You know how it is. Mountaintop experiences and deep valleys of darkness. But that's part of my encounter with God. I am just not on the straight and narrow path..or maybe I am...if I am, He is the one making it straight and narrow...often times, I am wandering off the map. The good thing is He loves me anyway.
Talked with someone about something I have not mentioned to anyone before. Seemed like the right time, but being vulnerable is a scary thing. It is also a very freeing thing. The more I can let go of my ego running the show, the better person I am. But the ego always finds a way back in. It looks for the chinks in my armor.
There was a not well know book called "The Knight in Rusty Armor." My Methodist pastor, Keith, asked me to read it about 15 years ago. It's about a man who refused to feel anything from the day of his birth when the nurse looked into the crib and said, "My goodness, what an ugly baby!" He began to create his armor on that very day, until every inch of his body was 'protected' with armor.
I don't remember how it went exactly, and I'm not getting up to look because I have to be at church in less than an hour...but this man began to encounter God's love...and each time he allowed himself to feels God's love, he cried. And the crying began to rust the armor away. That wonderful, heavy, thick armor began to fall off of him and, after many tears, he discovered that the man underneath the armor was a pretty great guy.
Keith asked me to read it because it was a good story, you know. It had nothing to do with MY life...
I used to cry a lot because of what I had lost and what I thought I never had. These days I cry because of what I have found. I spent hundred of hours weeping away my pain in front of therapists, in front of my ex-husband, in front of compassionate friends...but not until I wept before I priest did I suddenly find the real healing I needed.
Why was that different from all the other times? Why did it work when nothing else seemed to have much effect? Why would that experience be different?
I guess some of it depends on faith. Maybe on how I was raised. What I was taught to believe. And of course, it depends on the kind of priest a person encounters. All the parts have to be there.
I thought if I cried with and before therapists and counselors that I was done with my wounds. I certainly spent hours at it.
But this was different. God was there. God held my hand, God saw my tears. I was the woman, stripped of her clothing and dragged in front of Jesus, thrown on the ground with my head down, waiting for the first stone to be thrown. I couldn't hear what was being said around me, I just waited...and then, in the darkness, I heard "Who is there to condemn you?...no one?...well...then, neither do I condemn you." At this point I look up and see the eyes in front of me. They are nice eyes. I think I heard what I thought I heard, but I'm not really sure. Then I hear the words "Go on your way....but don't do that anymore!"
Okay, perhaps it was a bit different than that...but that's how it felt. I cannot say enough good things about the Sacrament of Reconciliation. For some of us, it is more perfect than a mother's milk. I mean it is exactly what we need.
Today was a good day. And its not over. There is still more work to do. I have let people down today, but I have also lifted people up. It was a pretty normal day for me.
The grace of God gets me through it. The grace of God lets me live it. The mercy of God fills in all the broken parts...and
I am
No comments:
Post a Comment