“The LORD will fight for you. You need only to be still.” – Exodus 14:14
It was the anger that triggered it. And the pain, the deep pain that lingers like fog across the moorlands. That terrible, cold, damp hand that stretches its steely fingers out in slow, lurching movements as the memories flood my mind and refuse to shift from before my eyes. That feeling that leaves me with the nasty longing for the tension to break, and my soul to fill with light and joy. I cannot let go of the tension for fear of allowing everything to collapse on me and leave me buried under all I held to be true and real, and good.
I cannot let go of the tension because this is what I know and I am terrified to enter a new world, one which will require a strength I do not believe I have. Courage that I feel is unfair for me to have to muster.
The anger was the easiest thing to turn around and let out on myself. But deep down, I knew the pain was not my own doing. There is always a reason to everything. I couldn’t for the life of me work out the reason.
And I sit here and feel the same pain bubble up. The anger is there too, but it feels more like a distant call from another valley. Perhaps I am too weak to feel it any more. Or perhaps I have grown too strong to let it surface again and rule my life.
It’s not about what anyone did anymore. It’s about trying to move on and dismiss that part of my being that dares to make me insignificant. Taking away my worth meant applying some kind of value in the first place, and I don’t want that. We were never designed to live an individualistic life – what right have we to label ourselves with some kind of measure?
Inside my heart, alongside the battle that rages in my mind, I can feel something changing. God is not fixing the old, even though I so desperately want Him to. He’s creating something new with the shattered pieces. The energy that is within me is a steady growth of courage and power that is beyond me. It pulls me back from making the same mistake, committing the same repeated sin. It reminds me that whatever I feel now, its not my place to pronounce myself worthless. It’s not my place to measure myself. It’s not my place because the only thing I can be compared to is God, and I long failed that test anyway. But the story of the gospel is the story of how He fixed it and bid me come and live in Christ, Christ in me. If I am anything, then I am nothing. In Christ, I am completely worthy. I am what I am, and He is what He is. It’s not my place to redefine that.
Sometimes there is a volcano within me, spouting with emotions. Perhaps there will be future moments where the eruption seems never-ending. Perhaps the heat of it all will burn so badly and leave deeper scars than these. No one will ever know of the turmoil that is going on deep down; some things I am even unaware of myself. Like an iron fist, the traces still remain locked within, safely removed from the harsh brightness of reality. Perhaps it would all die as soon as it hit the fresh air of what lies beyond my existence.
I wonder how many generations before me have felt like this. Is this what it means to be human? And as I sit here and feel it all slip away, like honey that is hard to wipe clean, I just know I’m strong enough to fight this.
If I’m completely honest with myself, there’s no excuse not to.
“I can do all things though Christ who strengthens me.” – Philippians 4:13