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.

The Battle

The sky above bleeds crimson. The field is dark, and the Enemy is coming. Even now, I can see their eyes before me, hungry for flesh. No, I do not battle humans. I battle the worst monsters conceivable. I battle my own demons.

My compatriots are gone, as often happens in war, battling their own demons. Friends become separated while battling enemy hordes intent on their demise.  In my scabbard around my waist lies my sword, and a battle horn hangs by my side.

Three demons encircle me. We are old enemies, and well acquainted with each other. Lust fights independently, while Loneliness and Depression pair up on their opponents, providing a two-pronged attack. I note their weapons. Loneliness's claws are tipped with diamonds, so that they can cut through metal into a man and wound him. Depression carries a weighted net, designed to incapacitate his enemies. Lust holds a whip to entangle, trip, and drive his victims where he wants. But these are not their deadliest weapons. Each of their mouths spits poison and acid which eats away at armor and soul.

I cower behind my shield and cry out to God to come defend me. I know I cannot defeat these enemies on my own. But God whispers to me, "Remember."

"Remember what?" I scream, as blows from the demons hammer me.

"Remember the gifts I gave you. Look around and see. Remember."

My eyes dart to my waist and I see my Sword, still in its scabbard. Above it is my unused horn. I push against the current demon scratching at my shield trying to reach me, and pull out my sword, I swipe at the nearest enemy and cause them all to back away, wary of my blade.

I use my shield hand to grab my horn to summon my friends with three quick notes. Loneliness tries to take advantage of my momentary distraction and spits thick, caustic saliva at my chest. I raise my shield, and thrust the horn to my lips, calling for aid.

Within seconds, two battle brothers who were waiting for my call charge towards my foes and enter the fray. Together, we soundly defeat them and they retreat, running for their very lives. However, In unison, they yell at me, "We'll be back for you. Just wait." The battle is over for now, and we have emerged victorious. The war however, shall continue. And we will face it together, serving God.

*                                       *                                        *

I'll be the first to admit it: I like to shoot myself in the foot whenever I struggle spiritually. I forget all the things God has taught me. Instead of trying to use the weapons He's given me, I cower behind a shield and squeak, "Somebody help me!"

After all, God has told me Truth so many times. He has blessed me with wonderful, deep, meaningful friendships and people whom I can count on. But do I utilize these things when trouble comes? NO!

Times of trouble tend to show me to be an idiot. I easily forget so much! And worse, I let Pride influence me, thinking that I should be able to handle these enemies on my own. And then (you guessed it!) I fail miserably, and end up retreating before the onslaught. Why can I not remember the truth? But as Pilate once asked, What is Truth? Or for me, what is the truth I should remember?

First, God loves me and cares for me so much that it boggles my mind even to think about it. He does not leave me to struggle defenselessly. He gives me weapons to defeat my enemies and tells me who I truly am: I am His. In Him lies my identity, and in Him only. This is the Truth that empowers my Sword. And that's not all.

I have friends. I have people who will come and lift me up in prayer if I ask them. I have men who will come alongside me and help me carry my burdens. I have "battle brothers" who will come to my aid if I let them know of my troubles. All I have to do is send out the call and tell them I'm in trouble.

Remember the goodness of God and utilize the weapons He gives me; that is how to win spiritual battles. Not by my own pitiful strength, but by His grace. God, help me never to forget that.

You are Holy and most worthy of Praise.

Flowers

A seed develops in my heart. Someday, it will grow into one of the most beautiful of roses. But for now it is just a seed. Then a peddler comes along, selling roses. They’re beautiful. Their fragrance is strong, heady. The price? A seed. Harmless, of course. After all, he only wants to keep a small token for something grand.  A bargain, a picayune seed for an exquisite flower.

I pluck my seed and give it to him. He hands me the flower and snatches the seed from my hand. Cradling the stunning work of art in my hands, I turn and walk away.  Suddenly storm clouds race for position and rain starts to fall. Behind me, finally out of my hearing, the peddler begins to cackle. He holds the seed in between his thumb and pointer finger, raises it above his head and then throws it to the ground with all his might. The seed  bounces on the packed earth from the force but then lands on the road. The peddler raises his leg and brings his foot down on the seed with all his might.

Having made sure the seed is dead, he then looks at my retreating back. He starts to laugh. The rose I clasp in my hands is made of plastic and fabric, sprayed with perfume just moments before he approached me.  He is satisfied. He turns away and begins to hunt for more seeds to crush.

A man emerges from the field surrounding the road. He saw everything. He looks to the ground and sees the poor, helpless, crushed seed. He picks it up gently and takes it to his home, planting it in good soil quickly, whispering hopes and love to it.

I return home and smell the rose. The scent is gone. I touch the petals and feel the weave of the cotton fabric used for them. I rub the leaves and find cold, synthetic plastic, not organic life. I realize to my despair I have been duped. I crumple in tears, holding the fake flower in my hand. Days pass like this. Finally, I look at it again. 

This is as good as it will get, I tell myself. It’s your own fault for being deceived. Now you have to make do with what you have.

I get up and put the plastic stem in a pot and then start to fill the pot with soil. The seed is gone. This shall be the flower that I was supposed to have.  In vain I leave it in the soil and begin to treat it as a real flower, watering it and giving it sunlight.

Months, then years pass and I forget all about the seed I gave up. This is the only flower I deserve.

 Then, one strange day, as I was going about my duties, a stranger walks up to me and says, “Come with me.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to show you something, something you have needed and wanted but have forgotten.”

Perplexed, I follow him to his home.  There he shows me a pot with a crimson rose in it. Never before had I seen such a beautiful flower. I go over and smell it. A heavenly scent rushes into my nostrils. I lean over and fell the leaves and the petals. The leaves are fresh and the petals soft.  I tell him that he is a supreme gardener and that his rose is beautiful.

He just looks at me and says, “It is not mine.”

“Then whose is it?”

“Yours,” he answers simply. Then he tells me of how he saw the ordeal with the peddler, picked up the seed, and carried it home to take care of it.  Ever since, he had been patiently waiting to find me and give it back, but only at the right time. Today, when it bloomed for the first time, he knew it was time. He went out and searched until he found me, and the rest I knew myself.

He finishes his story and reaches over to the pot. He cradles it in his hands then holds it out to me. “This is yours.”

I am amazed and incredulous. I stammer, “Surely, it belongs to you! You took care of it–”

“I did so only for you. It is my gift to you.”

I take the pot warily. “Of course you want something in exchange for such a gift, am I right?”

He gazes into my eyes and grasps my upper arms. “I ask only for this: Take care of it and nurture it as your own.” He releases my arms and bids me farewell. I wave goodbye and start to walk home, astounded at the gift and its giver’s generosity. I stare at the wonderful plant

I have finally regained my flower. And it is more beautiful than I could have imagined.

*                                       *                                        *

Many times I have fallen for the “Peddler.” He tricked me into giving up my hopes and dreams of love and friendship and gave me something pathetic in return. I however thought it was all I deserved, all I would ever get. I thought that for years.

But God remembered my dreams. He took the “seeds” and nurtured them and gave them back to me, better than I thought I would ever get and much better than I hoped for.

Don’t settle for something lesser than what God has for you. Remember your dreams, your heart’s desires. Satan will try to deceive you into giving them up for a pitiful version while he dances over you’re their deaths. 

But God will remember them. He knows your dreams and he will give you the deepest desires of your heart in His excellent timing. Sometimes you just need to wait.

Holy is He and most worthy of praise.

Truth and Justice

"Truth, Justice, and the American Way!" Yes, we all know the cliche like the backs of our hands, espoused by comic book characters like Superman and Captain America. But America has no real claim to truth and justice. They are universal. Moreover, anyone who follows politics knows that we haven't been the best examples of these ideals to the outside world and not even to ourselves. However, I didn't start writing this to blab about politics. I'll let those who care about such things do that. Instead, I want to explore the relationship of truth and justice.

What is justice? Simple. A criminal or wrongdoer is forced to face the consequences of his actions. This can be accompanied by mercy, like the way Jesus treats us and forgives us our sins. It can also be without mercy, like the State's way, where the criminal may face jail time or possibly the death penalty, depending on the severity of the crime.

Truth is somewhat self-explanatory. For right now, however, since I like to work with defined ideas, truth is a complete absence of deception.

We must have both of these ideas working together in order to find true justice. I know; "Wow, Nati! I never knew that before! Thank you so much for making that clear once and for all." But trust me, I have a reason I say this.

Justice, when not served with truth, is vengeance. It is taking the idea of pure justice and twisting it to fit our needs. Revenge is bending justice inward towards ourselves in a selfish attempt to get it when we think no one else can get justice for us.

A good example of this is in the movie Hard Candy. (I do not recommend this film in the slightest; I'm simply using it as an example.) At the end, a teenage girl convinces a man to commit suicide after getting him to admit to killing her friend. After lying to him throughout the film, she tells him she will erase the evidence of his crimes. When he steps off the roof to his death, she leans over, looks at his body, and then says, "...or not."

She got revenge. She used deception to get close to him, to get him to confess, and to convince him to commit suicide. That movie left me with a bitter taste in my mouth. She twisted justice to get her own way, and in the end found bittersweet revenge, not justice.

Justice must always be served in truth. Always. Both truth and justice are parts of God's Character and it maligns Him when we attempt to deceive in order to get justice. God will not tolerate that, which is why when we get revenge, it often returns to claim a sizable chunk of our backsides. He will not be mocked and that is what revenge is. It is telling God, "You aren't good enough for me, so I'll get justice my way!" It won't work.

God knows what He is doing, and he will serve justice rightly when it is due. Do not seek it out for your own purposes and get revenge. Trust God, and serve Him to your utmost, letting the Perfect Judge serve Justice.

Holy is He, and worthy of praise.