Blog


Sep
04
ON BECOMING


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“Have you heard it was good to gain the day? I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.” Walt Whitman


It is difficult


becoming who I am.


Growing into


God’s original contemplation…


grabbing hold with understanding


of the maiden grains of dust


uniquely blended by Magnificence


that


are


me.


Who am I, Lord?


I have spent years surrendering all


so much effort spent in forgetting


so eager to leave behind


the tarnished life, the waning over-being,


the pain-drenched whore I knew as sin


(but mistakenly thought was me).


And in that exhilarating exodus


I forgot myself.


So eager to lose myself to Christ


I lost sight of all the iron and spark He loves,


He made, He gave, He created that is me!



Fleshy flesh


and boney bone


became a fragile precipice


where I only saw myself as good


when my reflection glistened


with the glimmer of approval


in the eyes


of


others.


Only others.


The “other-self”


became


my best self.


The hollow projection of a falsehood


the pseudo-woman


the chalky-christian


A second skin


so that they could not see


what I was terrified to see


that I was just


me.


Part II.


It’s hard


becoming who I am.


As I, in a cage made of bones and blood,


wrought by the hands of deception,


with door swung wide open


by my God


sit still


in the darkness


of fear and anxiety


faithlessness and worldliness


victimhood and co-dependency…


doubting and dumb.



How do I take the identity of God


while retaining the self He made?


The self He adores?


Died for?


Lives for?


No answers.


No answers.


Yes…


there is enmity between


the spirit and the flesh.


But the flesh is not the person


not the heart,


not the Divine Interior Intent.


Somehow the enmity


that was an arsenal for my sin


became a lead-ladened whip


for my personhood


my holy origin


my


self.




Fine line.


Fine line.


(As fine as where bone and marrow meet)


Somehow loving You became an expression of self-hatred


As I sat at Your feet


astonished by Your holiness,


Your love for me


Your tenderness


and the sheer, raw power of Your sighs and thoughts


my glare of self-contempt grew so hot it seared my eyes shut.


I could not see the unique


woman


in which You have


(and have always had)


a consuming


unabashed


saving


delight!


(In truth, I still don’t see her!


But I sense she is near…


Close…


Strong


and


growing


stronger.)


I have been so consumed with the brokenness of the vessel


I forgot


it


was


beautiful!


No answers.


No answers.


Yet.


Only an open cage


and the freedom of the brave beyond.


The wide expanse of faith


where I no longer


hear my Jesus singing alone


but my voice is lifted with His


in a rapturous, raging, resurrecting revelry…


a raucous, chaotic, hilarious peace.


The swell of it


laboring to be heard, felt and known


pressed into, pressed upon and pressed outwards.


Do you sense the stirring?


The rumbling,


the intensity of the increasing realization


that the great I AM


thoroughly


enjoys


how


I


am?


I am becoming


free


and


powerful


God-glorifying


self-celebratory


and well-possessed of


my Jesus


and


myself.


My heart has heard Him say


“come up, into, through and for”


Become,


become,


become…


And this becoming


begets yet even more


becoming.