I’m sitting here sobbing like a baby.
There’s a war going on inside of me. I don’t know who’s on the battlefield, just that the battlefield is inside of me and of such magnitude that I feel as if I may at any second, explode. I fear that I am doing battle with myself. I am fighting the essential self. I am fighting God. Even saying the name in this context makes my skin feel so tight that I may shred at any moment…the skin will fall away and what will remain will be exposed and bleed all over the place. I am bleeding now. Bleeding on the inside. Bleeding out my eyes. The pain I feel, the struggle…
They say that God will not force himself upon you. That you willingly have to surrender. I cannot. I have told him as much. I have told him a thousand times. I will say, in one sentence,
“It’s just you and I now…I’m so all alone!”
It is that hard for me. I am shredding within my own skin. I am torn, I am aware, I am ashamed, I am so hurt that I cannot be the I am that I am and the pain is so debilitating. The sadness so heavy in my heart that I can barely move anymore. I can barely eat. My sleep is such a waste of time. My dreams convoluted and confusing, dark and final in their messages. And yet, here I sit- unable to surrender. I finally told him,
“I can’t do it. I can’t surrender! You are going to have to come here and wrestle this from me!”
And he said,
So here I am. I am.
I am that I am.
I am all that I need, I am.
I am God and he is me.
God is love.
I am love.
I am that I am.
Oh, please let me be. Let me be here. Let me be love. Let me know on the level that will save my life and make it count for something that God is within this wretch of me and all I have to do is reach in and not out. Please let him meet me half way. I cannot surrender without him. And there’s the aha.
My most estranged, damaging, distant, abusive, and unfinished relationships are a reflection of my relationship with God, not of God’s relationship with ME. If you don’t know me, and chances are if you’re reading this, you really don’t- then you have no idea the magnitude of this statement. You cannot understand that I am so resistant to giving my life over to something and/or someone called God, that he is literally wrestling it from me. You have no idea the astigmatism that is coming with this little claim. You have no idea the fear of what others will think of me- of their misconceptions- of the fear that those “false prophets” will somehow find their way to me and suck me into the falseness of all things God. Of all things I do not know and understand, but that I feel- that I love and want to live.
Then again, maybe you do.
Maybe you are closer to me than I realize and that is my hope. My hope is that you will somehow find me here. You- that person not of religion, but of faith. That person not of righteousness, but of compassion and grace. You- that person who does not live in fear of what will not come from what you do not give, or the sins you commit- but you- the person who lives a life based on the reward that is love. The gift that is love. My hope is that somewhere out there is someone who is not exactly like me, but who understands this tumultuous battle between myself and me. The one who understands that it isn’t God I fear- it’s the misuse of all things holy. It’s the fear of my message, my gift, my purpose, getting lost in the madness of fear. It is fear that breeds fear, most assuredly.
I am on my knees, but I am unable to utter the words, ‘Dear God, I surrender.’ My faith is equivalent to the distance from my knees to the ground. Zilch. I don’t even have enough faith to get there. It isn’t faith in God that I lack. It’s the faith in myself. Aha. One in the same. I am. God would never say,
“I lack faith in you.”
I cannot have one without the other.
This is as surrendered as I get. You can have the rest. I know you will not force yourself upon me, but if you could just reach halfway…I’m right here. I want to sign my name on the dotted line. I want to write the book. I want to give the speech. I want to guide. To heal. To help. To serve. I want to surrender but I don’t know how. I know how to survive. There is no surrender in survival…and I’m so tired. I’m so tired. I’m giving you all I have. Please give me the rest. Amen”
Every prophet needs their forty days.
Welcome to day one. Now, sign on the dotted line.