He loves me...He loves me not.

I told you in my very first post (read here) that I would share with you some of the poor decisions I made in response to life circumstances which quickly led me into captivity.  So…Here it goes.  Out of respect for the privacy of other individuals, I will not go into specific details.  However, I will be very explicit when describing my unhealthy reactions and the subsequent consequences. 

HE LOVES ME…

Up to my early twenties, I had done pretty much everything by the book.  I was the good girl.  I followed the rules.  I might as well have been living in the Israelite camp when Moses brought down the Ten Commandments from the mountainside, because I honestly thought that if I was good enough, performed well enough, and kept the law perfectly, I would therefore be… enough.  Enough to be saved.  Enough to be “good”.  Enough to be worthy.

Laws.  Laws were easy for me to follow.  If I followed them, then God loved me…Right?

Rules worked for me for a while.  Until they didn’t.  And then I found myself, at age 24 (a full-on adult), utterly terrified.  I had finished graduate school, and I was pursuing a performing career, traveling, auditioning, taking regular lessons and coachings.  However, I made some personal choices that completely derailed me.  None of it was on my radar or anywhere in the sequence of The Five-Year Goals or The Master Plan.  I freaked out.  I stopped answering my phone.  I wouldn’t see my friends and avoided my loved ones.  For two weeks, I just dropped off the grid.

Shame, fear, and condemnation had never been my bedfellows…But they certainly were now.  Failure and Disgrace were the names I could hear whispered in my heart, along with countless others.  I had disappointed everyone in my life…Including God.  I just knew He was mad at me.  In my estimation, I had broken the law.  And I could not see how God could possibly still love me. 

HE LOVES ME NOT…

In the midst of an ensuing amount of inner chaos, some really major life events happened.  I moved.  I got married.  My husband was accepted into a graduate program.  We had our first child.  And we moved from Texas to New Jersey when our son was 4 weeks old.  After 4 months of being there, we got a phone call late one night telling us that my grandparents had both been killed in a car accident.  Two of my most beloved people.  Every word you could imagine in the English language that would describe love and adoration, I felt that and more for my Nanny and PaPa.  I remember sitting on my husband’s lap and just screaming in pain.  I cried guttural, agonizing, raw tears. I really just wanted so badly to tell them one more time how MUCH I treasured them.  It was a bomb that just obliterated any remaining threads that were holding my heart together.  

It was from this broken, confused, tumultuous place that I made a lot of extremely faulty spiritual decisions.  Shame and grief together made me do and think really awful things.  All of a sudden, God’s promises to me about His never-ending love, presence, and peace seemed like a bunch of crap.  Sorry.  Just being honest.  I decided God had removed Himself from relationship with me, because I couldn’t hear Him or feel Him anymore.  I decided I would just take charge and make everything work, since I needed to somehow pay for my mistakes.  I decided I would look to my new husband to take the throne of my heart, since in my messed-up fog of a brain, God had apparently abdicated it.  Furthermore, I was losing family who had been on that throne before.  When my husband didn’t actually fit there, I decided to get very angry.  I decided to allow my emotions to control me.  I decided to isolate myself and pretend all was well.  I just simply decided to live life on my own terms, yet I felt completely out of control and desperate.  I don’t know what good I thought was going to come from that kind of disaster zone.  It was pure pandemonium between my ears.

I was in an insane amount of bondage.  I felt like a caged animal (something I actually wrote about and will share soon).  I am not lying to you when I tell you that I spent a good 10 years here.  It is a miracle that I made it out.  And that my marriage survived.  And that I didn’t lose my ever-lovin’ mind. 

HE LOVES ME.

Fast forward with me almost a decade.  I had waited almost 10 years for another child.  (See? Yet another reason I could be mad at God. I was just stacking the deck against Him.)  And there I was, sitting on the end of my hospital bed, holding my brand new baby.  My daughter.  Something within me opened up.  Or maybe it closed up.  Maybe there was an open, gaping wound that finally sealed with the blessing of another child.  And a little girl.  I could feel it.  Something about my heart seemed…immediately softer.  I remember it like yesterday.  I remember quiet moments at home holding that tiny new life and thinking, Could I have been wrong?  Could God have seen this secret desire in my heart all this time?  Even further, could God have seen the desire and then…given it to me???

Another shapshot of hope. 

You see, what I am learning now…oh-so late in the fight…is that God doesn’t play flower-petal-picking games of “He loves me, He loves me not”.  He loves us.  Period.  God doesn’t get disappointed.  Disappointment is never even mentioned alongside God in the Bible.  That is a human attribute I haphazardly applied to Almighty God.  God’s love is a fact, not a feeling.  Doesn’t His Word tell us that GOD IS LOVE???  Earth to Nicole!…Please get your facts straight.

What does or does not happen in our lives, and what choices we do or do not make could never ever even remotely change God’s love.  It’s not up to us.  It’s up to Him.  And He never has changed.  It’s not about what He gives and what He allows to be taken OR what He never gives.  The deductions I made in my fear-ravaged mind were completely and totally, 100% flawed, scared-to-death human conclusions.  They were not based in Scripture.

God had loved me all along.  Like a parent who just steps back and lets the toddler wrestle the thing out until she just gives it up, sweaty, tear-stained, and utterly exhausted.  God watched me throw an epic tantrum suitable for the stage.  Had He not stepped back and allowed it, I would’ve never understood.  I was living an Old Testament kind of life, completely disregarding the New Covenant that Jesus ushered in.

Instead of working so hard to keep the law, I should’ve been working to truly understand, receive, and then give grace.

Instead of making myself literally crazy by allowing unsound thoughts to run rampant through my head, I should’ve blocked every single thing except the healing truth of His Word.  It could've bathed my mind. 

Instead of working so hard to make and keep my own jacked up rules, I wish I would’ve learned and kept only the rules of Christ in my heart.  They are the only ones that lead to freedom.  And they aren’t what most people would expect.

Now I don’t care a big dang darn about being “good”.  It isn’t possible, anyway.  Not for me.  I know what existed in my head all of those years.  I care about loving God back for the remainder of my days.  I care about loving his people, deeply and fully, with everything I have.  I care about teaching my children that it isn’t about the rule, it is about freedom.  Because I have been given so much grace and mercy, I long to give the same away to those around me.  Be free. Live free. Set free.

What was it that John said in his First Epistle?  Oh, yeah.  “We love because HE first loved us.”

Earth to Nicole.