I love starting out my writing with a soft prickle of longing. That feeling you get when someone describes an experience in which you feel the soft, round head of a baby, see the slim shadow of a moonlit night that makes you do crazy things, or rise to the stinging kiss the sun smacks on your neck as you lie on the grass.
I can't always twirl my words into elaborate curly-q's of gorgeous verbosity. I can't always summon the inspiration I so desperately require to write. My life isn't brimming with the frothy decadence of leisure. It isn't always easy to turn a frown upside down and see the silver lining.
And sometimes. Sometimes it isn't easy to write from my heart, and so I leave a person silly cliche's and half-hearted attempts to explain myself. Verbal vomit to a writer.
I think that those particular sort of inspirations just won't always come naturally.
The idea of things being in their "natural" state is an interesting one. Whether one bends towards Darwinism or Creationism, or probably any other type of "ism", the theory of evolution would immediately agree with the fact that one's "natural" state is usually their weakest. It is the state in which you are seemingly not evolved, unacquainted with the requirements for survival or growth. Lion cubs must learn to hunt quietly for their prey or they will never eat. Birds must learn to fly in order to escape hunters. Children must learn what is safe and what is not safe (for quite obvious reasons).
Recently, I have been at odds with seeing myself in my natural state vs. seeing myself as God sees me.
I am learning that much of what I am called to do is trust that my God will show me the gospel more and more each day, and, in turn, train me towards obedience -evolve me into a woman who believes and lives out the gospel - every aspect of it.
Father that He is, he guides ever so gently and reminds me that who I am is not just me. Who I am is not what I do or think or feel or say. Who I am is not my reputation. Who I am is not what I can give.
Who I was is covered by Jesus and who I am is nothing short of beautiful to Him.
A friend recently told me "God can't possibly love you any more or less than He does right now. You could sit in a chair never doing anything for Him for the rest of your life and His love for you wouldn't change." If you are a child of God, He loves you WHILE you are sinning. This is not to say that a child of God can go and sin and not reap consequences, but the idea that God loves me even while I am sinning sort of rocks my world.
I am currently doing two completely different Bible studies that are seemingly unrelated, but are actually addressing common themes - the gospel. I challenge you, what are your misconceptions about the gospel and how God views you. One of the questions in the study is "suppose God were sitting across from you. What would His expression be or what would He say?"
I stammered a response that I didn't really feel but knew was right. I knew what the correct response should be "He loves me. He forgives me. He rejoices in me." But what is your immediate answer? Perhaps like me, you have unknowingly screwed up the point of the gospel.
The point is this: God knew we needed to be cleaned from all of our sin. His standards (like the 10 commandments) can never be kept. He considers thinking hateful thoughts about a person murder. He considers lustful ideas or glances adultery. Because of this, He gave us his son who died in our place so that we could live. God's perfect son died in my place so that I could live in His name.
God didn't leave me in my natural state of sin. He took it on Himself and gave me His perfect son to live in.
Picture yourself volunteering at a men's jail. Your duty is to go to each room and refill their water bottles. Feeling compassionate, you open yourself to conversation with the prisoners. You stop by one cell and engage in conversation with a man who is on death row. He is dirty, lice-ridden, and smells. His teeth are yellow and saliva spills from his mouth when he speaks. Turns out, he was a murderer, He has molested women and children. He is a thief, a drug addict, an alcohol addict, a sex addict, and doesn't care about anyone but himself. This conversation with such an evil man brings back memories of your mother's molestation one night when your father wasn't home and it was just you, your siblings, and your mother. You watched as a man spit on each one of you, held a gun to your heads, and then made you and your siblings watch as he raped your mother. Shortly after, your mother died of aids. As you are talking with this man, you realize that he looks familiar and flashbacks to your childhood make you certain that this is the man who killed your mother. Despite the fact that you have lived a life of honesty, integrity, and love towards all people, you have never been able to erase that hurt. Moved with compassion and love, you slowly rise and put your hand on the man's shoulder. Your tender eyes rest on his and you ask him what love means to him. He answers that he has never experienced it or given it. You take off your coat and slide off your shoes. You give him all the money you have. You tell him his wrongdoings have been forgiven and that he should go in peace. He leaves with your name. He now owns your house, your possessions, and your perfect reputation. The next day, when his death sentence is read and the electric chair is waiting for him, you take your place and wait. From outside the jailhouse, the convicted man is living your successful happy life and living in new found love and freedom. You breathe your last in a steel, cold chair, and pay the price for this man's life of hatred.
All believability aside, this is what Jesus has done for me. In fact, the gospel is outrageous. No way would an innocent perfect man give up his life so that a twisted sinner could live a more abundant one. I am the convicted felon. I am the murderer, the rapist, the thief. I am given new life because Jesus has taken my place because He wanted to show me what love is.
And so, this is the freedom and love I should live my life by. I am no longer in my natural state. This is what it means when I read "Christ's love compels me..." Because of what he has done, I can do.
I also like to end my writing with some sort of clincher that might cause a person to swoon. I slip in a dramatic tid-bit of information that transforms a perspective completely. I might end abruptly, asking a person to reconsider what they have read. I might end in a description or revisit the scene of the opening. I allow my reader to leave changed...if they want to.
But sometimes, it is 12:15 am and those things won't come. Clinchers don't surface. Pithy statements won't reveal. Precision won't come. And I start repeating the same words I have used over and over. A verbal merry-go-round.
I hit spell check. I resist a re-read. I hit shut down. And it ends.
