Wounded Healers

So, I guess it might be one of those "back to square one" moments.

Let me explain myself. I know this may seem rather annoying, but I just realized that, in so many words, something I'd thought I'd gotten over I actually haven't. It just came back with a new face. The name of this nasty "thing"? Listening to the Mirror.

Once upon a time the evil Queen asked her Mirror who was the fairest in all the land. Ever since that day, we humans have looked to mirrors, both real and metaphysical, to define us. Not that I'm bashing real mirrors. I rather like the real ones, because they're nice enough to tell me whether I look nice or like a slob, or when I have a pimple that looks like a third eye protruding from the middle of my forehead. What I hate are the metaphysical ones. Because the fact is the old saying, "Mirrors never lie" is false in and of itself.

Now, I guess in reality, I'm not talking about mirrors but about Satan. I'm talking about how he just loves to make me look at a warped view of myself, a destructive window to my soul, and then try to take away every single shred of joy or happiness I could try to have. He makes me focus on my failures to the point where I'm completely blinded to anything but them. And I begin to despair because of those failures. I guess I'm kind of good at that. In fact, from what my friends keep telling me, I tend to focus on everything I do wrong a lot. But, because I am me, a recovering perfectionist and a rather hurt soul, I see what I do wrong a lot more than I see what I do right.

And for me, because I know I struggle with pride, it feels a lot safer to focus on everything about me that I hate, that I don't like or that I do wrong than what I like about myself and what I do right. I know that it seems rather stupid, but it makes sense in my mind. Plus, after years upon years of doing it, it's become a habit.

And of course other thoughts revolve in my head about this, but I'm pretty sure you don't want to read them. Knowing and commiserating with my struggle is one thing. Hearing about it constantly, without any hope of resolution, of any healing or end? Well, who'd want to read about that?

Ironically, I was taught a truth about myself from the most unlikely place: Grumpy the dwarf. In the show Once Upon A Time, he says to Snow White that pain is important. Rather than take anything that could make him forget, he'd rather hold on to the pain. It made him who he was, became a part of his character. it made him Grumpy.

Now, I'm not saying being a grumpy person is a good thing! Been there, done that, looking for a lighter so I can burn the T-shirt. But the fact is that we "walking wounded," as Henri Nouwen might put it, are wounded healers. We know pain, we know hurt, and because of that we know how to help others with the pain. We know the pain. We know the deep, deep hurt. We wounded healers know the how deep the depths of despair can be. We know the feelings of hopelessness, so we know how to give hope. We see where people are, and we can show them the light by which we see so they can leave the pits, the valleys of Death's enormous shadows.

Now that may seem like wishful thinking on my part, but I know this to be true. Not that I have helped others, but because I have been helped by others. Others who have gone through the same things. And others who have found ways out of the pain of failure. People who have found victory.

These people have led me to Christ. He, who is the Ultimate Wounded Healer, knows the pain of despair. He knows what it feels like to lose hope. He knows abandonment. But He also knows how to heal those hurts. And it's to Him I point you all. It's Him that I praise, though sometimes my voice falls silent. But even in silence, hope and love are found.

Holy is the Lord, and most worthy of praise.

"I'm Still Yours"

Greetings, readers.

I guess I should apologize.

(Sorry.)

Here I have been complaining these past few weeks about the changes in my life instead of trying to meet them. And I write here groaning and moaning, and making a nuisance of myself. I feel so stupid!

Ironically, I was chastised not by any of my readers, or my family and friends, but by a mostly-unknown song. It’s called “I’m Still Yours” by Kutless. It seems silly, but the song asks a few questions that pricked my heart and showed me how wrong I have been.

The chorus asks, “If I lost it all, would my hands stay lifted to the God who gives and takes away?” The rest of the song develops this theme, and it convicted me.

I have had to deal with quite a bit of change these last few weeks, yet (though I might have said otherwise) did I actually go to God and rest in Him?

No.

Instead, I looked to other things. I retreated. I spent my time reading books, or engaging work. I avoided the places where I might be reminded of all the changes. I hid. Worse, all I did was complain to God.

I feel as though listening to this song and some other worship songs told me that, through this change, God wanted me to come to Him, to rest in His permanence, His unchanging-ness (yes, I believe I made up that word, but I don’t care). But I didn't.

Trust me, people, there is a BIG difference between standing before God and complaining to Him, and lying at His feet, begging for comfort, waiting for Him to lift up your chin. There's a difference between looking at Him, crossing your arms and telling Him to fix the problem; and lifting your arms to Him, asking for Him to hold you and give you comfort.

I was in the former camp. But I feel like God has been asking, “Nathan, if I took away what you thought was your home, and your life became unstable, would you look to Me for stability? Would you run to Me for hope? Would you use your words and voice for My Glory?”

Shamefully, I think I have said, “No.”

“No, not until You fix it. After it is fixed, and I have stability again will I praise You, and only then!”

I feel ashamed at myself. I said I would rest in Him, but instead I ran, looking at anything, everything else that I could for normalcy. And yes, I succeeded for a while, but that didn’t change anything. In fact I bet it made it harder on my family. And even worse, I felt far away from God while doing it. Like God wasn’t answering my prayers for deliverance from the pain these changes wrought. But then, I guess when you consider my attitude, it makes sense, huh?

I didn’t praise God or His goodness. I didn’t try to find His Will in my situation.  I sulked. I pouted.

No more!

I refuse to do it longer. I will praise Him! My heart will sing of His goodness and grace. I will go to Him. He is the source of my normalcy, my stability. When all else fails, He is constant. Utterly and completely.  He is always faithful, inviting us to come and talk with Him about anything.

He wanted me to come to him for comfort and to find joy in His stability, not my own. (Yes, I’ve been using the word “stability” a lot. It fits and I like it, so there.)  He wanted to come, comfort me and give me peace, but I refused Him.

Now I won’t. I will raise my hands, and my heart, to the only One who deserves my praise. And I will remember, though everything else I hold dear is stripped away, and everything by which I gave myself identity is gone, I can rest in this: I’m still His. Always and forever, I will always be His. (Romans 8: 38-39.)

And so, I end this entry with an uplifted heart and say,

“Holy is the LORD, and He is worthy of my praise.”

P.S. Here's a link to listen to the song I mentioned. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D3fr2Kl4Fcs