the haunting reality

It haunts me.

So vague, so fuzzy, so undefined… and yet so real, such a part of me that I can’t deny it. It is a dream, yet of what I know not entirely. It is a longing, but for what I do not fully understand. I grasp for it, but know not quite where to grasp. It is a yearning that I cannot clearly define.

It glimmers through my airplane window from the lights of a city… the lights of a million people, each one wrapped up in his own little world. It looks up at me through the eyes of a homeless man named Kent, peeking out from under his cardboard box to receive the food I offer him. It speaks from the concrete along the LA River in the language of the gangs, graffiti. It cries out in the heart-broken weeping of a small child, left feeling unloved once again. It walks towards me as a 64-year old alcoholic named Denise, trapped in an abusive relationship and desperate for a way of escape.

It is hopelessness, when I hold hope. It is hunger, when I hold food. It is bondage, when I hold the keys. It is darkness, when I hold light.

And I long to give that hope, to feed that hunger, to loose those bonds, to shine that light – and yet, so often, I know not how.

I look at my hands, the hands that I have dedicated to God for His service. And I long to use those hands to bring life, to heal, to do the work that Jesus did when He was here on earth.

But how? How, Lord? What do You want me to do?

I feel so small, so inadequate. I see the needs, I long to help. But I want to help everywhere. I want to fix all the world’s problems. I want to gather the entire city up in my arms and care for it as a mother cares for her child.

But I am not the savior of a city.

I am not even the savior of one person.

I cannot save them. I cannot force them to be saved.

All I can do is rest in my own Savior, and trust His love and His grace to be sufficient for them as well. It is only through Him that I can offer them any hope. It is only as I allow His light to shine through me that I can even begin to pierce the darkness that surrounds them.

And so I reach out my hand, and, instead of attempting to hold an entire city of people in that small hand…
I place my hand in the hand of my Savior.

Renewal

I step under the water. I stand, allowing its spray to cover me. With a sinking feeling, I turn the faucet hotter and hotter, until I can hardly tolerate the steaming shower. My face turns pink from the warmth. I scrub desperately, almost violently, in my effort to remove from myself the filth, the stench of the day. I grow nearly frantic in my desire to feel clean again. I pour shampoo in my palm and scrub at my scalp, removing hair along with the dirt, rubbing until my head is a mass of suds; yet still, I don’t feel clean.

Scenes flash through my mind, plaguing me with guilt, with despair. I wonder why I ever allowed those scenes to happen. The thoughts that never should have taken root; the words that never should have entered my mind, much less crossed my lips; the ugly attitudes that reared their heads, hissing, utterly despicable; the things I thought I had long since rid myself of.

Why? Where did they come from? In one nightmarish minute, the revolting, loathsome old habits returned with a vengeance. And I felt powerless to control them. So now, I subject myself to the scorching water, scrubbing until my skin tingles… and still, I feel filthy.

I had thought they were gone. I had thought I had changed. I had thought that the old would never again be a struggle like it had been; that I had worked through and dealt with and grown and matured, and was past all of that.

And then, there it was, staring me in the face, leering up at me and guffawing at my naiveté.

“I never left!” it scoffed. “You actually thought you were rid of me?! Thought you were more ‘mature’?! Bwahahaha… You’ll never be rid of me, Rachel. You can scrub all you want. I’ll still be here, clinging to you. And just when you think I’m gone, I’ll be right there in your face.”

Part of me almost believed the lie. After struggling for so long, what else was there to do?

And yet, there was a truth that spoke louder than the lie. So I held to what I knew, clutching at the only hope of vanquishing its voice.

I knew there was change. I knew there was growth. I knew that the Rae of now was not the same as the Rae of the past.

I knew that I had been “transformed by the renewing of my mind” (Ro. 12:2).
That word, “renewing,” comes from two different root words, according to Strong’s Greek Dictionary. The first, “ana,” carries with it the connotation of “repetition, intensity, [and] reversal.” The second, “kainos,” means “new, especially in freshness.”

You see, renewing does not mean that I am suddenly magically changed into a new, completely different person, and will never struggle again with the same issues. Renewing means repetition.

Renewing does not mean that the battle will be easily won, that it will hardly even be a struggle. Renewing means intensity - blood, sweat, and tears.

Renewing does not mean that the old will vanish away. Renewing means reversal of the old - a reversal of habit that may be slow and painful.

Renewing means a continual, intense struggle towards the new and the fresh; a repeated reversal of the old and finding of the new.

Jesus promised that the living water He gave would be “a well of water springing up into everlasting life.” Not a lake of stagnant water, spread out before my eyes; but a well – an unknown, untapped, inexhaustible supply, the riches of which I am to explore.

It’s all about the exploration.

It’s all about the journey.

Because renewal, after all, is a journey – a never-ending odyssey, full of bumps and twists and turns; an endless striving towards that which is truth.