Tag Archives: Doubt

March 1st, 2007

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It snowed over  6” yesterday. It looks exactly like every child’s dream of Christmas morning…it’s just 3 months too late.

Spring was swelling; filling with blood. The New Year was slowly becoming engorged with life. Throbbing again after a long winter of stillness.

As is always the case, there was pain behind the throbbing. The tight, rubbery tissues complain as they are stretched by the rush of blood, like a water balloon is stretched by water. They are always bitter after a long winter, and do not let go of their cold tightness easily.

Spring Time aches.

It puts a grimace on your face.

Spring Time stings.

It  *SMACKS* and turns red…deep breath, and then a loud cry.

Face breaking water’s surface, bulging eyes and shrieking lungs.

Life rushes back just in the nick of time.

Spring was stirring. And in response God dumped tons of ice on it.

Fourth Spring since I was born.

Third Spring since she died.

Second Spring since she left.

First Spring on my own.

But it’s not here yet. God said, “Not yet. Back in the house, boy.”

I feel his hand on the top of my head, pushing it back down under the winter water. The familiar cold returns.

I see his face through the widening gap of water that separates us. He is smiling. Not with joy, or delight. Certainly not with pleasure at my suffering. But with a knowledge that only he possess: The day that Spring will return to stay.

October

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I’m feeling so insecure these days. A few bright spots here and there, but all of them have been thoughts that are exclusive to Brenda – thoughts about music, getting the painting done, etc.

When I consider my wife these days – I’m afraid. I don’t think I have her heart.

Now I know how she must feel, knowing that I can be so easily pulled away by porn, or even a billboard or a magazine.

Her heart is elsewhere, and there’s nothing I can do about it. There’s nothing that Janet and “accountability” can do about it.

She simply has to choose me, or not.

Jesus doesn’t have my heart.

He knows how I must feel, because when it comes to Him, MY heart is drawn elsewhere for self-worth, and messages about my value, for feelings of acceptance comfort and well-being.

My heart is elsewhere…with other things… and there’s nothing Jesus will do about it – except die, and rise again.

I simply have to choose Him, or not.

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Yom Kippur: Atonement.

Casting all my sin and junk into the wilderness. My sin is already gone – paid for – I’m free. So what am I REALLY getting rid of today?

Self.

My self is screaming to get some justice. Some recognition. Like an angry child, petulant and afraid, it wants, no, needs to be right. Righteous. Self-Righteous.

I want Christ-Righteousness. Every moment that I refuse to cling to the cross and instead cling to my own righteousness is a lost moment.

I’m 5 years old again, choosing pity over real affection. Even if the real affection is limited in quantity, it is of a completely different QUALITY than pity. Pity is junk food, empty calories, plastic imitation junk that can be bought cheaply by the truck load. You can fill your house with the stuff. Real affection is heavy. It has mass. It’s high quality, hand made, one of a kind stuff that does not fade and crack and disintegrate with age.

I would rather have a truck load of pity than one ounce of real love, I guess.

So what if Brenda doesn’t love me like I want her to, as MUCH as I want her to.

So?

What does that mean?

How does this change anything?

What does it say about me?

How can I let go of it, God?

How do I go back home and not be resentful?

I want to die to self – I want the path to blessing (John 13)

But how? Act like Jesus? Just pretend?

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A distinction occurred to me while lying on the floor in my office, “trying” to pray.

I no longer desire to be like someone Brenda could love. I simply want Brenda to love who I am…or at least I’m getting there.

If I were looking into someone else’s life and saw this development, I would say it’s progress.

And so – I will say it’s progress for me too.

I’m learning to be comfortable being “Sam”. I’m no longer putting effort into being someone else, and I’m learning the intricacies and beauty of what it means to be me.