“May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.” Psalm 19:14
Not long ago, I got this crazy urge to write a fictional story about a general’s daughter in 10th-century Britannia who, as her father’s only child, was raised to be a soldier. I really went to town on it, typing furiously and finishing the first three chapters by suppertime. Although the details I included were not grotesquely graphic, there was a fair amount of fatal swordplay in skirmish scenes, with some barbarian raids and village burnings mixed in for good measure. At the point where my heroine plunged a dagger into some guy’s throat, I realized with surprise and shock that she was channeling my own anger.
I didn’t know I was angry. Tense, I called it. Stressors from my job and home have apparently been simmering deep, deep inside me for so long that they finally erupted into a full boil. I’ve been pushing down the tension and the grief and everything else thrown into the pot, while maintaining to everyone around me, “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” Because that’s what we do – carry on, “just keep swimming,” continue putting one foot in front of another to get through each day without melting into a screaming mess.
I have to admit, it was kind of cathartic to navigate my heroine into all that carnage in the name of justice and right. Having her hack through a wall of bad guys was satisfying on a deep, psychological level. But as soon as I realized what was driving the story, I knew I had to stop. It’s not who I am called to be.
As a follower of Christ, my prime directive is to conform myself to his image. At every moment, in every circumstance, my life must reflect the character and attributes of the divine Spirit who dwells in me. That means surrendering it all – the grief, the frustration, the discouragement, the rage – to God’s lordship. If I wholly belong to him, I cannot hoard things that lie outside of his pleasure.
That doesn’t mean I must avoid natural emotions or drives. After all, the humanity in Jesus wept. His patience was tried. He became angry. But experiencing something is not the same as clinging to it. I cannot clutch hurt and pain to myself in stubborn refusal to relinquish them. When the time comes, I must loosen my grasp and hand them over to the One who carried them to the cross for me.
Is it easy to scrutinize and censor every impulse, motive or expression that flits through my brain or heart? Heck no! We are what we are. But the good news is that we don’t have to stay that way. Despite our culture’s “be true to yourself” mantra, I yearn to shed the earthbound parts of me in favor of Christlikeness. Obviously, such a process won’t be complete this side of Heaven, but I can at least start working toward that goal in my own faltering way. While I may not be perfect, I am perfectly loved. Jesus walks beside me each step of the journey – encouraging, supporting, restraining and constraining my thoughts and actions from moment to moment, day by day.
So now I need to start a new story, one that exudes compassion, mercy and forgiveness. Even if I’m the only one who ever reads it, I want my words to honor the One who loves me best.
Yes you write often what I fell to say about the ongoings in my mind! Thanks!