I've noticed in the last month or so that there's something different in my relationship with God. If you've read a few of my "Great Romance" labeled posts, especially the early ones, you know what I'm talking about. The change, in any case, was difficult for me to pin down at first. Something was different, better, but we still had the same struggles and challenges...still do, in fact. I would get busy and start trying to overcome obstacles in my life solo, and He would have to break through my walls and get my attention. He would ask me to do something, and I would object because of some arbitrary standard or fear. We'd have our tiffs. We also had our moments of nearness and affection. All of this was familiar from months and even years ago, though there were always new surprises, new twists and discoveries. Nothing was in a rut, really, but the pattern of our relationship remained unchanged. But something else had changed.
It took me a while to figure out that what had changed was my attitude. It really struck me when I revisited a song I'd used in one of my earlier posts, "Arms" by Christina Perri. The song is about a woman who questions her lover's affections and their relationship, thinking that she isn't good enough for him. She throws up walls against him and tries to break away from him, to spare him, but he always comes for her, holding her and refusing to let her go. She always seems surprised by this, by the fact that he loves her even though she thinks life would be easier for him if he didn't. When I wrote that post, I could sing that song with prefect empathy for the woman: that was how I felt about my relationship with God. I felt like I didn't deserve Him, like it would be so much easier on Him if He were to just give up on me...and I was always surprised when He didn't. But the other day when I sang the same song, I no longer felt as the woman did. I might still think that it would be easier on God if He didn't love me so--sometimes--, but I was no longer surprised that He did, no longer ready to insist that He stop for His own good. I knew it was pointless. I knew that He loved me in spite of all the pain I caused Him, and that He had no intention of letting me go.
That in and of itself is a change. I have believed from my childhood in eternal security: the Once-Saved-Always-Saved position. From the age of six, at the latest, I'd stopped any serious questioning of whether or not I'd actually been saved the night I accepted Christ. I believed I was going to heaven. I believed Jesus loved me. From halfway through my college career, I knew that God wanted a real relationship with me that included talking with me, sharing my frustrations and joys, and sharing affection and intimacy. This last had been totally unexpected to me (I'd always thought before that the whole "relationship with God" thing was mostly just a catch-phrase to jazz up rote prayers and regular church attendance--having a relationship with God that looked and behaved more like a romantic pursuit than anything else seemed absurd; when I first realized that description fit my interaction with God more accurately, I feared for my sanity). But knowing all these things and believing them is different from understanding them in your heart. Head-knowledge doesn't give confidence, but heart-knowledge does.
That described a lot of the change in my relationship. I wasn't afraid any more. I didn't think that God might decide to up and leave at any moment or leave the relationship to stagnate in a quagmire. I knew He cared too much for that, that He never would, and I drew comfort from that. There was confidence and boldness, too. Not only did I know that He'd decided to stick it out through thick and thin with me, I accepted His decision. I couldn't and can't always see the logic behind it, but I accept that it must be there and that it's His decision to make. As a result, I am not, like the woman, constantly going about trying to sever the relationship for good. I know I can't. I still build walls, but I now build them half expecting them to come down any minute as He comes crashing through. I object when it happens, but I quickly accept it and move on.
This means more change in my attitude every day. I'm no longer scandalized by His words of love, I accept them and even flirt back. I no longer argue that He shouldn't get me gifts, I accept them with gratitude even if I can't quite see why He's giving them to me. The change has affected the relationship as a whole. I'd describe it as more settled, more mature. There are still surprises and drama, but I'm no longer expecting the whole thing to fly apart any minute, or any time soon. Now, deeper issues can be worked on and deeper intimacy enjoyed.
The oddest part about this change is its timing, but I don't think it's coincidental. This change, this deepening and stabilizing of our relationship comes at a time when I haven't been in church in literally months, am not attending Christian activities of any kind (both of these due to my schedule), and have been off a daily Bible reading plan for over a year. All the kinds of things I would have expected to be necessary to deepen my relationship with Christ are totally absent from my life. The only thing there is Christ, and I think He's bringing a message by allowing my heart to settle in with Him under these precise circumstances: the only thing I need is Christ, everything else may be good, but He alone is sufficient.
It took me a while to figure out that what had changed was my attitude. It really struck me when I revisited a song I'd used in one of my earlier posts, "Arms" by Christina Perri. The song is about a woman who questions her lover's affections and their relationship, thinking that she isn't good enough for him. She throws up walls against him and tries to break away from him, to spare him, but he always comes for her, holding her and refusing to let her go. She always seems surprised by this, by the fact that he loves her even though she thinks life would be easier for him if he didn't. When I wrote that post, I could sing that song with prefect empathy for the woman: that was how I felt about my relationship with God. I felt like I didn't deserve Him, like it would be so much easier on Him if He were to just give up on me...and I was always surprised when He didn't. But the other day when I sang the same song, I no longer felt as the woman did. I might still think that it would be easier on God if He didn't love me so--sometimes--, but I was no longer surprised that He did, no longer ready to insist that He stop for His own good. I knew it was pointless. I knew that He loved me in spite of all the pain I caused Him, and that He had no intention of letting me go.
That in and of itself is a change. I have believed from my childhood in eternal security: the Once-Saved-Always-Saved position. From the age of six, at the latest, I'd stopped any serious questioning of whether or not I'd actually been saved the night I accepted Christ. I believed I was going to heaven. I believed Jesus loved me. From halfway through my college career, I knew that God wanted a real relationship with me that included talking with me, sharing my frustrations and joys, and sharing affection and intimacy. This last had been totally unexpected to me (I'd always thought before that the whole "relationship with God" thing was mostly just a catch-phrase to jazz up rote prayers and regular church attendance--having a relationship with God that looked and behaved more like a romantic pursuit than anything else seemed absurd; when I first realized that description fit my interaction with God more accurately, I feared for my sanity). But knowing all these things and believing them is different from understanding them in your heart. Head-knowledge doesn't give confidence, but heart-knowledge does.
That described a lot of the change in my relationship. I wasn't afraid any more. I didn't think that God might decide to up and leave at any moment or leave the relationship to stagnate in a quagmire. I knew He cared too much for that, that He never would, and I drew comfort from that. There was confidence and boldness, too. Not only did I know that He'd decided to stick it out through thick and thin with me, I accepted His decision. I couldn't and can't always see the logic behind it, but I accept that it must be there and that it's His decision to make. As a result, I am not, like the woman, constantly going about trying to sever the relationship for good. I know I can't. I still build walls, but I now build them half expecting them to come down any minute as He comes crashing through. I object when it happens, but I quickly accept it and move on.
This means more change in my attitude every day. I'm no longer scandalized by His words of love, I accept them and even flirt back. I no longer argue that He shouldn't get me gifts, I accept them with gratitude even if I can't quite see why He's giving them to me. The change has affected the relationship as a whole. I'd describe it as more settled, more mature. There are still surprises and drama, but I'm no longer expecting the whole thing to fly apart any minute, or any time soon. Now, deeper issues can be worked on and deeper intimacy enjoyed.
The oddest part about this change is its timing, but I don't think it's coincidental. This change, this deepening and stabilizing of our relationship comes at a time when I haven't been in church in literally months, am not attending Christian activities of any kind (both of these due to my schedule), and have been off a daily Bible reading plan for over a year. All the kinds of things I would have expected to be necessary to deepen my relationship with Christ are totally absent from my life. The only thing there is Christ, and I think He's bringing a message by allowing my heart to settle in with Him under these precise circumstances: the only thing I need is Christ, everything else may be good, but He alone is sufficient.
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