Cruciform Communion
I pile another pillow on top of mine. Maybe the leverage will help me breathe. Why can't I breathe? I gasp for a breath- just trying to fall asleep. Maybe I just need to get up for a minute. I fumble out of my bed in the dark. As I stand, my legs begin to tremble. I'll just walk it off- I'm probably just dizzy from standing up too quickly.
Even as I type these words, my finger dances on the backspace button. I want to be real, but I don't want to be broken. Why is it that I think I have to "have it all together?" It's a rhetorical question. I can't mend others brokenness if I have my own. Right?
I walk to the sink. My trembling hands splash water on my face. I am awake. But what is happening to me? I pace the living room and I hear my roommate say, "I think you are having a panic attack." My mind races a million miles per minute, yet I cannot seem to lasso a thought to the ground. "A panic attack? Me? But I was just laying in my bed praying and trying to fall asleep before my early morning clinical. I have always struggled with worry and mild anxiety, but I have control over myself. This is dumb. Why is this happening." Control. Little did I know that it all comes down to that one word.
God answers prayer in mysterious ways. This was only the beginning. This is only the beginning. When I prayed, "Lord, teach my what Godly fear looks like, show me what it looks like to love selflessly, give me a heart of gratitude," I didn't expect the answer to be such a harsh reality in my own life. Jarring me to my senses- all the while, my jar being filled with grace.
I step into the frigid winter night, yet the coldness I feel doesn't come from the bitter breeze. On the other end of my tear-stained phone, my mama prays, as I beg Abba for answers. Abba, meaning, Father. A name I was only beginning to acknowledge - a name that would be the only word I could utter amid gut-wrenching cries of questioning. I lay shaking on the futon. My cherished roommate praying beside me. Sleep escapes me. I beg the Lord for answers- I hear nothing. "Lord, hear my cry." This prayer flows repeatedly from my lips over the next month and a half.
Pride. That's what it came down to. "Fixer. Mender. Motherly. Perfectionist. Driven. Balanced. Available." Whether positively or negatively, I believed these to be the words that shaped my identity. And now that I didn't have the answers and I couldn't analyze my way through the problem, I didn't even know who I was. But I couldn't admit that I wasn't in control. I needed to have control. Whatever it took- I was going to find the resolution.
Insomnia. Tears. Shaking. Churning stomach. Dark-circled eyes. Irrational thoughts. Doubt. Fear. Emptiness. Shouting at the enemy to leave my mind alone. Counting the seconds until class was over. An all-consuming broken world. Forced distraction. Attempting to study. Forcing myself to eat. Sobbing in the chapel. Counseling. Phone calls. Worship music. Searching my Bible for answers. Begging the Lord to be heard. Begging that He answer. It was a cycle set on repeat over and over. I didn't feel like myself. But the question echoed in my mind: "who am I?" I just wanted to understand why the Lord was allowing this. Where was my joy? What was His purpose? Everything was clouded. My prayers changed over and over throughout this time - "Why?" "Reveal yourself to me God, I don't understand." "Get me through this day." "Make my heart grasp your truths, not just my mind." "I can't do it anymore- God, just be my refuge. Give me rest." "Thank you for your faithfulness. I can't grasp it, but I know it to be true." "God, let me hear your voice. I just want to hear you. Whatever that looks like." "Keep making my trust you. I don't ever want to stop depending on you." "Make my life uncomfortable, even if it hurts. Suffering leads me to your love. I want to know your heart."
My heart clung to familiar scripture. The Lord faithfully revealed Himself to me in new truths. He taught me that His voice isn't always heard where I ask or expect to hear it.
I began to realize my need for control, and ultimately, my desire to be god. There it was - the harsh reality. I tried to convince myself that this wasn't true. How ridiculous does that sound? I love the Lord- I would never try to have control over him. Yet here I was. It came down to this: I was afraid of His power. I was afraid that the life He is calling me to meant more suffering. I was having anxiety because I was scared that he was going to lead me into something dangerous. Something that I couldn't handle. I doubted his goodness, his love, his faithfulness. I doubted. I feared. And what is mistrust but a desire to be god- to have control over this life I did not create?
"Lord,
I think my fear comes from your power. I'm afraid of what you might allow in my life - that the answer to my prayers might be more suffering. I'm afraid that the feelings of anxiety will never end. I'm afraid that I won't be able to carry out my end- to trust you and walk in your promises. I desire godly fear. I don't want to be afraid that your power is going to hurt me. I want to stand in awe and reverence at how great you truly are. I want to accept your love and be enabled by your grace. I want to live in your salvation. I want to understand what that means for my life today and for eternity. I don't want to tremble in fear of circumstances or your power. I want to tremble in joy and amazement of who You are. You alone have the power to grant me the desire and ability to walk in your goodness. God grant me the desire to be obedient, the knowledge to see your character, and the understanding to be content in Who you are. Open my eyes to your cross. Purify my heart and renew my mind. Reveal the joy of who you are. Continue to grant me the desire to rejoice in trembling and serve you with reverent fear. I doubt your promises. I fail to believe that your love truly covers me or that your grace enables me to walk in your goodness. I don't want to walk in doubt. Grant me a heart of trust. I want to desire You first and fully in my heart. I desire intimacy with You. You already embrace me, but I want to embrace You in return. I feel like Peter- who believed that Jesus was who He says He was, but as soon as the storm arose and the wind caused him to shake, He lost sight of God. He believed that Jesus was standing on the water, but He doubted that He would strengthen and save him. Jesus took hold of Peter and asked "why did you doubt?" Those who saw all of this worshipped him and proclaimed "Truly you are the Son of God." I believe that you are standing next to me, but I doubt your strength. I doubt your power. I doubt that You are who you say You are. I desire to walk with You. To reach out and touch You. To worship You. And just like Peter, You call me to "come." In every moment, situation, feeling, day- You call me to come. You call me to walk away from my fear and my doubt- to reach out my weak hands and ask for your strength. I desire to come- to walk with You and surrender my life to you. Teach me to trust You.
Amen"
God was continually asking me to see my own brokenness. To admit that I am sinful. To admit that I want control. To admit that my identity is not found in what I do, but in who He is. To admit that I need him. To admit that I cannot create the answers, because He alone is the answer. Amidst the physical symptoms of my anxiety and fears, I began to realize what it truly meant to depend on Him. When I couldn't breathe, it was He who sustained me. In my breath there is purpose. God asks me to walk in trust and dependence. Without Him, I am nothing. But in Him, I am whole. Trying to achieve perfection is trying to be god- an impossible task. But there is something much more satisfying, something tailored specifically to me, something the Lord of all creation died to give me- wholeness through the redemption found in his suffering and sacrifice. What I came to realize is that the very thing I was afraid of - brokenness- is the key to the very thing I most desired- intimacy with Christ.
The perfect love of Christ did not come without the suffering of the world on His shoulders. So doesn't suffering ultimately lead to love? And if that suffering has already been conquered, isn't all that's left love? Ann Voskamp's words soak into the core of my heart and mind:
"What is fear of brokenness but fear of suffering? If I have feared brokenness, suffering, all my life.. does that mean I have sought my own comfort more than I have sought Christ? To fear suffering can be a fear of communion. A fear of Jesus and His ways of love. Without an intimate fellowship with Christ's sufferings- how can there be intimate love with Christ? Refusing to be identified with the sufferings of Christ refuses an identy in Christ.
Union with Christ in sufferings, communion with Christ in all things. Never be afraid of broken things- because Christ is redeeming everything.
Maybe not being afraid of the brokenness ultimately means- not fearing the fear of brokenness. There it is, what could be: do not even fear being afraid of the brokenness; no longer let fear control any part of you, paralyze you, or drive you. Maybe the broken way leads to being as compassionate with yourself as Jesus is with your soul, granting yourself the grace He gives, grace to get it wrong and grace to change again, grace to be broken and broken again, and the grace to grow and grow on. Maybe not being afraid of even the fear of brokenness allows you to feel the fear and know it's okay because you're never alone in your fear. He gives us what we need most to fight the fear: communion."
I am a broken, shattered mess. I struggle with my identity. I struggle with control. I struggle with doubt and fear. I struggle with dependence. BUT GOD is redeeming all things. He is teaching me what it means to live in communion with Him - to accept his grace in this broken life and to know that He is making all things new. That He is making me whole. That He is redeeming me. That He is teaching me to walk His way - the way of suffering- the broken way- the way of love. That my identity is in Christ himself. My identity is beloved.
What does it mean to walk in brokenness? Again, Ann Voskamp's words echo in my soul:
"The way to live with your one broken heart - is to give it away. What you need to give is your own brokenness. It's always the vulnerable heart that breaks broken hearts free. Am I brave enough... to live not afraid of broken things? Let the brokenness come. Stop holding on to a standard of perfection instead of being held by the arms of grace. Let your brokenness heal you in the strangest way. Perfectionism isn't a fruit of the spirit- joy is. Patience is. Peace is. Here is my brokenness. Given. Here is my battered life, here is my bruised control, here are my fractured dreams, here is my open hand, here is all that I have, here is my fragile, surrendered heart, here I am, a living sacrifice. Living given means breaking down all the thickened walls and barriers around your heart with this hammer of humility and trusting the expansiveness of the broken-wide-open spaces of grace and communion. Can I do this? Unguarded, arms stretched out in widest surrender. Cruciform. Given. This is freedom."
Thank you, Jesus. Teach me to walk the broken way. Teach me to live in the shape of the cross. Broken and given. Cruciform. The way of intimate dependence. I don't know what it looks like in my life- but I desire to trust You. To be made whole by You. Here is my broken, fragile heart- make it broken and given as you desire. Let my brokenness be used to heal other brokenness. Give me the courage and strength to simply "come" when you call. You are faithful in all things.
Even as I type these words, my finger dances on the backspace button. I want to be real, but I don't want to be broken. Why is it that I think I have to "have it all together?" It's a rhetorical question. I can't mend others brokenness if I have my own. Right?
I walk to the sink. My trembling hands splash water on my face. I am awake. But what is happening to me? I pace the living room and I hear my roommate say, "I think you are having a panic attack." My mind races a million miles per minute, yet I cannot seem to lasso a thought to the ground. "A panic attack? Me? But I was just laying in my bed praying and trying to fall asleep before my early morning clinical. I have always struggled with worry and mild anxiety, but I have control over myself. This is dumb. Why is this happening." Control. Little did I know that it all comes down to that one word.
God answers prayer in mysterious ways. This was only the beginning. This is only the beginning. When I prayed, "Lord, teach my what Godly fear looks like, show me what it looks like to love selflessly, give me a heart of gratitude," I didn't expect the answer to be such a harsh reality in my own life. Jarring me to my senses- all the while, my jar being filled with grace.
I step into the frigid winter night, yet the coldness I feel doesn't come from the bitter breeze. On the other end of my tear-stained phone, my mama prays, as I beg Abba for answers. Abba, meaning, Father. A name I was only beginning to acknowledge - a name that would be the only word I could utter amid gut-wrenching cries of questioning. I lay shaking on the futon. My cherished roommate praying beside me. Sleep escapes me. I beg the Lord for answers- I hear nothing. "Lord, hear my cry." This prayer flows repeatedly from my lips over the next month and a half.
Pride. That's what it came down to. "Fixer. Mender. Motherly. Perfectionist. Driven. Balanced. Available." Whether positively or negatively, I believed these to be the words that shaped my identity. And now that I didn't have the answers and I couldn't analyze my way through the problem, I didn't even know who I was. But I couldn't admit that I wasn't in control. I needed to have control. Whatever it took- I was going to find the resolution.
Insomnia. Tears. Shaking. Churning stomach. Dark-circled eyes. Irrational thoughts. Doubt. Fear. Emptiness. Shouting at the enemy to leave my mind alone. Counting the seconds until class was over. An all-consuming broken world. Forced distraction. Attempting to study. Forcing myself to eat. Sobbing in the chapel. Counseling. Phone calls. Worship music. Searching my Bible for answers. Begging the Lord to be heard. Begging that He answer. It was a cycle set on repeat over and over. I didn't feel like myself. But the question echoed in my mind: "who am I?" I just wanted to understand why the Lord was allowing this. Where was my joy? What was His purpose? Everything was clouded. My prayers changed over and over throughout this time - "Why?" "Reveal yourself to me God, I don't understand." "Get me through this day." "Make my heart grasp your truths, not just my mind." "I can't do it anymore- God, just be my refuge. Give me rest." "Thank you for your faithfulness. I can't grasp it, but I know it to be true." "God, let me hear your voice. I just want to hear you. Whatever that looks like." "Keep making my trust you. I don't ever want to stop depending on you." "Make my life uncomfortable, even if it hurts. Suffering leads me to your love. I want to know your heart."
My heart clung to familiar scripture. The Lord faithfully revealed Himself to me in new truths. He taught me that His voice isn't always heard where I ask or expect to hear it.
I began to realize my need for control, and ultimately, my desire to be god. There it was - the harsh reality. I tried to convince myself that this wasn't true. How ridiculous does that sound? I love the Lord- I would never try to have control over him. Yet here I was. It came down to this: I was afraid of His power. I was afraid that the life He is calling me to meant more suffering. I was having anxiety because I was scared that he was going to lead me into something dangerous. Something that I couldn't handle. I doubted his goodness, his love, his faithfulness. I doubted. I feared. And what is mistrust but a desire to be god- to have control over this life I did not create?
"Lord,
I think my fear comes from your power. I'm afraid of what you might allow in my life - that the answer to my prayers might be more suffering. I'm afraid that the feelings of anxiety will never end. I'm afraid that I won't be able to carry out my end- to trust you and walk in your promises. I desire godly fear. I don't want to be afraid that your power is going to hurt me. I want to stand in awe and reverence at how great you truly are. I want to accept your love and be enabled by your grace. I want to live in your salvation. I want to understand what that means for my life today and for eternity. I don't want to tremble in fear of circumstances or your power. I want to tremble in joy and amazement of who You are. You alone have the power to grant me the desire and ability to walk in your goodness. God grant me the desire to be obedient, the knowledge to see your character, and the understanding to be content in Who you are. Open my eyes to your cross. Purify my heart and renew my mind. Reveal the joy of who you are. Continue to grant me the desire to rejoice in trembling and serve you with reverent fear. I doubt your promises. I fail to believe that your love truly covers me or that your grace enables me to walk in your goodness. I don't want to walk in doubt. Grant me a heart of trust. I want to desire You first and fully in my heart. I desire intimacy with You. You already embrace me, but I want to embrace You in return. I feel like Peter- who believed that Jesus was who He says He was, but as soon as the storm arose and the wind caused him to shake, He lost sight of God. He believed that Jesus was standing on the water, but He doubted that He would strengthen and save him. Jesus took hold of Peter and asked "why did you doubt?" Those who saw all of this worshipped him and proclaimed "Truly you are the Son of God." I believe that you are standing next to me, but I doubt your strength. I doubt your power. I doubt that You are who you say You are. I desire to walk with You. To reach out and touch You. To worship You. And just like Peter, You call me to "come." In every moment, situation, feeling, day- You call me to come. You call me to walk away from my fear and my doubt- to reach out my weak hands and ask for your strength. I desire to come- to walk with You and surrender my life to you. Teach me to trust You.
Amen"
God was continually asking me to see my own brokenness. To admit that I am sinful. To admit that I want control. To admit that my identity is not found in what I do, but in who He is. To admit that I need him. To admit that I cannot create the answers, because He alone is the answer. Amidst the physical symptoms of my anxiety and fears, I began to realize what it truly meant to depend on Him. When I couldn't breathe, it was He who sustained me. In my breath there is purpose. God asks me to walk in trust and dependence. Without Him, I am nothing. But in Him, I am whole. Trying to achieve perfection is trying to be god- an impossible task. But there is something much more satisfying, something tailored specifically to me, something the Lord of all creation died to give me- wholeness through the redemption found in his suffering and sacrifice. What I came to realize is that the very thing I was afraid of - brokenness- is the key to the very thing I most desired- intimacy with Christ.
The perfect love of Christ did not come without the suffering of the world on His shoulders. So doesn't suffering ultimately lead to love? And if that suffering has already been conquered, isn't all that's left love? Ann Voskamp's words soak into the core of my heart and mind:
"What is fear of brokenness but fear of suffering? If I have feared brokenness, suffering, all my life.. does that mean I have sought my own comfort more than I have sought Christ? To fear suffering can be a fear of communion. A fear of Jesus and His ways of love. Without an intimate fellowship with Christ's sufferings- how can there be intimate love with Christ? Refusing to be identified with the sufferings of Christ refuses an identy in Christ.
Union with Christ in sufferings, communion with Christ in all things. Never be afraid of broken things- because Christ is redeeming everything.
Maybe not being afraid of the brokenness ultimately means- not fearing the fear of brokenness. There it is, what could be: do not even fear being afraid of the brokenness; no longer let fear control any part of you, paralyze you, or drive you. Maybe the broken way leads to being as compassionate with yourself as Jesus is with your soul, granting yourself the grace He gives, grace to get it wrong and grace to change again, grace to be broken and broken again, and the grace to grow and grow on. Maybe not being afraid of even the fear of brokenness allows you to feel the fear and know it's okay because you're never alone in your fear. He gives us what we need most to fight the fear: communion."
I am a broken, shattered mess. I struggle with my identity. I struggle with control. I struggle with doubt and fear. I struggle with dependence. BUT GOD is redeeming all things. He is teaching me what it means to live in communion with Him - to accept his grace in this broken life and to know that He is making all things new. That He is making me whole. That He is redeeming me. That He is teaching me to walk His way - the way of suffering- the broken way- the way of love. That my identity is in Christ himself. My identity is beloved.
What does it mean to walk in brokenness? Again, Ann Voskamp's words echo in my soul:
"The way to live with your one broken heart - is to give it away. What you need to give is your own brokenness. It's always the vulnerable heart that breaks broken hearts free. Am I brave enough... to live not afraid of broken things? Let the brokenness come. Stop holding on to a standard of perfection instead of being held by the arms of grace. Let your brokenness heal you in the strangest way. Perfectionism isn't a fruit of the spirit- joy is. Patience is. Peace is. Here is my brokenness. Given. Here is my battered life, here is my bruised control, here are my fractured dreams, here is my open hand, here is all that I have, here is my fragile, surrendered heart, here I am, a living sacrifice. Living given means breaking down all the thickened walls and barriers around your heart with this hammer of humility and trusting the expansiveness of the broken-wide-open spaces of grace and communion. Can I do this? Unguarded, arms stretched out in widest surrender. Cruciform. Given. This is freedom."
Thank you, Jesus. Teach me to walk the broken way. Teach me to live in the shape of the cross. Broken and given. Cruciform. The way of intimate dependence. I don't know what it looks like in my life- but I desire to trust You. To be made whole by You. Here is my broken, fragile heart- make it broken and given as you desire. Let my brokenness be used to heal other brokenness. Give me the courage and strength to simply "come" when you call. You are faithful in all things.
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