selfishness. Anyone who makes the choice to love Jesus will know intense heartbreak and also intense joy, breathtaking highs and getting-the-wind-knocked-out-of-you-lows. With any genuine relationship comes these struggles, and those who seem not to have them are people I cannot seem to relate to. I always wonder if their Jesus looks like mine does.
I can’t be among them anymore
I fold myself away before it burns me numb
I was talking to a good friend of mine a while ago, and she was having a problem with someone else. It’s been so long I don’t even remember who or what the problem was, but I remember telling her that she should just talk to the other person, that talking always helps. After I told her this, I just sat there for a moment and realized that I rarely take my own advice. I’m all for peace. I can’t stand confrontation. I hate the idea of anyone, even people I don’t especially feel close to, not approving of me. When I feel wronged by someone, or when I feel I have wronged someone, I fade into myself. This is especially true where Jesus is concerned. The other night I was tired and edgy and had the desire to pray, which is rare for me most days. But I didn’t. I just laid there and instead fell asleep. It all went back to the worthiness thing. I knew I wasn’t worthy to come before Jesus, so I didn’t. Oh, how much I miss by doing this.
Oh, call my name
You know my name
And in your love, everything will change
Tell me it won’t always be this hard
I am nothing without you
But I don’t know who you are
I believe that. That in Your love everything will change. That I really am nothing unless Your presence fills me up. And it’s true that I don’t know You very well. But You do indeed know my name. And I’ve heard You whisper it on good daya and on bad ones. I have felt the pursuit of a Lover who is beyond what any mortal could ever be, the pursuit that I knew I was not deserving of. I suppose this is one of those muttered, confusing, and weary prayers, but in spite of that, help me understand what love is, what Your love is. Help it sink in that I owe you nothing, that I can never fix myself or make myself lovely. I am nothing without you, but so often try to be something that I miss the point of grace completely. To paraphrase Moulin Rouge, the greatest thing in life is knowing and giving love and to be loved in return. Help me with that second thing.
(Lyrics from Vienna Teng’s song “Nothing Without You,” found on Dreaming Through the Noise.)
A Good Man is Hard to Find
So here’s another entry yet again on romance. It’s the one subject I just can’t escape, try as I might. It’s an ever-present longing, really. Sometimes I am able to quiet it, and sometimes it is loud and demanding, forcing my attention.
I want very much to be loved and to love someone in return. I want to get married someday, and I want to know my future husband for a few years before I place a ring on his finger. As I’ve pondered these ideas, I thought about why I’ve been craving romance so much lately. I’ve attributed the ever-raging desire to seeing romance develop in the lives of my friends. And that may have something to do with it, but I wanted romance long before they had it. I’ve considered that maybe it’s just my age, that since I’m growing up I want a grown-up life and grown-up relationships. And perhaps my 19 years of life are leading me to want romance here and now, I don’t think the number of my days is why I feel the need to be loved so badly. As I’ve been struggling with loneliness, I thought maybe that was why, that I wanted a boyfriend so I wouldn’t feel lost in the shuffle anymore. I figured I wanted romance so that I would feel as if I were a part of something, that I was special to someone. And that’s closer to the truth, but it doesn’t cover every aspect.
I’ve been honest with myself lately, and took an honest look at my heart. Then I asked the question yet again: Why now, at this precise time in my life, has it been so important for me to find and know romantic love, to find that Mr. Right? I admitted that my search for my future groom has been so pressing lately because my heart has been hurting and overwhelmed and I simply want him to fix it, to fix me.
I’ve been wanting to meet this man so badly because I was holding out hope that he could mend the wounds I own, that he could make the sadness vanish, that he could fill me up and make me whole. It is very difficult to believe that you are captivating in a world where models size 6 and under grace magazine covers. It is very difficult to feel pretty when you forget that said models are airbrushed to look the way they do. It is very difficult to feel like you are worth anything without someone constantly telling you that you are. This is one of the reasons I’ve been craving a boyfriend so badly: So that he could reassure me that I am indeed captivating, that I am lovely and worth his glances.
My heart has been wounded. This happened long ago, but the wound still feels fresh and tender. I have attempted to give it to God many times, but I’m honestly not quite sure how. Because of that, I still hang on to it. When it breaks open and bleeds, my heart is overwhelmed and heavy. This is the second reason I sought a man: So that he could heal my wound and leave me without a scar.
I understand now that I can’t expect another human being to fix me. I can’t imagine this man meeting me and saying, “Okay, now that I’ve found you, I need you to make me whole here, and I need you to fix this problem, and I need you to make me feel strong here…” A relationship based on that sort of hope would never work out. It would be unfair for me to view a man as a sort of Mr. Fix-It.
I’ve always said that God won’t send us our future mate unless we’re content with only Him. I’m not sure if that’s true or not, because I don’t like placing limits on what God does and doesn’t do, but I believe our contentedness with God will help a relationship. Unless we have our hearts secured in His hands, we will always be searching for fulfillment in a person that can’t, hard as he or she might try, give it to us.
I’ve been reading through the book of Exodus lately, which is one of my favorites in all of Scripture. It is basically the story of God promising His people redemption and greatness, them expecting it to be easy, them getting tired and selfish when it isn’t easy, and Him following through on His promise in spite of their idols and doubts. It stands as a reminder that God does have a plan, but knowing that plan, and especially following that plan, is not easy. I identify with Moses so much, that feeling of being so overwhelmed. Following Christ so often feels overwhelming because when I look at the big picture, I know I can never live up to expectations. But I must remember that God expects nothing of me. I must remember I don’t have to be worthy to come to Him. There are so many basic truths I too often forget.
Something my father often says is that God won’t reveal His plan for our lives until we are willing to follow it. If that’s true, as I believe it is, it makes sense that God has not decided to bring my future spouse to me yet. I am not ready. I am not near ready. There is still so much work to be done on me, still so much life I need to experience on my own. There are still so many places inside me that I need to take to God and have Him heal before I can be the wife, or even the girlfriend, I know I want to be. Along with the healing of my wounds, I know I will also receive a lesson in patience.
And now, words to a Sufjan Stevens song that I feel is a fitting ending:
I’d swim across lake Michigan
I’d sell my shoes
I’d give my body to be back again
In the rest of the room
To be alone with you
To be alone with you
To be alone with you
To be alone with you
You gave your body to the lonely
They took your clothes
You gave up a wife and a family
You gave your ghost
To be alone with me
To be alone with me
To be alone with me
To be alone with me
To be alone with me
You went up on a tree
I’ve never met a man who loved me
