At the Intersection of Doubt and Shame

 These past two weeks have been harrowing for me as I came down with covid, and traversed very dark days where I struggled to breathe and stay alive.

I'd like to say it was all rosy and I had faith in God throughout this ordeal. On some level, I did - I had confidence God would do His good will, and I trust He defines 'good' not I. Whatever comes from His hand, I will welcome, be it life or death. I simply did not like the process of what I thought might be death: it was terribly painful and uncomfortable. It was discouraging to try to take gulps of air and watch the oximeter barely make it above 90%. I had to focus all my energy on breathing. I also was unable to read (headaches, can't keep eyes focused), watch anything (it seems pointless, the imaginative dramas produced by human imagination - though I know there are rich treasures in film and drama - I just couldn't focus on it), write, think clearly, converse with anyone. I had nothing I could really do other than hash out my inner junk with God as my Audience. Oh Joy.

I don't mean to be melodramatic - I now know I was probably not dying. It just felt like it. Of course I've never been dying before, so I wouldn't know exactly what that is like. But it may have been the combination of having an illness that does kill people and feeling so utterly miserable - every part of my body seemed to hurt, that left me with the sense that I was not long for this world.

I did nothing but exist for about 8 days - and as I lay there, many, many thoughts flooded me. I started to think, 'What if I am dying? What if these are my last days?' I considered that. Here's what went on in my mind then: That's too bad for my kids. They may have a hard time; I think they kinda like me. And Sam will need a new wife...hmmm, let me think who would be a good pick for him...I'll let him know my suggestions before my departure. I guess people will be sad for a while. But give it a few years and I'll be a distant memory. I wonder if I've done any good in the world? Regret...oh regret...I've only been around 44 years - I thought I'd have done something with my life by now. I guess I never got it off the ground. I was drowning in laundry and barely making it as a parent. I didn't do a very good job. I can understand if God wants to take me home so a better Mom can step in and do all the things I haven't done. But I've struggled with depression; it's been an uphill climb. That's no excuse. You never got your act together! Your kids will be left to pick up the clutter you left behind, both physical and literal. You suck. You just can't do anything right...

Yep, I spiralled down that quickly. It went on:

God, you'd be justified to cut my life short at this juncture. I haven't filled up these years with anything more than chasing my kids around getting them to do stuff, or trying to. I have wasted time...you know, time, the stuff life is made of!? I have gazed at the clouds on a lovely day and sauntered in my garden watching the flowers grow. I have yelled at my kids...for about 7 years - then You helped me put that to rest. I have lacked zeal. I have lacked...oh. SO. MUCH. Where do I begin? 

And I continued:

What if You're not even real? What if I'm praying to a figment of my imagination? What if there's nothing on the other side? No, I don't believe that for a second. But I'll ponder it for a moment. I'm suffering God! In this moment, how can I know that You love me? Because I really wonder! Ok, I know I need to be in this miserable place right now. I know there is something for me to discover of You, of me, in this. I guess what I'm feeling isn't so much that I don't believe you love me, it's more that I don't believe You should love me. I don't deserve to be loved by the King of the Universe!! 

'I know. (I know you "think" I shouldn't love you.)'

Disclaimer Alert: (Okay, look friends, I'm not speaking for God. I'm not providing extra-biblical revelation. I know many are squeamish about that, as if our prayer lives are impersonal and only two-way-dialogue when we crack the spine of Holy Writ. I am not claiming to be an extra-canonical prophet who speaks for God. What I am claiming is that I DO have a prayer life, and I DO sense when God is speaking, and when and if this aligns with Scripture, I can be pretty confident in that.)

Back to my dialogue with God:

I started to hash out the thing about God loving me - it's like I was trying to convince God of how bad I am and how it doesn't make sense that He would love me. I was trying to talk God out of loving me! Remember those verses about 'my sheep hear my voice and I know them and they follow me - and I give unto them eternal life, and they shall never perish! Neither shall any man, pluck them out of my hand.' (I think it's John 10). I know no-one can pluck me out of my Good Shepherd's hand. But of any that would try, I may be the foremost who tries to pull me out of God's hand. And God is stronger, and won't be tricked into falling for the ol' 'I'm not good enough' routine.

I was telling God all the ways I've failed Him. And while I did this, our sweet dog, Rapunzel was stretched out beside me. I couldn't help but to pet her. Then these thoughts came to me:

"Why are you petting her?"

Because she's soft, and lazy, and pudgy, and indulgent, and she loves me petting her.

"Does she deserve to be petted by you? Does she give you anything?" 

No, she doesn't deserve it. She does nothing but take - she eats and messes and sleeps. She is not productive. 

Hmm...maybe I should think about that.

Then my rant back to God: but she's a dog!! I'm a people!! I should have something to show for my life by now!! 

"Go back to the dog."

Ok. 

"Does she resist you petting her? Does she feel too unclean, too selfish? Too indulgent?"

No. 

"Look at her eye."

Yeah, it's ugly, she needs to get that thing fixed. 

"Do you love her less because of her ugly eye?"

No.

"Remember Lisa's dog? The one with 3 legs?" 

Oh yeah.

Oh God. I AM the 3 legged ugly eyed dog. I am broken - I hobble along. I rest. I indulge. I don't produce or give anything. 

"Is it difficult to love Rapunzel?"

No. She's easy to love.

Maybe God loves me like the way I love my dog. The way Lisa loves her 3-legged dog. Maybe the broken dog is a picture of my brokenness. Maybe, just maybe, God delights to love me - doesn't demand I be perfect to somehow deserve His love. Maybe 'deserving' doesn't come into it at all. Maybe His love flows, not because as God He's somehow obligated to love me, His creation, but maybe because it gives Him great joy to love me. Could God have joy in loving me? You mean, it's not work, or a chore, or an obligation - He actually has affection and tenderness towards me, one who reflects His image?

Maybe, just maybe, God delights to love me IN my brokenness. Rapunzel's eye which needs a repair surgery does not make me love her less - if anything, my heart is more tender to her.

Maybe in my brokenness God's heart is stirred to tenderness towards me. Maybe all this wrestling with my 'not good enough' is not a problem for Him. 

I don't know...

I know I struggle at times with 'not-enoughness' - with a sense that I take up space on planet earth and hold out my empty hands to God and say, 'Nothing in my hands I bring, simply to Thy cross I cling."

And maybe this is the place God meets me, deeply, personally, with tenderness and love, with a welcoming smile and a hand resting on my scruffy head. Maybe what is a problem for me, is not a problem for God. 

The dogs constantly remind me that there is such a thing as unconditional love. And that it flows from heaven, and fills my cup to overflowing.