Robbed

"In the day when I cried out, You answered me, and made me bold with strength in my soul." (Psalm 138:3)

The devil steals, kills, and destroys, but I think sometimes we tend to steal from our own selves, kill parts of our lives that are supposed to grow, and end up destroying ourselves in the process. At least, this is my experience and opinion.

Take me, for example. I used to be a workaholic. I had a fairly low-paying job that required me to work overtime in order to make ends meet. So, I would volunteer to work lots of overtime on Saturdays so that I could have a healthy bank account. I also noticed that having to work overtime would silence the gnawing loneliness that would show up uninvited every Saturday. Not having a social life was very convenient whenever I would have to work 48+ hours a week.

Now that I don't have to work overtime anymore and I'm forced to face my weekend loneliness head-on, well, my solitude can get pretty ugly. Last year, I blogged about how fighting loneliness was like bullfighting. But now in this particular season of my life, I think God, like the good Father that He is, is being the Bullfighter -- meaning, I think He's skillfully dancing around ME. Instead of me doing all this fancy footwork while I attempt to kill off the lies, God is the One who kills ME. He skillfully shows me where to read in the Bible, He shows me when I need to forgive, He listens to me, and He collects my tears. And sometimes, like the good Father that He is, He shows me how to take my mind off my loneliness. He and I will research music together. He and I will surf YouTube together. He and I will do all kinds of silly things together. Have I mentioned lately that God is a good Father?

Loneliness is like a crucible. If you allow yourself to endure the excruciating pain of the fire, you'll find out what you're made of, you'll become refined, and you'll be better able to endure even more fire in the future. And, not to mention, God -- like the good Father that He is -- is right there in the fire with you. I realize that in the past, I robbed myself of all of this by covering up my pain with different things: being a workaholic, hanging out with gossipers, allowing unhealthy people to leech off of me, etc. I robbed myself of bonding time with my good Father who is always ready and available to comfort me. I robbed myself of what happens when you endure gut-wrenching pain, cry out to God, and He strengthens you, like it mentions in Psalm 138.

I'm probably beating another dead horse, but one reason why I became so depressed so many years ago was because the "support" I had around me kept discouraging me from working through my pain. Christians are supposed to walk in joy and be happy all the time, right? Sorry, but I can't play that game anymore. That almost killed me. I don't want crutches anymore. I want to learn how to use my real legs.

Yes, of course Christians must walk in joy, because we have 24/7 access to the Giver of joy, the Prince of Peace, and the One who gives us the desires of our hearts, like Psalm 37 talks about. But I really don't think joy is a fake cover-up that robs us of the opportunity to work through pain in a way that helps us to bond with... wait. Have I told you lately that I love my Father? Have I told you there's no one else above Him? He fills my heart with gladness. Takes away all my sadness. Ripping off Rod Stewart, that's what I do.

Just because I have a smile on my face doesn't mean I'm happy. It probably means I have joy. Happiness (which is temporary) means life is wonderful because I currently have a purring cat sitting on my thigh while I type this. Joy (which is permanent) means even though life is temporarily sucky, I can smile because I'm thankful for plenty of things that make me smile: I'm alive, I belong to a God who is a good Father and who wants me, I have two cats, I enjoy music, and have I mentioned that my God is a good Father?

We live in a very hedonistic culture. (The definition of "hedonism" is basically "Doing whatever makes you happy.") I think in a way, we as a culture worship the pursuit of our own happiness. The result is, well, I don't have to regurgitate what you already see on the celebrity tabloids. It's unfortunate, because it's basically just a bunch of hurting people who are covering up their pain in unhealthy ways.

I think we Christians can also dabble in our own brand of Christian hedonism, so to speak. (I'm not talking about an actual "Christian hedonism" that encourages people to pursue God. I'm talking about the same "If you're not happy, you're not living your life the right way" type of mentality that the rest of the world adopts.) I think anytime we plaster on a surface-level band-aid of "Everything happens for a reason" or "The devil attacks people who are really important" to somebody's genuine pain, we're accidentally encouraging a person to minimalize his or her feelings. (The reason everything happens is because sucky things simply tend to happen in this world. The devil can attack anyone at any time; he doesn't care.) We're accidentally robbing a person of experiencing a pain that will drive them to the feet of... wait. Have I mentioned lately that my God is a good Father?

Many years ago, I met a man who possibly dabbled in this Christian version of hedonism. I don't remember how in-depth our conversation went, but we talked for a little bit about the Bible, and he said that he would only read the New Testament because he didn't believe in the Old Testament. "What about the Psalms?" I asked him. "Oh, the Psalms are very soothing," he admitted. But I didn't see much soothing on his face; I saw pain. I think maybe he allowed his joy to get robbed. What's wrong with the Old Testament? Why ignore all the crap that happened in it? Why rob yourself the pleasure of reading it?

As long as I'm rambling, and as long as my church is currently doing a sermon series about the importance of reading the Bible, I'd like to give you Tirzah's version of what the Bible is like. Like it says for itself, the Bible is a two-edged sword. It isn't a boring ancient book. It's old, yes. But it's alive, it's electrifying, and it's all still relevant. (Even the outdated parts about women not speaking up in church are still relevant, because you can still learn something by reading them.) Sometimes when I read the Bible, it's like I'm sneaking into my Father's closet, and if I'm not careful, I'll freak out because I'll accidentally cut myself on something sharp that's hidden deep in His closet. Other times, it's like going to a big all-you-can-eat buffet, and sometimes you gorge yourself on as much as you can, but other times you focus on one section of the buffet and let each bite melt in your mouth for a little while before you swallow. Other times, it's as if I accidentally hurt myself, and I'm running to the medicine cabinet to find something that will clean out my wound, stop the bleeding, and bandage my wound while it heals. And other times, it's like going to a slumber party. If you've never been to a slumber party and have no idea what I'm talking about, let me share a little secret with you: The juicy stuff happens after the lights go out and everybody shares the deepest parts of her soul with everyone else. Did you hear about what happened to Solomon? GASP! No! Well, let me tell you. It's a lot like what happened to Saul.

So, I've become increasingly uncool with people who insist on ignoring pain, kicking people who are in pain, or covering up pain. I no longer wish to rob myself of the opportunity to healthily work through my pain with... wait. Should I mention that my God is a good Father, as in He likes to literally treat me as if I were His own daughter, even though I can't see Him, but I can hear Him, and He can definitely see and hear me?

I'm not saying that loneliness or other emotional pain are good things. If you have serious issues that cause you serious pain, of course there's no shame in seeking professional help or wise counsel or help from a church. Whatever you need, please go for it. What I'm saying is, what are you gonna do in the middle of the day or night when your pain creeps up with you and -- surprise! -- you have to deal with it? Sometimes it's just you and God. Sometimes it's you literally crying into the pages of your Bible while the two-edged sword slices through your heart and God -- like the good Father that He is -- squeezes out the oozy pus of your heart-infection and comforts the heck out of you. Please don't let anyone rob you of that bonding experience with Him.