Moving Forward...Powerless

"When we were children, we used to think that when we grew up we would no longer be vulnerable, but to grow up is to accept vulnerability.  To be alive is to be vulnerable."  ---Madeleine L'Engle

      I hope I do not sound redundant when I say that I am "moving forward", because I'm sure that I have already written a post or two that would suggest that same idea.  But there for awhile and recently (just last week) I felt like I was stuck and sinking deeper to the very spot where my life was standing.  The depression from those feelings kept me from writing and following through with my commitment to have a weekly update.  I consoled myself by saying that no one really checks it that much anyway.  It's old news, another fad, and my readers have moved on.  It (my story) was feeling like "old news" to me already.  A rut ..a sinking sand that I could not escape from.  All my struggling seemed pointless.  The outcome is always the same.  What did I think?  That my faith, my prayers, would actually change something?
I was afraid to be this vulnerable to you.  I was afraid you would question my character or my allegiance to God.  But in reality, these are questions similar to the ones that we all ask ourselves from time to time.  Many are just like me and too afraid of what others might think to actually voice them.  Questions like:
 Is there a God?  Or do I believe that there is because of the alternative option? 
Is the God of the Bible really as "loving" and "caring" as the majority would say that He is? 
If God is limitless, why does he seem "limited" to our decisions? 
And what is free will?  If the only inevitable option of our "free will" is to be enslaved to sin. 
How can we still call it freedom?

"Is God good?"
I started attending a Christian support group for various addicts working to overcome their vices.  After one of our weekly meetings, I started in on this discussion with a friend.  The conversation started about my relationship with my Father and how we would know whether we finally had forgiven someone or not.  Then it somehow bled into my depressive thought life of what was happening now.  But my friend was the one who stated the question for me, "Is God good?"  I said, "He is, because His very nature defines the word.  But does His definition match mine?"   What is good to me might not be "good" at all.  I eventually just asked for prayer (suspicious that might not actually help) and resigned myself to believe that all my questions concerning God's goodness and authority could be considered just another language barrier. 

     I wanted someone to yell at.  I needed a face to put my anger with.  I wanted someone to blame my disappointment on,  for my trauma, my cruddy childhood, and the stench that it left behind.  Because what I want is to be happy and content.  Reviewing my past makes me furious!  I would rather just forget.

    I had a significant dream while I lived in the dorms at college.  It was about a man, who would eventually kill me. He never told me that it was my inevitable outcome, but I knew it was true.  I had plenty opportunities to run and hide.  That was what he wanted me to do.  He left the door open, and I was free to leave.  But where would I go?  Where would I hide that he would not find me? 

He looked like an ordinary man (white, middle-aged, bald, athletic build).   Yet there was something ... He was different. 
He wanted me to run and I ran for my life. 
After he caught up with me again, I told him that I wasn't running anymore.  I didn't want to play his game, and in reply he asked me, "How do you want to die?"  I tried to think of some place full of people so they would know what he was.  I was no longer afraid of dying.  My spirit had been crushed, and I was finally letting it go. 

I awoke to silence as I floated overhead of an empty movie theater.  Down in front, I could see a mangled broken body folded in the red upholstered seat.  It had been mine.  I felt nothing for it now.  I felt nothing.
Another man who looked similar to the one who had put me there, sat down next to the twisted limbs that had been mine.  And diligently, tediously pieced the body back together till it looked functional and recognizable again.  Then he breathed into me, and we walk out together.

It wasn't long until the first man caught up with me again.  He was a constant threat to my life and I thought also of those that were around me.  He would always catch me.  There was no where I could go.  It was happening all over again.   What had changed?

   I was traveling in a car with a few friends from school.  We were going on a weekend road trip out of state.  They all thought that my fear was ridiculous.  They attempted to console me by saying, "How can this man find you in a moving vehicle?  Look!  There is no one there.  There is no one on the road with us.  Relax."  I wanted to believe them, but down deep I knew they just didn't understand.  
Suddenly, the door of the backseat where I was sitting ripped off, because it had been opened at such a high velocity.  I heard someone in the car say, "Go faster! Now!  Speed up!"  But there he was.  Both hands clung to the door frame with the rest of him flapping in the wind.  Nothing was stopping him.  And I really hoped it would this time. 
I didn't want to die.  I was afraid. 
I screamed out for help as he climbed inside and clawed for my skin.  I yelled to the driver for HELP!  The driver turned around, looked at me, and smiled.  It was the man from the movie theater.  The smile on his face told me that I didn't have to be afraid anymore.  And I felt peace knowing that he was still there.  

Forgetting is impossible, if I am to love and honor my parents.  Going "home" for the holidays to be with family reminds me of this.  My Dad wants to hug and kiss me.  He wants to pretend that everything is alright, and I just want to spit in his face.  I consider it a victory enough for my Christian values, if I am able to bite my tongue long enough to let him push away my hair to kiss me on the cheek.  I suppose if he asked, I would offer him the other as well.  But don't ask me to like it.  Don't demand that I enjoy it or cherish it.  I can't do that. 

If love means that my heart must let go of all the pain and believe his hypocrisy again.  I guess I have a long way to go.  If forgiveness means the same, then I guess I am damned to remain unforgiven.  I can control my voluntary actions, but I am powerless to change my heart.

Here I sit waiting on God.
I need Him to teach me that love is not an emotion.  I need Him to teach me to take one day at a time.  I need Him to fix what's been mangled and broken.  I need Him to remind me that I can't change the past.  I need Him to help me let it go.  I need Him to hold my hand as I walk through this process.   And I need Him to remake my heart again...  and again... 

and again.