Shrugging off anchors.

In church, we've been going through the story of Joseph, and today we talked about guilt and forgiveness and grace. I like reading about Joseph because there's reconciliation and weeping. It's one of the only times in the Bible when it's actually written that a man cries. Most of the time we're left guessing what the characters are feeling, the state of their emotions. But not with Joseph.
Joseph sobs.
When he first meets Benjamin, he sobs so hard that he has to leave the room to keep up his charade. I love that. I feel like I know him because of that.

This morning Pastor Mark talked about the guilt that the brothers felt. How they lived for twenty-two years harboring a secret, unsure whether Joseph was alive or dead, but certain that they could not confess what they had done. He spoke of their fear. There is a part in chapter forty-two of Genesis, when the brothers are explaining who they are, and they say that they are twelve brothers. Ten of them are present, Benjamin is at home, and one—Joseph, one is no more.
One is no more.
They still count him. They still consider him a brother, alive or dead. They still think of him daily.

They have carried Joseph with them, and the grief and shame and despair and bitterness over what they have done, for the past twenty-two years since the day they exchanged him for twenty pieces of silver.

Their brother never left them. He was a weight on their back since the moment he was dragged away by the slave-traders.

I think we all carry weights like that. I know that I have. But that is so wrong. That is so wrong of us to do. Pastor Mark said today, That is an affront to God. And it is. It is a slap in His face to bear useless burdens of guilt and bitterness and anger and resentment and animosity. To say to Him, This one? This one is just too big for You. Not even You could understand. I've got to keep it on, I have to wear it, it makes me who I am. It took me a long time to see that. That that is a sin. Years, actually. But one day I sat on the edge of my bed, weeping, and realizing that this was on me. All of my condemnation and guilt and perpetual suffering, that was my doing. And I had to get over myself. I remember clenching my fists and pressing them onto my thighs while I heard the words my Pastor had said that morning in church, over and over again in my head.

Don't you dare be condemned. 

And then and there, I had to own up to my shortcomings.
I had to let it all go.
I had to forgive.

I am pleading with you now, if you haven't, do the same. Just get over yourself. Don't walk around blaming yourself or others. Don't harbor those sour feelings. Don't wallow in bitterness and unforgiveness. Don't let that weight hang on your back. Don't walk around with an anchor around your neck.
Shrug it off.
Because we can never truly be alive in Christ unless we take off our own guilt and put on his yoke and burden. It is not our job to judge the heaviness of our shame and sufferings as too much for the Carpenter to carry. And I think it's important that we tell each other that. That we say, It's okay. It's okay to feel sorry about something. It's okay to be in pain about something. It's okay to let experiences and choices you or someone else has made shape you in some way. What is not okay, is if you dwell in that. If you live there, and you refuse to let it all go and forgive. It is not okay to let that rule your life. I think we're scared to say those things. I think we're afraid of being thought of as un-compassionate or unfeeling or harsh. But it is too detrimental to stay silent about this. And I will not be quiet anymore. I will not let you drown for my fear of being severe and inconsiderate.

Do not let unforgiveness and guilt sink you.

Don't live with something you don't have to. Confess it. Cry about it. Grow from it. Let it go. We all make mistakes. We all sin. We all mess up. We don't all have to choose to go down with our guilt and suffering. We don't all have to wear anchors. In truth, no one does. So be bigger than you make yourself out to be. Be more forgiving, more understanding, more intentional. Do not be one of Joseph's brothers, waiting twenty-two years to be redeemed and forgiven. Be a Joseph. Name your past Manasseh and forget about it, and then call your present and future Ephraim, and expect plenteousness.

Animosity and guilt are not only worth nothing, but they are devices that will suffocate you and engulf your existence. They will pull you further from the One who loves you most. They will make you a stranger to Him. And they will cause you to sin, and create a rift between you and He who can save you.
Don't go down in a ship with the national guard standing by, arms outstretched and ready to catch you.
It would be a tragedy, because it would be your choice.
There is so much more of a wondrous life for you if you get over yourself. Christ has so many more valuable things for you to do than to spend your time feeling sorry for yourself. There is devotion and adoration and beauty, if you only take a breath and surrender. I promise that it is worth it. I know it doesn't seem like it would be, I have been in that position. I once locked myself up in bitterness and then caged myself with guilt. And it feels like there is no way out. But I want you to know, you need to know, there is. You don't have to continue in the way that you are. You don't have to be the same. You don't have to wear that heavy weight. You can shrug it off. You can be redeemed and relieved and renewed. And it is so much more beautiful than you can imagine. Friends, it is so much more glorious to worship and follow Him if we are not trapped by the things we have or have not done.

Hurt and guilt are all-consuming, but only if you let them be. Grace is ever-present, but only when you accept it.

Comes August

This morning I wrapped up a package for my niece. It's one of my favorite things to do. I love sending letters, but I love sending parcels even more. There is something impossibly perfect about closing the lid of a cardboard box and pressing down on the flowers that I nestled inside.

I laid down outside today, exasperated with myself and all of the decisions I have to make still. There are so many choices in life. So many things to do or not to do. So many. Some days I just want to blindfold myself and point and say, that one. And then I would look. And I would do it, no matter what it was and if I liked it or not. It's hard to choose, even when you know what you want and everything makes sense. It still takes faith to say, that one, and to keep your eyes open as you do it.

Sometimes I think life would be nice if it was like a package and you get what you get. Then you just deal with it. Sometimes I think that. Days like today are when I think that.
But then I remember grace and mercy and the beauty that comes from the ability to make choices.
It's a good thing I'm not God. I would be the sorriest reason to worship ever.

I am so fickle. So foolish. So irrational.
So human.
There's some encouragement in that. I am only human. I can only be, and only so much. And even when I want all of my decisions to be wrapped up in a cardboard box full with basil that I open when I feel like it, I am still worth something.
I still have a purpose.

In the midst of my overwhelmed-ness these August days, I am counting my blessings and trying to grow a larger heart. The God who made me and named me is so good. I hope you know that. I hope you know Him.

Your whole life changes when you do.

It's like getting a package. Every. Single. Day.

How I am getting over myself.

I used to have mornings when I didn't want to get out of bed. For many reasons, but the most prominent that I can remember is that I didn't like who I was. I wasn't happy. And getting out of bed meant that I had to admit that. And also that I had to try to like myself.
I thought my life was amazing. There was no reason for me to be unhappy. It didn't make any sense. And so I would lay there, wrapped in my quilt, wishing the day away. Praying that God would just give me an epiphany and I would suddenly understand why I didn't like my wonderful life.

I used to think I knew everything.

Today.

For so long I was chasing happiness. So sure that it was a place I would come to someday. I searched for years. I threw so many beautiful things and people and ideas away because of my endless endeavor and hunt.
Then.
Then I read the words of Margaret Lee Runbeck. She says,

"Happiness is not a state to arrive at, but a manner of traveling."

I already know where I'm going. And I get to choose who I'll be and what I believe and how I act till I get there. 

I choose happiness. 

I get to choose happiness. 

And that is something entirely, wholly beautiful. 

I have had an incredible June day. And it is ending with a sunset out the kitchen window and my Bible open to Esther and coffee brewing to be paired with ice and milk tomorrow.

I am happy. 

Are you?

Peace.

K and I are making decisions together but apart. To stay or go. And to go or go. Somehow after tonight, with tea and short conversations, I feel better. Like the pressure is a little lighter on my chest.
Like I'm not alone anymore.
I'll confess, it has been so hard these past few weeks, to pretend like all my praying and lists and more praying and hopes is getting me somewhere, is getting me an answer. It's not. I can't choose. And I was somewhat desperate this morning, but tonight, tonight K told me things.
Noah. Noah and his illogical ark.
And I told K things. She has a way of making me say the things I need to hear to her.
And now, peace.
That sweet, pleasurable taste in your mouth when you breathe out and feel your small back muscles relax and it all comes to a stillness. Peace.

Sometimes two decisions can be right decisions. Maybe one is righter, maybe they are the same, but whatever their weight, so long as you have the smallest portions of faith, heaps of blessings will fall on you. Whatever you decide. Whatever you choose.

I'm telling myself that, currently. It is the most savory thing I've said on my lips in a long time. This calls for an 11pm cup of tea. As I finish my French homework with eyelids half shut and sketch out the best parts of this weekend for future painting.