To Wrestle with God

I never expected to be here alive.  Oh, I had hoped for it more than you could imagine.  I clung to the reassuring words and staked my claims on the lyrics, but I guess I never really got it.  See, you never really expect these things to happen, much less happen to you.  You never think that you’ll be the one.  You dream about it and hope for it, but you keep your guard up all the same�"just in case.  Imagine if you dared to hope wholeheartedly!   Let me be the first to tell you: hope with all your heart, because there’s nothing left to fear.

          I’m not one to hope easily�"never have been.  I wasn’t born with hope in my vocabulary.  Everyone always expected me to fail, so I only worked hard when I had to and did everything I could to get ahead.  I didn’t have time for hoping.  I had to prove myself to everyone else, but I wanted to work as little as possible.  I wanted every short-cut and cheat code there was in life.  I was a fake, and everyone knew it.  I became known as a liar and a cheat.  I wasn’t proud of it�"who would be?�"but I realized soon enough there was no use in trying anymore.  I wasn’t dealt great cards, but later I learned something that changed all of that.  All greatness has humble beginnings. 

          Growing up in the half-shadows of expectation and reputation, I learned to hate.  I hated other people for what they said about me, but I hated myself even more for never being able to prove them wrong.  People loved pointing out how I was headed in the wrong direction, and I gave up trying to find the right way.  What was it worth, trying to be good when so many people were set on seeing the bad in you?  What was the point of working so hard when you could settle for what was good enough?  I’m by no means proud of that attitude, but that’s the way I lived. 

          Most of all, I hated God.  According to everyone who followed Him, I had no right to approach their Holy One.  Every time I went to church, I felt worthless and ostracized.  I wanted nothing to do with religious people or the harsh God they served.  He was probably just waiting around to send me to hell.  One wrong move, and into the flames I’d be dropped.  Some days I was tempted to just get my damnation over with.  I got careless and reckless with my life, because it didn’t matter to me anymore.  I would never be good enough.  Life became pointless, and I became defeated.  Hope was as foreign to me as sunlight in the depths of caverns, but I was about to find something out: never doubt the power Light has to illuminate darkness.

          It’s easy to hate the environment that you grow up in, but it’s hard for that environment to let you go.  The church that I knew hated me as much as I hated it, but the God that they served wasn’t at all how they described.  Oh, He was holy and righteous all right.  He could condemn you to hell faster than you could burn at the stake covered in kerosene, and they made sure that I knew that full well.  What no one ever told me was that God could love with a fierce passion.  His love would come after you and find you�"no matter how far you ran or where you hid.  In my teen’s I started to hear people talk about God’s love.  At the time, I was still far too angry and my heart was ever hardening.  I figured He would never love me, and I decided that I didn’t want His love anyway.

          No matter what I said or did, my heart had been baited.  The idea of love�"passionate, fierce, perfect love�"had pierced my heart.  I wasn’t quite yet to hoping, but I often found myself lamenting in the still, dark hours of the night.  If only it were true…  There was a feverish longing in my soul for this love, despite my mind’s objections.  It didn’t make sense that a holy, righteous God would love a lying cheat like me, of all people.  He had no reason to.  I tried to fool my heart into feeling the love I had heard about, as if the fact that I didn’t deserve that splendid gift would make my heart want it any less.  I did everything I could to fill that crevice, but it only turned into an ever-widening canyon.  After a step towards hope, I fell back into anger and despair.  Not only a liar and a cheat, I was now a w***e.

          There comes a time when everyone realizes that the darkness in their life has never been so thick.  Along with this comes the choice of picking yourself up and carrying on or staying where you are and letting the darkness win.  When I came to this point, I was brimming with years of unshed tears.  I bore the wounds of both my past and my present, and not one was anywhere near healing.  All the imitations of the love I had heard about only deepened my wounds, yet my heart screamed.  It shrieked for love�"to be surrounded, caught up, and swept away in it.  I didn’t want to stay in the dark anymore, but the light terrified me.

          I knew full well who and what I was, and everyone else had a pretty good idea, but I couldn’t stand the thought of any of that being revealed.  Who would ever want their secrets dragged out, kicking and screaming, into the holy light of God?  Some said that this was the only way to be healed, but my mind refused to entertain this terribly painful idea.  My heart, on the other hand, was willing to consider it.  If all the pain meant that I could know love, wouldn’t it be worth it?  What was the price of a little pain in order to be loved in spite of the awful mess that I was?  My pride, that’s what.  As someone who prided themselves in the cunning and secrecy, giving all that up was more than a stupid idea.  It was ludicrous.  Despite that�"and maybe even because of it�"my heart continued to entertain the notion. 

          I would never in say it in words, but a deep part of me longed for truth.  I didn’t want to be a liar, a cheat, a w***e.  I wanted to be honest somewhere in my life.  It wasn’t even about proving other people wrong anymore.  The false life I led was killing me, and I couldn’t wait to die because at least then I would be forced to face the truth of who I was and what I’d done.  That line of thought, however, always brought me to the same realization: I didn’t really want to die.  I wasn’t ready.  I didn’t want to go out as a liar, a cheat, and a w***e.  I didn’t want to be known as someone who had wasted their life�"or worse, I didn’t want to die and not be remembered at all.  I wanted to be better, but I couldn’t do it on my own and I didn’t know where to go or how to start.  I’d tried and failed many times at many things.  This would have to take something far greater than me.

          I always thought God was this mighty and holy judge, and nothing more.  I never thought God could come as a man in the night, of scandalous birth yet on a sovereign mission.  What’s more, I couldn’t even fathom that he would do it for a lying cheating w***e like me.  When I couldn’t even find the strength to make a clear decision, God came to me.  In the darkest season of my life, when I was furthest from a light of any kind, God came�"not to damn me to hell, but to invite me to heaven.  I don’t remember it like it was yesterday.  I remember it because it is ever before me: the greatness of my sin and there beside it His merciful love that is far greater still.

          Open space is marvelously soothing for a crowded mind.  I often sojourned into the dark, still hours between night and day when I needed to think.  Seduction is best done at night, but the most excellent cons take place during the day.  My lifestyle left little room for sleep or vacation, but that made my walks all the more consoling.  I often slipped into the graveyard, as it spurred my contemplation of the frailty of life, the finality of death, and the future of eternity.  After most of these walks I found myself despairing.  There was absolutely nothing I could do to fix the situation I was in, so I would walk back home and try to make it through one more week.  One of these walks ended in a way I never could have imagined.

          Sunday was the worst day of the week because it only made my failures in life more obvious.  If I were any good, I would go to church or volunteer or something.  Instead, I hid inside and ran through all of my accounts.  Seducing and conning paid well, but they weren’t exactly government approved.  I happened to live in a nice, safe, well-to-do neighborhood, but I would have been more at home in the slums.  These were good, honest, hard-working people, and I was a terrible, lying, cheating monster.  I didn’t belong here.  One particular Sunday, I became so fed up with despair that I went for a walk.  The sun had just started to set, but the beauty of it all was lost on me.  I was consumed by reality of the barren land that was my soul and the fickle soil that was my heart. 

          I walked for miles, but with no direction�"much as I had for my entire life.  When I found myself in the middle of a cemetery, night had fallen several hours before.  Weary in body, soul, and mind, I fell to my knees in front of a particularly large mausoleum with a perfectly white marble cross, curled up against the cold stone, and drifted off to sleep. I had never been so utterly exhausted and completely spent, so much so that I had a hard time sleeping.  A series of soft crunches and rustling leaves startled me from my meager slumber, and I stumbled to my feet.  Years of my lines of work taught me to stay sharp, yet somehow this man had managed to sneak up on me.  He reached for me, and I immediately grabbed his wrist to break it.  I didn’t have a good sense of his size, as we were in the dark of night and the shadow of the cross.

          I wrestled that man for hours.  I didn’t bother to ask him why he came.  I didn’t consider that perhaps he meant to show me out of the cemetery to somewhere warm.  I sensed in him a power greater than anything I knew, so I fought to prove that what little strength I had was worth my life.  My fears fueled me�"fear of dying forgotten, yet fear of living a failure of a life.  As I wrestled with this man that had come to me in the night, I found that there were convictions I held in the core of my being.  There was a life worth living, a right way of doing things.  That life and right way were worth dying for, and I wasn’t going to die unless I was dying for that right way and life.  My convictions overpowered my fear as I fought for a second chance at living.

          As dawn broke through the sky, I felt a shock in my hip as if the tendon had suddenly set ablaze.  My knee buckled, and I tightened my grip.  He must have slipped his hand to my side somehow, but I was determined to fight him until the end.  He told me to let him go, and by now dawn was already flooding the sky.  I kept my grip and panted out that I wouldn’t let go until he promised me that I had not done all of this in vain, that I could have a different life, that I was more than all of my failures.  For several long moments, he looked me in the eye as if to assess my sincerity.  I freely admit that my words were far from the charismatically threatening demands of a con-man.  As I finally faced all that I was and everything I was not, I found myself begging and pleading for salvation. 

          “You have struggled with God and with men and have overcome.  I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this place.  I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

          “Swear to me that you will show kindness to your servant.  Give me a sure sign,” I pleaded, needing to know for sure.

          “My life for your life.  There is no greater love,” he swore.

          My grip loosened and I staggered backward.  I stared at my trembling hands in awe and wonder.  His words had sparked something in my memory, and I found myself frantically searching my brain for some sort of explanation.  I knew it, and I believed it, but I couldn’t quite grasp it.  How could this be possible?  This shattered all my assumptions and destroyed my previous conceptions.  My world was turned inside out and upside down, but I had never felt this alive before.  That haunting shame and utter despair were gone�"not subdued or diminished, but completely wiped away and totally erased.  There was only one way this could be possible.  As I turned and looked up, with dawn bursting forth all over the sky and the shadow of the cross covering me, my confession spilled from my lips.

          “You are Christ!”  I spun around, but the man was nowhere to be found.  “I have seen God face to face, and yet my life has been spared,” I marveled.

          From that moment on, my life changed.  I had been given a second chance at living, and I intended to make the most of every moment I was given.  What I was doing was far from acceptable to anyone else.  No one had ever heard of a con-man or a w***e becoming a missionary.  I was both, and I intended to do just that.  It wasn’t about making myself known or reshaping my reputation.  I was nothing!  Everything I did and said was for the purpose of showing others the one who had given me a second chance.  For three years, I travelled around the state, speaking to anyone who would listen.  I spoke at soup kitchens and country clubs and everywhere in between.

          Despite my extensive speaking, I was wary of churches.  They were a double edged sword of sorts.  Most would righteously condemn my previous lifestyle as if they had never been in need of grace, and praise God that I had found the light.  Some might acknowledge God’s work in full and see that I had no part in my salvation save begging for it, welcoming me to a community of broken people who were being made whole.  The latter response was what I desired, but the chances of getting it didn’t look good.  Still, I knew that there were plenty of people like me in those congregations�"people who hid their lying and cheating and immorality far better than I ever did, carrying the heavy weight of secret shame and hidden sin on their shoulders and in their hearts.  I wanted them to know there was a way out.  I wanted them to know that things could change, that they didn’t have to hide anymore, that freedom was possible.  I needed them to know they were loved, no matter what. 

          A year or so into my traveling and speaking, I let go of enough of my fear and my pride to start speaking at youth groups and student retreats.  I knew that these students couldn’t afford clichés.  If they were anything like me, they craved truth that would give their lives meaning.  If I could share that truth with them now so they would never have to go through what I did, or begin to heal if they already had, I dared not sugarcoat a single word.  I risked exposing myself to them, and it was worth more than I could say.  I met incredible kids with stories that completely blew me away, and I came to care not only about them but also their generation as a whole. 

          In the end, it was the kids who brought me to finally speak in front of adult congregations.  The students wouldn’t get very far if they were being shut down and refuted at every turn by the people with the most authority in their lives.  I decided to start small and work my way up, hopeful that the passion that God had given me would push me to stretch and grow.  Speaking in inner city churches�"where I found myself most comfortable�"caused me to care for adults too.  They had made mistakes just like I had, and they often felt that it was too late for them and they weren’t getting another chance in life.  I needed them to know the same things I was telling their kids, so I spoke just as honestly and openly to them as I did to their students.

          I soon realized that inner city parents were well-aware of the environment that their kids were in.  Even if they couldn’t remove them from the violence and abuse and immorality, these parents wanted to equip their kids with the ability to rise above their situations and circumstances.  Middle and upper class parents, on the other hand, were often at a disadvantage.  In pretty neighborhoods that seemed so quiet, so safe, they rarely realized the crises that their children were experiencing.  I started speaking with more fervor and passion, abandoning my foolish pride so that these parents could help the student generation that I had come to care so deeply about.  How well-off they were didn’t matter.  I needed them to know that there was hope, and that they were loved, and that freedom was possible. 

          Those three years were an incredible time in my life.  I grew in ways that I never imagined.  It wasn’t easy, but it was incredibly worth it.  After so many years of searching, I had finally found fulfillment and purpose�"and the best part was that none of it had to do with me.  It was as if you were a beggar, and you were invited off the streets by the king himself to his palace to share in all that was his.  Those three years were like living in his castle.  Halfway through my fourth year, I went back to the streets.  I had never once imagined that I would do such a thing�"that fear and pride would rear up and cripple me so fully�"but it was so.  Of all that I am not proud of, this humbles me far more than anything else.  Nothing had ever been so shattering.

          My travels had taken me to the southwest region, and I had been told that I wouldn’t be well accepted.  I heeded their warning, but not with much care.  I had become distracted by the idea that I needed to expand and grow�"to spread my story further, to work harder, to make people see what I was doing with my life now that God had changed me.  I was walking one night, trying to settle my nerves and prepare for the next day.  I had to speak at a prison, which was not unusual for me.  The anxiety was, however.  The words just didn’t seem to come to me, no matter how long I labored over what I would say.  I was somehow out of touch; I couldn’t get in tune with that inner part of me that had guided me this far. 

          I hadn’t been walking long when I heard familiar sounds from my old life�"a crowd of voices hurling insults and screaming obscenities.  Someone had been found guilty, and a trial was ensuing.  I stepped to the side as they came clamoring down the street, but with piqued curiosity I became part of the mob.  I maintained my distance well enough, trying to catch a glimpse at whomever they had condemned.  The night was dark and chaotic, almost as if to echo the confusion and frustration I felt in my own heart.  In a moment of irrational fear, I pulled my hood low over my face.  I didn’t want to be caught up in the aftermath and ruin my reputation.  If word got out of who I was and where I’d come from, I’d be condemned.  Even if I wasn’t taken captive, my presence here tonight would be better off kept a secret. 

          “You’re one of them, aren’t you?” a girl accused, grabbing my arm.  “A Christian�"you’re a Christian, aren’t you?”

          “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, jerking free and turning away. 

          “No, you’re definitely one of them,” a man nearby said.  “You’re one of the fanatics, one of the most outspoken ones.  I recognize your face.”

          “I’m telling you, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I exclaimed, cursing them both.

          “I can see it in your eyes,” a voice at my side hissed about an hour later.  “You’re from the northern region, just like he is.  You have to be one of them.” 

          “I’m not!” I adamantly swore, storming off down a side street. 

          As I paused before turning the next corner to make my way back to where I was staying, I looked over my shoulder and then looked up.  What met my eyes pierced me to the very core, sending a cold, heavy weight crashing down on me.  Dawn flooded the sky, bursting forth fiery and fierce, and once again I stood in the shadow of the cross.  My knees buckled and my breath left me.  Tears burned my eyes and blurred my vision.  My chest heaved and my shoulders shook.  I wept bitterly, yet I dared not cry out to God, to Christ whom I had just blatantly denied.  Guilt as black as the events of the previous night settled over me.  I had felt depression before, but never despair as thick and deep as this.  What on earth had I just done?

          For three days I spoke to no one about what had happened.  I had a good friend send word that I would not be speaking at the prison�"I was not well.  I shut myself in my room and refused to eat or speak.  What little sleep I got was tortured at best, filled with visions of that furious dawn that had broken through the dark night merging with the fires of hell, ready and waiting to consume me as the sound of my denials echoed in my ears.  If I’d had any trouble believing what I’d done after it happened, I had no such issue or excuse now, three days later.  My sin was in my face, and I knew full well what my crime was.  I had sinned against none other than Christ Himself, betraying Him and denying all that He’d done.  I finally fell into a deep sleep on the fourth night, exhausted and utterly spent, and dreamed the unthinkable.

          “Do you love me more than your pride?” he asked me, calling me by name and awakening me from my slumber.

          “God, forgive me!” I whispered my voice too choked with emotion to speak clearly.  “You know my heart.  You know that I love you.”

          “Serve my people in humility,” he commanded softly. 

          I nodded and held my breath.

          “Do you truly love me, more than your fear?” he asked, calling me by name a second time.

          “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you!” I said, finding my voice and my conviction.

          “Care for my children at all costs,” he commanded gently.

          I nodded, but did not meet his gaze.

          “Do you love me more than your life?” he asked me, calling me by name for the third time.

          “Jesus, you know everything!” I cried out, finally meeting his gaze, searching for forgiveness.  “You know that I love you.”

          “Dedicate yourself to service,” he said.  “When you were young, you acted and went as you pleased.  You’re older now; you must reach out your hands and be led where you do not want to go.”

          I found myself weeping, but not with guilt or shame or remorse.  For a second time, God had set me free.  In His mercy, He saw fit to forgive me of my betrayal and denial.  What’s more, He allowed�"even commanded�"me to continue to serve Him.  When he swore to me three years ago that He would show me kindness, I never thought it would be here, like this, under these circumstances.  There was no greater forgiveness than this beautiful, undeserving redemption.  I took none of his words lightly.  I was to dedicate myself to humble and sacrificial service, to put aside my pride and my fear and my will for the Lord’s sake, surrendering completely and allowing Him to lead me as He saw fit.  I was more than willing to do all these things and more, as was required of me.  I knew there was nothing I can do to reclaim or maintain my salvation; it was solely by the grace of God.

          “Follow me.”                  

          It was then that I understood the weight of his call, and I nodded.  For the rest of my life I did not see him, but three truths were ever before me.  The sin of humanity was great, and we would wrestle with this condition our entire lives.  The love of Christ was greater still, and strengthened us to persevere through our suffering.  Our faith in Him allowed our hope to be anchored in the promise of an eternity dwelling with Him.  Although I continued speaking, I learned that honesty and loyalty required costly sacrifice.  I wrestled daily between my desire to be recognized and my longing to glorify God.  I battled constantly against giving in to my fear and fought to stand firm in my faith.

          I didn’t always get it right.  There were days when I felt like I was back in that cemetery wrestling with God, as I had done so many years ago.  I still wrestled with God, but He was inside of me.  The battle became inward, one between my soul and my flesh.  Sometimes I found the clouds of guilt and shame brooding and threatening to wreak havoc on my life.  I kept what I knew to be true on my mind and in my heart, working out my faith and challenging myself to stay honest and accountable.  I learned to glory in the grace, mercy, and forgiveness of Christ.  These were true, and good, and beautiful, and pointed to the One who was the essence of all three.  I was better equipped to share forgiveness and hope and freedom because I finally understood them.  I was able to love, because I had experienced the fullness of the Love of God.  I was nothing, but He was everything.

          As I walk these streets, I am in perpetual awe.  Crossing the river and entering glory cannot be described.  Here, I am everything that I was made to be.  I am a child in the house of my Father.  I am a redeemed beggar who dwells in the palace of the King.  I have wrestled with God and against men.  In His greatest act of love, He gave His life for mine so that I could not only be restored but also be counted as worthy and righteous.  I joyously spent my years in service to Him, humbled and grateful beyond measure.  In His sovereignty, He called me home when He saw fit.  To wrestle with God is indescribable, and to glory with Him even more so.  I never expected to be here alive.  

Author's Note

This is what I wanted to show, really. The other writings are nice enough, but this piece carries a large part of my heart in it. I worked for over ten days to make this what it is now. I don't know how good it is, but I just wanted to share it with you, and I hope that's okay. Thoughts and comments, as always, are extremely appreciated.

Reviews

[poetry-kiddo alienbaba]

i watched you both...
it was fun
and Jesus like to sneak up on unsuspecting folk sometimes and "POW!!!! they sing alllllelluya"
lol
but seriux....tis is a very nice incident in your life...
and i was serius in the first statement too..
be you...who you...the you

[Siren]

thank you so much for your words (: i really appreciate them.

[poetry-kiddo alienbaba]

u know u are paranormal a kid as can be....ask him...ask me:)