Hope and Longing

Hope.

Hope is defined by the dictionary as a "desire accompanied by expectation of or belief in fulfillment." Sounds so simple, doesn't it? Yet in this small, four-letter word lies so much more meaning than what the dictionary dares answer. It provokes, leads, compels. It drives us to do extraordinary things, some of them, especially in my own case, rather stupid. Nevertheless, we all have, we all need hope. And even though I'll admit I've denied it, I need hope too.

I know this sounds strange. Of course we need hope. Why wouldn't we? Some people might say hope is what makes us human. It's vital. Thus you need it too, Nathan.

But it is also a hard task-master. Disappointed hopes deeply hurt. They drive us to find fulfillment. And if we can’t fulfill them, we are forced to endure the torture of watching them die.

I know this all too well. I have seen hope perish as quickly as it was born, and I have watched it die slow, agonizing deaths. Often just in my own life. Because of this, I've been forced to wander, "What is the point of hope?"

More often than not, I empathize with Éomer from The Two Towers. He tells Aragorn that Aragorn should "not dare to hope [for] it is forsaken in these lands." So often I have felt that way. I have wanted to look at my reflection and tell myself that hoping for something was useless. That hope was for other people. Not for me. Never for me. I know this seems down and stupid, but it’s true. In my weakest moments, I feel as though I have no reason to have hope. And should not expect to find any reason for hope.

Now, before you start thinking that I have serious problems and stop reading, I need to tell you that I have heard this lie subtly from Satan over many years. Unfortunately, after a while, if you hear something long enough, it becomes truth. Rephrase that: it sounds like truth. It mimics truth so closely and so loudly, that the smaller voice that tries to remind me of the truth is drowned out, and I’m unable to discern fact from lie.

But the truth is that I need hope too. I have desires that want to be fulfilled. I have dreams that want to become reality. And I have old visions that now feel like nightmares I never want to happen for real. And trying to kill hope does nothing but kill your own self. I know. I've tried. And every time I tried to kill my hope, I went away depressed. I felt cold and unloved and hope fluttered on the edge of death.

Ironically, it's always when I'm at my worst, when hope has almost died that God steps in and revives it. Revives me. And it's usually through people that I find hope again. Maybe it’s a hug that I needed. Maybe it’s small words of encouragement I never expected. Maybe it’s a visit from a good friend. But God never fails to show me hope. He reminds me of His love, the most powerful reason for hope.

But I have discovered something else too. Sometimes, I can't simply wait for God to hit me with hope. Sometimes, I have to fight for it. Sometimes, I have to desperately search for it. I have to be active when it comes to hope. But I also believe God honors that search. If we seek hope, and more importantly, if we seek Him, we will find both together. God is the ultimate source of hope. It springs from Him and flows back to Him in a never-ending cycle.

So, here I go. Now to pursue God and Hope with all the stubbornness I claim to have.  I know that I can, but I must determine not to be distracted by lies and traps Satan tries to lay for me. But God is faithful. I'll always be able to find Him.

Holy is He and worthy of praise.

Shame and Romans 8:1

Hi again, friends. At least, I'm pretty sure you're all friends. Most, if not all, of the people who read my blog happen to be friends with me on Facebook. So, I guess "friends" is a good greeting.

This was another week of ups and downs for me. I was thinking about today and I've realized that, so far at least, my college years have been themed with issues I struggle with. Last year, I felt like I struggled a lot with Anger. They seemed to follow me and drove me insane while I battled them. No, I haven't completely won. I'm the son of a redhead, and have a temper to match. However, I do my best to conceal it under the guise of a good Christian college student. And I'm good at that. But I digress. The problem that I seem to be facing this year, along with Jealousy, a crossover demon from last year, is Shame. And not just being ashamed of having embarrassing moments of stupidity, or of smelling like a pig when it gets too hot out. I mean true, blue Shame.

I won't go into minute details, partially to protect the innocent and guilty involved (me), and also to avoid gossipers and other people I know who read this blog finding out stuff I'd honestly rather they not know. But I confronted Shame this week. Or rather Shame came and tried to have his way with me.

I was forced, or maybe compelled by the Holy Spirit, to confess to a friend that I had sinned against them. So, I wrote them an email, since I knew I needed to confess and I had no idea if I'd see this person anytime soon. Later that day, they sought me ought. We talked about rather inconsequential things. I could tell they hadn't read the email. But during our conversation, I found myself unable to look into their eyes. I was so ashamed of myself I couldn't bear to look into their face because I knew I had wronged them. I wanted them to leave because I couldn't stand to be in their presence. I felt I didn't deserve to be there.

No, I didn't break down and tell them the truth that I had wronged them. I just asked them to read their email when they left. Yes, I'm a coward. but I'm also a writer. And Everything I said was already perfectly said in that email.

So I ended up sitting in my room waiting for their reply. Shame overwhelmed me. I wanted to crawl inside a very small hole and die. (They were a very good friend.) Let me tell you; Shame, just like anger, can be a tough task-master. I felt hopeless, unworthy to be forgiven.

And I know this all seems extremely mellow-dramatic, but if there's one thing you readers must understand about me is that I value my friends extremely highly. I become fiercely protective of them, and if anyone dares trespass against them, I get very, very angry. Sometimes that's a good thing. Sometimes I just a) scare my friends, or b) end up embarrassed I couldn't keep a better control of my own emotions, since I apparently blew up over something rather small and inconsequential. Often they both happen. But that's beside the point. So, now you know how angry I get over other people harming my friends, imagine how terrible I felt that the culprit who had sinned against my friend was none other than myself.

My friend was more than willing to forgive me, and I, for once, accepted it without argument. (I'm really good at arguing against myself and trying to prove how unforgivable I am. At least, I try to be good. So far, I haven't succeeded in persuading someone not to forgive me. Ironic, huh?)

But shame wasn't (and isn't) through with me. I still struggle with it. Those of you who have read many of my blogs might have discovered that a good, Christian boy I am not.While I have never done drugs, smoked or had sex outside of marriage, I have smaller, hidden sins. Sins no one would know or even think about if they were to look at me. Or spend a little time with me, mostly because I don't open up to individuals easily. Funny enough, it's easier for me to confess my problems to a computer screen or audience than it is to talk with someone one-on-one about how I'm doing.

But those aforementioned sins have left their marks, some of them physical. And the shame still lasts. Still, still lasts. But there's something different about this year. it's almost like God is specifically trying to tell me to forget the shame. Easier said than done, let me assure you. But throughout the last two months Romans 8 keeps showing up. First, I have a small Bible study with friends at the beginning of the school year. The passage: Romans 8. We didn't finish it though. Then, during "Spiritual Renewal Week," the speaker decides to unpack Romans chapter 8. Now, after Parent's Weekend, when I decided I would try to help a friend by starting the bidding on some artwork of theirs, I own a piece of photography titled "Romans 8:1." (I lost the gamble that other people would bid on it.)

However, here's a bit of a conundrum. I know that Romans 8:1 says that there is no condemnation for those in Christ Jesus, but when I sit here, steeping in shame over the past and how my past has affected me, the words ring hollow. I struggle to know them as true for me, not just as true for the average Christian.

I want to know the truth that, not only am I forgiven, but that I don't have to be ashamed of what I've done. I don't have to be burdened because I sinned. And I'll admit the main problem is that while I know this intellectually, while I know this is true in my head, my heart, the seat of my emotions and thoughts, my soul does not recognize the truth. I pray God heals my heart and shows it the light. For now, I struggle to keep it out of the darkness Shame hides behind.

One day I will be free of Shame. One day, I know I will know the truth and I won't question it. I hope that that day comes very soon. Shame is a heavy burden to bear.

But holy is the Lord, who holds my heart, and my destiny in His hands. And even in my shame I will praise His name.

God, Give Me Strength

Okay, I guess I owe all you readers another apology. I haven't been posting regularly like I promised myself I would. I know, that's not a real big thing. I mean, it's not like I have a huge fan-base waiting with bated breath just for my next blog post. But I know that many blogs are started, but not regularly kept, and often just abandoned. I don't want to do that, but be faithful and do what I know I should.

So, I do owe you an apology. I guess I also owe one to myself. I made the promise to myself and broke it. And I know this seems all too personal and silly. After all, as long as I post who cares what resolutions I break or so on and so fifth. (I know it's supposed to be "forth", but it's my own small joke. Inflation goes up still, so why not use it in words, where number hide all the time?)

But one of the reasons I don't post very often I guess is because I'm not sure what to say. I don't know what you, my readers, need or want to hear, so I simply keep my mouth shut. That and dealing with homework tends to keep me on my toes, like it or not. I know, I signed up for this. Worse, I'm paying for it. But hey, I will persevere, somehow.

I guess one thing I will share with you all is my ongoing struggle with identity. Specifically, my identity in Christ.

Since I'm in college, I've been taking time to somewhat reinvent myself, try new things and figure out what is me and what is just me posing as someone else. I try to determine what I like, as opposed to copying what my friends like or what my family enjoys. And along with that, I'm trying to figure out who I am when my family's not looking over my shoulder. I'm trying to sort out all the baggage that came with me, both physical and emotional,(I'll admit, I moved in the end of August, and I still have a mess lurking in my closet because I haven't sorted and organized everything, though I know what all I brought) and figure out who I am besides just how I feel. I'm trying to look beyond what I feel to know what's true, regardless of emotion.

In that process, as friends have reminded me time and time again, I have to remember who Christ says I am. I can't say how grateful I am to my friends for their patience with me in this matter. Amazing I know. Born and raised in the church, having read the entire Bible through a couple times, and having gone to both a private Christian school and College, I still wrestle with knowing who God says I am and making that an integral part of my identity.

All too often I have this painful tendency to believe lies that have embedded themselves in my ID, like a parasite or a computer virus. It's almost as though whenever I'm faced with a challenge or become scared, I retreat to my old false self, the one that quivers in a corner, afraid of being discovered. Afraid of everything.

And living in fear hurts. Running and hiding hurts. I don't know how many times I have missed things that would have been fun and amazing because I decided "it would be best for everyone if I disappeared." Because I thought I needed to exit out of people's lives like an actor in a theater. And while doing that, I made myself lonely. I made myself be alone.

And one of the things I'll admit I fear desperately is being alone, living without friends or family. A picture comes to my mind of living in a large wood house, having every material thing I ever wanted, yet looking out the window of a dark library room to see dark clouds and driving rain outside. Inside the house is only one living soul: me. Only me. And that's how it always is. That's how it always will be.

That scares me because I can't stand the thought of living alone, my life wasting away because I deemed it "my lot" to be alone. Or worse, I found a way to drive off all of my friends and am alone because of my own foolish actions.

You want to know something ironic? That same house and solitude used to be a dream I adored. I thought all I wanted was peace and solitude to write. All I thought I needed was an office, a library and a large house and I would be happy. People? Who needs them? They'll only get in my way.

Now I see that such a life is empty, truly empty. If I gain all I thought would make me happy yet have no one to share it with, what have I accomplished?

Nada. Nothing.

And yes, I have gone off on a tangent, but I'm good at that. Really good. But to get back to my point, I struggle with not retreating back to the man I used to be. I try to remember the new man God created me to become. I don't exactly know who this man is. I know that I want to be him though. I hope that God will give me the strength to persevere to become that man He created me to be.

I wonder who his identity is. Or rather in Whom is his identity. Okay, maybe I don't wonder. I know. But I really desperately hope he's better at remembering his true identity that I am. I hope I become him. I hope God says, "Well done, my good and faithful servant."

I admit that's what I want most. To hear God says he's proud of me.

Hopefully, I'll hear that someday.

Holy is the Lord, and most worthy of praise.