In college I knew Emily Boone, then Emily Davis, as a ray of sunshine and a dear friend. She has an intoxicating joy about her – even the sound of her voice seems to burst life-giving energy into a room. I adore this girl for so many reasons, and I was anxiously anticipating her blog post for the “as you are” series. Emily has so much to share – talent, hope, beautiful dreams, and a smile that lights up the world around her. I hope you enjoy her words as much as I did… I’ve already read this post several times, in the hopes of it sinking in to my own life and changing me.
I have been procrastinating writing this for a while. When my friend, Jennie, asked me to write a guest post for her blog, it was easy to tell her it would take a while because at the time, we were in the middle of our move to College Station. But it’s been several weeks since then, and I’ve hit publish on blogs a few times since then, too.
So why haven’t I been able to sit down and get out this post she asked me to write?
“Emily, can you write me a short blog about what it means to you that you’re loved by God and how that has changed your life?”
“Yeah, no problem. Thinks, I’ve-known-the-Lord-my-whole-life. That’ll be easy.”
Sorry, Jennie. Apparently this is a harder assignment than I thought, because to my pride’s embarrassment (she’s hiding in the corner of my mind, butt-hurt because she’s been a Christian since she was a child) I’m coming up empty. This should be so easy for me to explain. Someone who has known God their whole life should surely be able to write a few paragraphs about what it means to be loved by Him. Well, apparently not. And it wasn’t until God basically cornered me into finally writing this post that I had the guts to sit down and just do it, which meant discovering why it’s been so difficult.
I don’t think I really do know what it means to me to be loved by the Lord.
I mean, yes, I know I’m loved by God. I know that. And I’ve had moments in my life where I’ve felt his love so powerfully that I just wept. But, if I’m being wholly honest with myself, have I seriously known that to my core in a way that impacts my life every day? Maybe not. Because if I did, I’d probably live differently, right?
Here’s the deal: I’m a believer. I go to church. I’m in a small group. I read my bible. I pray. Blah blah blah. All the boxes are checked that should indicate I know God’s love.
Yet it took everything in me to write this post. I find this to be a really hard concept to explain, because as it turns out, I’ve been working for acceptance for most of my life. It’s a pattern, a coping mechanism. And if I’m working to be loved/okay/acceptable/valuable/worthy, then I’ve probably never let God really love me because I’ve made sure I’ve never needed his love. Make sense?
I’ve been hardworking and well behaved and rarely one to make mistakes, so a love that covers all wrongs wasn’t wholly necessary to me, because my wrongs are pretty minimal. I never really feel the pang of sin because my transgressions aren’t going to make headlines here on earth. They’re socially acceptable and for the most part, pretty private. I’ve worked hard to keep it that way, haven’t I?
I do good to be good. Maybe you can relate?
Surely I can’t be the only one. There must be someone else out there who strives not to be a failure so they don’t have to feel the pang of disappointment, of unworthiness. For workers like me, failure is the worst thing in the world because it exposes the whole dang operation. If there’s even one tiny failure, that means there’s vulnerability. And if there’s vulnerability, that means there’s not perfection. And if there’s not perfection, well, that means I’m exposed as a fraud–I’m not who I’ve been working so hard to portray myself as. Accepting the pain and frustration of a personal, moral, professional, or relational failure on my part is the hardest thing in the world. It breaks me. Why? Because I’ve rooted my identity in my ability to be good and never fail in those ways. Did I know I was doing this? Well of course not, because that would be the wrong thing, and I never to do wrong thing! I’m perfect! I never do the wrong thing because I can’t handle what’ll happen if I mess up!
How can I feel God’s love if I don’t need it?
How can I know what God’s love means to me if I never accept that he loves me despite my crap? (And yes, I do have crap. Admitting it is the first step.)
Honestly, I’m not even sure how to go about doing that. But I do have a hunch:
It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm therefore, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by the yoke of slavery. Gal 5:1
It’s so funny. The very thing I was doing to be okay, to be acceptable, worthy, free of blemish, actually ended up putting me in chains.
Being enslaved to the yoke of perfectionism means certain punishment come the times I slip up. God’s love doesn’t look like punishment. God’s love looks like mercy (James 2:13). If I’m not merciful to myself, can God be merciful to me? My mind is my own worst enemy. When I fail, all the hateful, negative thoughts come screaming in and rip apart my perfect exterior like knives. I’m learning to be kind to myself. To be judged by the law that sets me free instead of the law that keeps me enslaved to my own best efforts.
And when I do that, I begin to feel God’s love and accept his caring correction when I fail, instead being torn apart by my outbreaks of self loathing any time I screw up. I also, by the way, discover more of who God made me to be when I throw off perfectionism and jump into the unknown world of being okay with failure, because failure doesn’t define me anymore, love does.
It is a serious burden to be your own correction officer (or better yet, prison guard) especially when the free gift of grace is just sitting there, waiting to beckon you into freedom from the pressure of your own performance.
Failing will become acceptable because no longer is value attached to perfection, but instead, you’ll grow tall and strong like a tree by a river, firmly planted in the river of God’s unfailing, liberating love.
Fear is a prison guard.
Faith is a patriot.
Fear says you better not screw this up or you’re worthless. Faith says you’re known and loved and valued despite what you can offer, so get out there and live.
And it does take a little bit of faith to accept that God’s love can anchor your self-worth more reliably than your own efforts. How do you do this? Well, for me it’s been choosing to do things I know could result in failure. I gotta start letting myself be free. I have to give God’s love a chance to protect me or my strict rulebook will just keep stealing my joy and freedom. It’s immersion therapy in a way. It’s retraining my thoughts and actions to new patterns, which really just looks like following my heart instead of my head.
What will it be for you? I really don’t know. However, I do know that if you seek God you’ll find him. He’s all for giving us more of him, more of freedom. Ask and you shall receive.
Which, by the way, is how God’s love has changed my life. Any time I’ve failed and my self preservation process has been exposed as insufficient, his love has always been ready to accept me and make me whole again.
It is reliable. It is continual. It is pure. It accepts. It corrects. And it is always leading me to new levels of freedom. So, I guess that that is what God’s love means to me.
It means freedom.
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