Sometimes the truth lies elsewhere (Matt. 26; Rom. 7)

Neither delusions of grandeur nor avoidance is the answer. Uninvited reality checks sometimes bring depression when the brutal mirror is turned upon me unexpectedly; nevertheless, burying my head in the sand can only happen for so long before coming up for air becomes a necessity. 

How I handle the uninvited, perceived truth when it slaps me upside the head really is the question.  When I fail to see what others see in me, do I blindly accept it as my truth? What if the criticism comes from the ones I love the most? What if I don’t like what they see?

I have found (and am finding) that neither receiving the arrows of criticism into the deepest places of my heart nor putting up a shield that prevents their penetration is the answer. The truth lies somewhere in between—most of the time.

Recently I have had to face some hard things about myself in light of my husband’s call to the ministry. One of those things is my selfishness. I have to say I was sitting pretty comfortably where I was in the body for the first time in my life. I liked my placement. I liked sitting on my piano bench each week and offering my service through worship. Was it perfect? No! (But no place or person is . . . remember? We are sinners saved by grace through faith, and that not of us. But I digress.) Was it familiar, comfortable, easy (most of the time), effortless (ouch!), friendly, safe, and did I mention comfortable? Yes. Yes it was. The problem is that it is not where I am supposed to stay. If it were, God would not have called my husband to go to a place that he will show us to serve Him for His glory.

So. What’s the problem you ask? Obviously, me.

When I saw myself through the comments of others who saw me as holding my husband back from his ministry because of my selfishness in not wanting to let go of what I had, I must say it hurt tremendously. I let the arrows sink into my soul and bury their shafts of self-pity deep down inside of me. Then they began to fester because I didn’t immediately remove them and do the work necessary to let the wound heal.

“Me?” I asked.

“How could you possibly be the problem?” inner voice replied.

I nurtured and cherished and petted my resentment that for Greg to follow his call I had to let go of my comfortable place to serve. After a few days of feeding this delusion of grandeur, I got distracted by something else and forgot to pull the venomous arrow out and avoided dealing with the problem it should have revealed in me.

This weekend, my husband repeated the same question to me: “How long do I wait for you to get it?”  The same arrows pierced my soul once again, but this time with a little more bite.

Inner voice said, “That he perceive me as a hindrance just isn’t possible. I have been cooperative, loving, supportive, willing to give up everything to follow where my husband’s call takes him, or so I’ve said to others (and myself). I have prayed daily for God to direct his steps since he is my one flesh, and where else can I go but with him? And I have prayed daily for me to be willing to go where God is leading him.”

As I ponder these things, I also think to myself beyond the hurt wondering if I am really willing to give my comfortable place up? Give it up nicely? Without complaint? With a good attitude? To be quite honest, I’m not sure.  I don’t want to be like the children of Israel wandering in the desert and complaining about a situation I’ve made for myself. Honestly. (I believe I heard Dr. Jeremiah mention this week in one of his sermons a proverb that says all sunshine makes a desert. I like the sunshine. I want it without the desert.)

Here is the brutal truth. This weekend was painful for me. Three weeks ago, the first week away from our home church, was a long weekend spent out of town, which seemed sort of like a vacation. (Self-delusion at work there . . .)  The next weekend, we visited with an old church and Greg gave an update about what is going on with us and preached. That set me out of sorts somewhat but still seemed like an older kind of normal. Last weekend was homecoming at our church—an obligation that served as the set end for my time to play at FBC. That was sad for me. But this weekend, this weekend was our first spent at another church knowing it was the kind of thing that will be my new normal, away from sitting in the pew beside my children, away from sitting on my comfortable bench playing the piano and singing in worship, seeing my friends, singing in the choir. Well. Just well!

It was just painful to see that maybe I can talk big, but walking it out is a little bit different. I am not some holier-than-thou person (most of the time. Ugh! I don’t want to be one any of the time). I am not the other extreme who wants to bury her head in the sand and not deal with problems (maybe I am sometimes, okay, often). So all that leaves is the truth, and the truth is being brutal with me right now. I don’t want to hinder my husband’s ministry. I want to contribute, but I am not quite sure what that looks like in this new place while I’m caught in this nebulous world in between what I’ve known and what I can’t yet see. Hmm. I guess that means I have to have faith. 

Faith can move the mountains that I’ve let doubt create in me. Hope can help me expect that God has got something else in store for me, something that it is good, something better than sitting on my bench in my comfortable place singing loud praises instead of living them out.

Is my spirit willing (Matt. 26:41) ? Absolutely. Without question.

Is my flesh weak (Matt. 26:41)? Absolutely. Without question.

Do I do the things I don’t want to do (Rom. 7:15-20)? Absolutely. Without question.

Will I ever get it right here? Likely not, but only God knows.

And that is the truth. It is elsewhere and out of my reach to know right now, but I know that He loves me. I know that my husband loves me. I know that I am called to walk this out beside him.  And that is the truth. It just lies elsewhere than I wanted it to lie.