Remembrance, Not Regret

It's been a bad day

You've been looking back

And all you can see is everything you wish you could take back

A world of regrets

All of those moments you would rather forget

I know it's hard to believe

Let me refresh your memory

Yesterday is history

And history is miles away

So leave it all behind you

But let it always remind you of the day

The day that love made history

You know you can't stay

Right where you fell

The hardest part is forgiving yourself

But let's take a walk into today

And don't let your past get in the way

Would you believe that you are history in the making?

Every choice that you are making

Every step that you are taking

Every chain that you are breaking

History is in the making

Every word that you are saying

Every prayer that you are praying

Every chain that you are breaking

History is in the making

("History," by Matthew West)

"Therefore I will always remind you about these things, even though you already know them and are standing firm in the truth you have been taught. And it is only right that I should keep on reminding you as long as I live."

-2 Peter 1:12-13, NLT

I think of my life as a story, and as the New Year approaches, I find myself looking over the past year in much the same way I would thumb through the pages of a well-loved and much-read book. So much has taken place over the course of a single year! There have been many milestones, and so much growth. I have shared laughter and tears in abundance. I have stumbled and fallen many times, but God in His infinite mercy and grace has never failed to lift me up again.

"May you never forget what is worth remembering, nor ever remember what is best forgotten."

-Irish Blessing

However, even with my new understanding and appreciation of grace, it is still so easy to give way to despair when I look back on the dark periods of this year. There's no way around it, no way to avoid the painful fact that I fell hard this year, no escape from the regret. I appreciate and even cherish the lessons learned through those difficult times, but I cannot help but wish I were not so stubborn that I had to learn them the hard way!

Even as I write this paragraph, tears fill my eyes. They are hot tears; frustrated, angry tears. Each memory is like a whiplash, but I do not stop turning them over in my mind, because I feel that I deserve that pain. But even as I try to inflict this heart-wrenching punishment on myself, a nail-pierced hand descends on my shoulder, and I turn to fall into arms stretched as wide as the east is from the west. It is on the shoulder of Christ that these tears are spent.

He took my punishment, which I do indeed deserve, on Himself. He paid the debt, once for all. Every sin I have committed, and every sin I will ever commit, is already covered by His blood. Though my heart may ache at these memories, His was broken for me.

"This is love: not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son as a atoning sacrifice for our sins."

-1 John 4:10, NIV

And so my Savior, my love, brushes the tears from my cheeks. I can see the love in His eyes. He holds out His hands and asks me, one more time, to hand over these regrets. Tremblingly, I do so, and one more time He does what I cannot do for myself and throws them all to the wind. What awesome love, what stunning grace, that will not permit me the pain of regret, however well-deserved.

I understand that these memories will remain, like scars. The wounds will heal, yes, but they will leave a permanent mark. I have been forgiven; I am forgiving myself. But I cannot forget... and perhaps I am not supposed to. As I sit here at my keyboard, embraced by God, I begin to understand that I am to remember, but not regret.

"Dear brothers and sisters, when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing."

-James 1:2-4, NLT

My favorite thing to do when reading a boring or difficult chapter in a book, is to flip to the end and skim a few pages, just to see how everything works out. It is always encouraging to me; though I do not know all the story in between, just knowing that it works out in the end is enough. This 'preview,' if you will, invigorates me as a reader, and I eagerly plunge back into the difficult chapter, so that I can get on with the story.

I'm doing something similar with the story of my life. Just by skimming the good things God has in store for me, I gain the strength to press forward and endure right now.

"History never looks like history when you are living through it. It always looks confusing and messy, and it always feels uncomfortable."

-John W. Gardner

My life is history in the making. One day I will look back on where I am right now, and I will be able to see everything that I could not when I was still living in the moment. On that day, I will be able to say that it was worth all the pain. Until then, I will hold to that hope.

The Warrior is a Child

Lately I've been winning battles left and right

But even winners can get wounded in the fight

People say that I'm amazing

I'm strong beyond my years

But they don't see inside of me

I'm hiding all the tears

They don't know that I come running home when I fall down

They don't know who picks me up when no one is around

I drop my sword and cry for just a while

Because deep inside this armor

The warrior is a child

Unafraid because His armor is the best

But even soldiers need a quiet place to rest

People say that I'm amazing

I never face retreat

But they don't see the enemies

That lay me at His feet

They don't know that I come running home when I fall down

They don't know who picks me up when no one is around

I drop my sword and cry for just a while

Because deep inside this armor

The warrior is a child

They don't know that I come running home when I fall down

They don't know who picks me up when no one is around

I drop my sword and look up for His smile

Because deep inside this armor

The Warrior is a Child

("The Warrior is a Child," by Gary Valenciano)

I sighed as I finished copying those lyrics. I sighed because I am contented, relieved, and somewhat awed by those words. God loves me. I am His child. For the first time in my life... that is enough.

"How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God!"

-1 John 3:1, NIV

When I was home in October for Fall Break, my mother asked me a heartbreaking question that shook my faith. "If you could not do what you do--if you could not go to school, become a missionary, or serve God in any way--would it be enough that you are His child?" And the answer fell unbidden from my lips: "No." No? It was not enough for me to simply be God's child? I was appalled at my response, and tears fell from my eyes.

All my life I have been "so grown up," "so mature for your age," and "an old head on young shoulders." One person even went so far as to tell me that I must have been "born forty years old." Immaturity and childishness were something I looked down upon... even when I was a child myself. This realization crashed down upon me as I heard my response to my mother's question. I love children; their curiosity and creativity, their fearlessness and faith, is admirable and beautiful to me. But somewhere along the way, I stopped loving the child that I was. God, however, did not.

I was never much of a child. To be a child--or rather, to have the needs of a child--was inconvenient. There was no time or money for me to have constant desires, so I learned to desire nothing that I could not obtain for myself. I did my best to stay out of the way and never cause a fuss; my family's troubles were more than enough without my adding to them.

There is no way for me to adequately explain how I learned to shut off every outward showing of fear, disappointment and depression. Oftentimes, when what I most wanted was to be held while I cried, I would throw myself into work instead. I busied myself in order to cover up the secret ache; the pain and heartbreak of the child within. I was not kind to that child; she was kept locked in a dark room, and she was beaten if she dared to make her voice heard.

I became as hard as stone. I became an armored warrior, a knight who rode about rescuing others. I fought for depth; I fought for truth; I fought for the right to higher expectations. I stood in the gap for my friends and loved ones and fought for them through intercessory prayer. And I worked to train other warriors. People saw the armor, but they never saw the child.

It was not until I came to MACU that I began to learn that it is all right to be a child. It is, in fact, more than all right. It is what God desires.

"[Jesus] said to them, 'Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.'"

-Mark 10:14-15, NIV

I've learned to play; I've learned to laugh until I cannot breathe; I've learned to let someone hold me while I cry; I've learned to be loved for myself... not for the things that I do. And through all this I've learned, bashfully peering up through my eyelashes with a blush on my cheeks, that my Father delights in me, as His child. I have known it. I have sensed it. But for the very first time, I actually believe it. It is glorious.

My answer to my mother's question has changed. It is enough for me, that I am God's child. It is more than enough.

Stained-Glass Masquerade

Is there anyone who's been there?

Are there any hands to raise?

Am I the only one who's traded

In the altar for a stage?

The performance is convincing

And we know every line by heart

Only when no one is watching

Can we really fall apart

But would it set me free

If I dared to let you see

The truth behind the person

You imagine me to be?

Would your arms be open

Or would you walk away?

Would the love of Jesus

Be enough to make you stay?

("Stained-Glass Masquerade," by Casting Crowns)

"If you try to hang on to your life you will lose it. But if you give up your life for my sake, you will save it."

-Jesus of Nazareth

(Matthew 16:25, NLT)

Since my arrival here at MACU, God has been relentlessly stripping me of everything comfortable and familiar. Through trials and temptations, and through my own failures, God revealed to me a level of self-righteousness, pride and fear that I did not know existed in me. He showed me that my pursuit of perfection was not pleasing to Him; it was pharisaical, and was in fact separating me from Him. I cared about preserving the holier-than-thou image I was trying to project, but I did not care at all for the condition of my heart. I looked into God's eyes and saw myself reflected in them, and I was ashamed of and repulsed by what I saw there.

"We may think we are doing the right thing, but the LORD always knows what is in our hearts."

(Proverbs 21:2, CEV)

One morning before fall break, when I had overslept and was late for chapel, God literally brought me to my knees. I slipped silently into the pitch-dark chapel and slid into the very back row, because I was embarrassed about being late. I was glad of the darkness, because no one could see who had come in; the shadows hid my shame. Just as I was breathing a sigh of relief, I heard God speaking to me, using the voice of the chapel speaker. His question was this:

"Where are you?"

(Genesis 3:9, NIV)

It was the saddest question I had ever heard. Where are you? Why are you hiding from me? I sat there trembling as the speaker explained the origin of shame; the beginning of God's loneliness and longing in the garden of Eden. I felt so torn; I wanted to open my heart to God's anguished query and answer, "Here I am!" But it was safer, and less painful, to remain hidden in the dark. Coming to the light meant admitting the existence of all my secret sins. It meant confessing to God, and to other people. It meant the possibility of rejection and hurt. It was so tempting to take all that conviction, and the clear call of God, and bury it in the depths of my soul.

"Everyone who makes a practice of doing evil, addicted to denial and illusion, hates God's light and won't come near it, fearing a painful exposure."

(John 3:20, MSG)

When chapel ended, I bolted. I ran to my dormitory, knelt on the floor next to my bed, pulled my blanket over my head and cried out to God. I could hear Him; were He physically present, He would have been insistently tugging at that blanket and saying, "Look at me! Why are you hiding from me? I love you!" But I couldn't bring myself to uncover my face and talk to my Father.

When my sobs had quieted and I was finally still, God reminded me of the truths in His Word. He agreed with me: Yes, admission and confession would be painful, but just as necessary as the re-breaking of a bone that has been set wrong. He sobered we with a dash of cold 'living water.'

"For all that is secret will eventually be brought into the open, and everything that is concealed will be brought to light and made known to all."

(Luke 8:17, NLT)

"Make this your common practice: Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you can live together whole and healed."

(James 5:16, MSG)

"Yet if you devote your heart to Him and stretch out your hands to Him, if you put away the sin that is in your hand and allow no evil to dwell in your tent, then you will lift up your face without shame; you will stand firm and without fear. You will surely forget your trouble, recalling it only as waters gone by. Life will be brighter than noonday, and darkness will become like morning."

(Job 11:13-18, NIV)

God is bringing me out of hiding; with His help, I have begun to open my life and share my struggles with others. I have discovered, to my surprise and delight, that my friends love me even more deeply now that they have seen my imperfections. Through the love of my friends, God has been teaching me about mercy and grace; He has been showing me the full extent of His love. I am learning to close the curtain on my stained-glass masquerade.