Did you ever get just really, truly, genuinely sick and tired of yourself?
I've heard it explained many times that there are only two focuses in life: either God or oneself. I'm either being selfless or selfish. Giving or grabbing.
It's either Him or me.
I've realized recently that the wearing away of my faith, what happens when I just basically ignore God, isn't big or brash or overtly really noticeable in anything that evangelicals tends to preach at me about in "avoiding temptation" or "sin". None of it really matters.
It's not the occasional swear word, or the bawdy joke, or the cocktail, or the fact that I'm thinking of going back on birth control. (Controversy!)
It's not the fact that I'd rather listen to standup comedy than Christian music, or flirt with guys, or...the list goes on and on and on.
I'm pretty sure I thought that when I stopped hemming myself in, when I stopped feeling guilty about and denying my own "secular normalcy," that the world would cave in. It didn't.
None of that frivolous stuff is really consequential. It's much more insidious than that.
I've only recently started to notice it, actually. Here's what it is: I'm starting to become so sick of myself.
The bottom line is that I don't like who I am without Jesus.
That sounds weird. Let me put that another way: I don't like who I am without Jesus actively working to make me more like Himself. Because right now, I'm not letting Him.
In recent weeks, I've found myself to be an insufferable, lazy, sniveling little worm of a person. I'm suspicious, negative, bitter, and toxic. I'm derisive instead of gentle, judgmental instead of graceful. I don't give the benefit of the doubt; in fact, I doubt everyone.
Nothing is worse than looking at yourself in the mirror and feeling the urge to look away quickly so you don't see the selfishness in your own eyes.
It isn't me. Wait, actually - it is.
It's me without Jesus.
To be honest, I've spent well nigh on almost two years pushing God away. Two years of being just angry and bitter and frustrated, stewing in my own filth. Two years at the turn of a decade that, when my birthday rolled around, everyone told me would be the best.
As I look at it now, I think it was that last burst of Peter-Pan-ness, like a teenager being dropped off at college. I was handed bitter disappointment and heartache, to be sure, and instead of stepping up, I sulked. I sat down in the parking lot of my dorm and refused to move for two years.
Today marks four months until I turn 32. I don't want to spend another year as myself without Jesus.
I want to step into a faith that is more real, more mature, and more every-day than my faith had ever been before.
Faith that's more about purpose than a plan.
Faith that's more about kindness than blessings.
Faith that shows Jesus' love instead of talking about everything else.
I'm tired of myself - not of the stuff that makes me human, but the little, creeping, sneaky stuff that keeps me from showing Jesus' love every minute of every day to everyone - whether it be over a cocktail or in a church pew.
It's time to step up. I'm almost 32. No more sulking.
I choose Him.
No comments:
Post a Comment