As this time of fasting comes to a close, so does the time for this blog.
God has been doing some serious pruning in my life, digging up stuff I never saw coming. On day 13, He revealed something lacking in me, and this revelation sent me into a deep, dark, and fear-filled frenzy. Nothing has ever scared me as much as what God revealed about me on that day. I would have rather faced the clown from IT (and I HATE clowns) or spent the night with Jack Torrance at the Overlook Hotel (The Shining) than face what God put before me. Still, I had committed fully to this fast, whatever the outcome and the only thing that scared me more than facing this unburied truth was the thought of continuing to hide away in my shell and remaining stuck, never moving past this and never growing closer to God.
Throughout that day (day 13 of my 21-day fast), my fear turned into anger. The next day, my fear turned into childlike griping, similar to the Israelites during their time in the wilderness when they lived off nothing more than the manna from heaven. Still, through it all, I felt the gentle yet firm hand of God on the small of my back nudging me forward. Gentle with love - firm with discipline - the love and care of a Father.
Today, as I typed in my prayer journal, it all came to a head. As I attempted to lay out all the pieces of the puzzle, hoping to see the progression and admire the complete picture, those individual details, which were right there in the forefront of my thinking only moments before, vanished. Try as I might, I failed to recall one single word or lesson of the fast.
I thought back to the fear and anger from the days just prior. It reminded me of a story I want to attribute to Dostoyevsky but cannot be quite sure if he was the authentic originator. The story, whomever the original author, goes something like this:
A man died and came face to face with Jesus. He had not been a believer in life. Jesus asked, "do you believe in me now?"
The man thought to himself, "Obviously, he is real, but if I admit that he is who he said he is, then that will mean my entire life on earth was a waste, a fraud."
Unwilling to admit such a thing, the man's punishment was to roam the world alone for 1,000 years. At the end of that 1,000 years, Jesus returned and asked again, "Do you believe in me now?"
With head hung in shame, the man said, "yes," repented of his sins, and was granted admission to heaven.
As I pondered this tale, I envisioned myself as that man, facing my own crossroads at this very moment. If I choose to crawl into the (false) safety of my shell, then I am doomed to wander alone and lonely forever. If I admit defeat and my total need and dependence upon Jesus, then I can find healing, hope, and love.
I chose to enter into His rest right here and now. With this decision came the realization that God was intentionally blocking my path of thinking. You see, that has been my problem.
The revelation he gave sent me into torrential terror. I have gotten it wrong from the beginning - even with Brad. I have never - ever - experienced a truly intimate relationship (and I am not referring to sexual intimacy).
Nature or nurture? I have no idea and that is beside the point. Somewhere, for whatever reason, early on in my childhood, I learned to shut down the emotional piece of who I was, too fearful and uncertain of how to process emotion.
I am an intellectual - not in a smart-intellectual way, but in the fact that I cannot accept anything until I am able to analyze and make sense of it in my head. Only when it makes sense in my mind can anything connect to my heart.
What God revealed to me - about my lack of intimate connections - even with Brad - is something I was intellectually aware of and dealing with since that fateful day when he and I began to unravel. After 11 years, I thought I had finally changed. I am a completely different person now than I was then.
Yes, this may be true, but only half of the work is done.
Even though I made the mental decision to change after that beginning-of-the-end conversation with Brad, the real change did not begin until cancer. My sister set up a blog for us to be able to share updates without me having to field a zillion phone calls and texts. That blog turned into my public journal, sharing the physical and emotional impact of cancer. As people responded, I began to see it as a ministry.
In the process, I learned to open up my heart to others. I became an open, fully transparent book.
I closed that chapter of my life (and blog) with the prologue of a book I was starting. The intellectual me needs closure.
Cross in My Window began as a co-production with my mom but morphed into another outpouring of the real me and my real struggles - a more reluctant ministry project than the cancer journal.
Now, however, I feel like I am being called to wrap up this blog as well. It has served its purpose.
You see, during this fast, God has revealed that I have done a great job putting myself out there, being vulnerable emotionally. However, it remains an impersonal endeavor because I have still failed at personal connection. I put myself out there, but have not connected to anyone (ever) on an intimate level. I have yet to invest the same emotional energy to get to intimately know others. Revealing the unfiltered me requires minimal effort on my part because it is one-sided and equates to sterility in relationships.
In other words, lack of authentic intimacy = loneliness.
Not even Brad. When I thought back to our relationship, I see the accuracy in this claim. So many times he alluded to something, opened a door for me to connect, and I never entered. Oftentimes I was too scared to go there. Other times, I was simply oblivious.
The result - the intense feeling of loneliness and anxiety which has grown exponentially since the fast began.
The fear - because I know it is going to be a challenging road to learn to fully and intimately invest in others - wondering if it is going to take another 11 years.
The anger - because I have no one to blame but myself. I hold so much more responsibility for my failed marriage than I ever realized. What did I miss out on by holding my heart so far away from everyone I ever valued in my life? From Brad? From Mike? From my friends here and now? What could have been?
Contentment - because now I see and, with that gentle yet firm hand of God firmly on my back, urging me forward, I know I will be okay.
The reason I was unable to remember the details of the pieces? Because God does not want me to focus on the intellectual piece of me right now. He wants me to give my heart a chance to speak, even if my heart is unable to put her feelings into comprehensible words.
The loving Father that He is, though, knows this girl needs closure. I cannot allow my last post to be my last post. I need a way to say goodbye.
Will another blog pop up in my future? Who knows? All I know for certain right now is that the work of making myself vulnerable is done. It is time to work on the other side of intimacy - open my heart to invest in others - take a chance, come what may. Only then will I ever experience all He has for me.
It is fitting that my last blog entry falls on Labor Day. Part of my labor is finished while another is just beginning.
I close with the song that played in my head as I typed . . . and a fitting picture my friend, Amy, took of me while exploring the beauty of Oregon last month.
Video: Rest On Us - Maverick City Music x UPPERROOM
