Guards at the Gate

From time to time, I have had someone say to me that the lens through which you view your earthly father is the same lens through which you view your Heavenly Father. For years I have believed this to be true, but could not see the correlation with me. I would compare my view of each and they seemed to hold no ties to each other, no reflections that overlapped. The lines between them were blurred, but I didn't see any intersections. The gate that separated my thoughts on the two was locked and it appeared that it had always been so. As I stare today, something is coming into focus. By writing, I can adjust the lens so I can see more clearly. I have to step back and gain some perspective. I have to come at it from a different angle than before. I have to sneak around from the back f my thoughts, because the guards might see me coming and lock the gate again. I can see from the lines on the ground that the gate has been open many times, just not when I am looking for it.

From here is where I will tread lightly. I do not know who actually reads my blogs, but I do know that sometimes it will come up randomly in conversation and I find that people read it that I would not imagine do. I don't think it is a big dark secret that I did not have a picture perfect childhood. Few people did. I felt detached from my parents and the rest of my family early on because I did not have deep roots. I was shuffled from home to home from week to week and month to month. I remember it being said that I was lucky to have so many people who loved me and so many homes to call my own. While this was true, I wanted a soft place to land. I wanted a place to go to every night where my surroundings were familiar and where my future there was as certain as the rising of the sun. I wanted someone to love me enough to put me in their home permanently. I felt like my life was in limbo, like I was loved by many but wanted by none. That is a weird place for a kid; to have guilt for wanting more when you already have much.

When I was 9, I got what I wanted. I moved in with my dad and step-mom...permanently. I got a room in a house that was the same night after night. I had surroundings that became familiar after some adjustment. I got a luggage set to carry with me when I visited the places I left behind. But, every time I visited those who I had abandoned, I packed an extra bag full of guilt to bring with me. Guilt for not rotating houses. Guilt for leaving my mom and grandparents and sister behind. Guilt for being a burden for my dad and step-mom and their new marriage. Guilt for feeling conflicted about the whole situation in the first place when there were so many kids who were living nightmares everyday. Some of those nightmares had been lived by me and now I was awake. The nightmares had faded and I was safe.

If my story ended here, I would recognize the need I have for establishing deep roots. I would see the reasons why I value friendships so much - they chose to share life with me without feeling of obligation. I would understand my need for a home that will be long-term rather than a stopping place on the way to something better. But, of course my story did not end here. The lens through which I view God was not yet completed.

In the book Crazy Love, I was asked to use one word to describe my earthly father during my childhood. One word. Who can do that? So, I placed myself in my 16 year old body and thought. The word came to me. Let me preface this word with this...at 16, you have a limited view of the world, even more limited than at 31. You have a view that mostly centers on you and what you need and want and do. Even still, at 16, everything is shaping you and your world view. It is shaping you and your view of God. It is shaping how you will relate to Him for the rest of your life. At 16, I loved God with all of my heart. I wanted to please Him. I wanted to do what was right. I wanted my heart's desire to serve my Lord to be seen and valued. As an adult I understand something about value. How can you value something in someone if you yourself do not understand it? How can you see something in someone that you do not recognize? So the word I came up with was this - detached. I think my dad would probably agree that connecting with his teenage daughter was not his A game. However, this is not a blog about my dad's shortcomings. He isn't perfect, but he took me in. He loved me in the way he knew how. He is still growing and changing as a father and as a grandfather. No, this blog is about something bigger. 

I applied my word, detached, to my view of my God. It didn't fit. I don't believe God to be detached from me. I know His presence and love intimately. I was confused yet again until I heard His voice, "turn the lens around." Turn it around? Slowly, the view became clear. I saw something I had not expected. I did not see my dad's detachment, but the way I responded to it. I became guarded. I lowered my expectations. I hid from him in order to avoid a conflict or argument. I held onto my thoughts and emotions in order to preserve them. Here is where the reflections began to look the same. I am holding back from God. Some part of me does not trust  Him with every part of me. Some part of me is afraid of rejection and disappointment. There is a part of me that is passive in my relationship with Him in order to keep the boat from rocking. I know in my head who God is. I can tell you what the Word says about Him. I can show you where He is faithful. Yet I am guarded. I used to think there was a gate between my view of my earthly father and my Heavenly one, but I was wrong. The gate is between God and me. The lines on the ground are from the times when I am transparent and open, but I allow the gate to shut. I place guards on duty to keep me safe from the ugliness of what being totally vulnerable looks like. 

Through my life, God has been my soft place to fall. He has been my comforter and my shield. When I lay my head on my pillow at night, it was the lap of Jesus and He whispered of His love for me as I slept. I can not pinpoint where this picture of Jesus came from. I had some people who influenced my relationship with God early on, but He was not an everyday topic in my life. Despite this, every night, He came and He was. He is constant. I have no need of a gate between myself and my God. He is faithful and full of grace. He knew me before I was born, so what have I to hide?

Before I shaped you in the womb,
   I knew all about you.
Before you saw the light of day,
   I had holy plans for you:
A prophet to the nations—
   that's what I had in mind for you.

Jeremiah 1:5

I know that I can not send my guards away in one night. I can't take away years of self-protection in one moment, but I know someone who can. I know that through trusting and surrendering, I can see the gate come down.

Because of the extravagance of those revelations, and so I wouldn't get a big head, I was given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations. Satan's angel did his best to get me down; what he in fact did was push me to my knees. No danger then of walking around high and mighty! At first I didn't think of it as a gift, and begged God to remove it. Three times I did that, and then he told me,

   My grace is enough; it's all you need.
   My strength comes into its own in your weakness.
Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ's strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become.

2 Corinthians 12:7-10