where waves grow sweet

I was feeling stuck in some old habits that kept me heading down the same old path to the same old vices when faced with emotional or physical discomfort. Volumes of journals chronicle the ongoing saga that could make my life look like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day in which he is stuck on repeat in the same day, trying his darndest to make things happen but failing to produce the desired outcome. 

In the midst of that stuckness, I practiced my new habit of brutal honesty with God in which I tell him the very unvarnished version of what I am thinking and feeling, ask him how he sees it and then listen to what he has to say. Initially, I didn’t hear anything (and by that, I don’t mean audible words I can actually hear; more like a knowing in my heart), but I wasn’t really expecting any grand response and that was fine. I figured I’d keep the dialogue open and he could tell me what I needed to hear at the right time.

A short bit later, after a fairly taxing weekend, I had a conversation that got me riled up. It was with a friend I love whose personal narrative seemed lacking in honesty, the fallout of which affects other people I love. I took a walk to process and pray, and then handled the situation to the best of my ability, which could probably have used a far more gentle and less clumsy touch. After wrapping things up and walking away, I said aloud to myself, “I need a drink!,” believing with full conviction that I had earned one. 

Immediately, the Lord spoke into my heart. “Are you being honest with yourself?” I stopped dead in my tracks as I saw my heart laid bare before me in a moment of profound revelation. There was absolutely no condemnation, but the truth was clear: My personal narrative has been based on a false premise. The foundational lie is that I don’t have what I need to face whatever is at hand. Believing this has created a sense of victimhood, which always requires someone to blame, and justifies any need to self-medicate.

Depending on the situation, the blame can fall in a few different directions. 1) Against God: That He made me wrong or has withheld something from me that I need to do life well. 2) Against myself: That I have somehow disqualified myself from God’s help and am on my own to handle things. 3) Against other people and/or circumstances: That things beyond my control have forced me into choices I otherwise wouldn’t make. The reasoning naturally follows that I am a victim and can therefore justify whatever choices follow.

But the Truth is that there are no victims in the kingdom of God. He didn’t make a mistake when he formed us and he has withheld no good thing that we need to do life well. There is nothing that we can do to disqualify ourselves from his help and goodness, because he’s the one who qualified us in the first place and will never demand otherwise. While we may have no control over other peoples’ choices that affect us or the circumstances that surround us, God has promised provision for everything we will ever face, using even the most difficult trials to demonstrate his love and power – and to set us free. Which brings us back to the Truth that there are no victims in God’s kingdom.

I think it’s important to note that I wasn’t intentionally being dishonest (and neither was my friend). I would have vouched for the veracity of my narrative based on a bulging file of evidence collected over decades of experience, but believing something doesn’t make it true. If I want to get free, my own perceptions just aren’t going to cut it.

In Hebrews, Paul talks about the word of God being alive and powerful, separating our soul from our spirit with the sharpest edge, and exposing our innermost thoughts and desires… the ones we might not even realize are lurking there. Nothing in all creation, Paul continues, is hidden from God. He sees what we can’t. When he speaks and when we hear, we are able to see what had been hidden from us; what had been impeding our freedom. And then, empowered by the Holy Spirit, we can choose a new way.

The crazy part of this exchange was that the last thing I wanted that day – or for a few weeks after – was a drink. I felt liberated to live from the truest part of myself, which did not require self-medicating because it wasn’t sitting on top of the lie that said I deserved or needed it. I don’t expect this to be a one-and-done realization. This victim mindset has been with me for many decades. But I do believe it is an important shift; the kind that is changing my whole vantage point and causing me to want to lean in toward him and exchange more of my “truth,” which has never served me well for his, which has never failed me.