Words for Wednesday: A Battle We Can't Lose

I was running late, I debated skipping service. I am glad I didn't. On Sunday at church we wrapped up Romans chapter 7. And it started with these questions...

What names do you try to live up to? 

What names do you carry around like a weight you can't throw off?

As the sister of an addict I took on a lot of them for a very long time. I was the "older brother" before I really realized what that meant. And I carried it around with me like it was something I had to live up to, like it was something I should live up to; at times even something I felt I should be proud. Growing up with an addict, or even just a sibling who causes trouble a lot, there can be that sibling who feels like they have to be the "good kid". That was me. You feel like you have to make up for all the issues that happen along the way. But it only causes more; more issue for you, more issues for everyone. It causes you to walk in a way that is not only unrealistic, but damaging.

When I was growing up I viewed Christianity in the same way I viewed being the sibling of an addict. I viewed it in a "I need to be better and do better, because that is what you are supposed to do" way. And it left me feeling resentful, it left me without relationship... it left me on the outside of my relationship with Jesus and it left me on the outside of my relationship with my brother. It wasn't until I was older, as I really began to actually pour into and explore my walk with God, that I realized that the weight of what I was asking of myself was not only too heavy, but that it was impossible and served no purpose. God didn't want me to act out of a need to please, God wanted me to simply be. To come to Him as I am, to admit to Him the brokenness that hurt my soul and to ask Him to fill in where I couldn't. He wanted me to adore Him as someone who wanted my trust and love more than he wanted my blind "rule-following."

It doesn't mean that I have really changed my ways. I still ultimately try to do good and make the right choices, but for a different reason. For the same reason that loving someone and being loved in return makes us want to be the best version of ourselves. For the reason that when we know we are so deeply Loved and cherished, we want to show our love in return not only with words but with actions.

When I realized the plight of the "older brother" and how lost he was, I broke. And that moment, though I didn't realize it then, was freeing. I was free to let go of the weight of having to be the "good kid" and I was free to build relationships instead of walls. And as my relationship with Jesus (and understanding of what Grace truly means) grew into a personal one, my relationship with my brother did too. Does that mean it was perfect? Does that mean I didn't struggle and grapple with my anger at the choices he made? No, I still did. All the time. But it did mean forgiveness had room to seep in (me for him and him for me). And it meant that I now have moments to be so thankful for after my brother ultimately had his struggle be one that took him from us here. And it also means that I can be so thankful that his struggle didn't truly win. That even though addiction is a horrible, ugly thing, that kills bodies and splits families wide open, it doesn't have the ultimate victory. It isn't the ultimate victory! My brother, with his brokenness and addiction and also his zest for life and huge heart, believed that Jesus came to save him. And Jesus did come to save him. And because of that, Jesus won! My brother's struggle didn't win. My own struggles won't win.

Today would have been my brother's birthday. Today IS my brother's birthday. I hadn't realized that when I first wrote the majority of this piece after Sunday's church sermon with plans to post it today. But I find it to be so ultimately fitting. Today John Wayne is celebrating with Jesus. Today is he having the best birthday party any of us could ever hope to have. Today he is winning at life!!  

The battle won't be easy, it was never promised that it would be. 

But you can approach a battle differently when you know it is one that you can NOT lose. 

And for that, I am thankful. Thankful beyond measure, beyond name, and beyond any need to be anything other than myself.

Photo credit from Summit Church; listen to the whole sermon by Zach Van Dyke here. 

Surrendering the Older Brother

"Don't you know I'm the prodigal son?" He says it with a smirk and a condescending smile as he closes and locks the bathroom.

And, like something that feels threatened and angered I do the first thing that comes to my mind. I start spewing venom. I start banging on the locked door like all of the world's problems will be solved if I can just break the door from its hinges or in any way shape or form get him to move faster. "Open the dang door!! You are the most selfish person I have ever met in my entire life! Who do you think you are? Get out of the shower!! You do not have time to shower! Today is not about you!! We are already late and we have to leave! Dad said we had to be out in the car! You think of no one but yourself! You care about no one but yourself! We all know you're the fricking prodigal son, you sure do get everything you want!! That's your problem!! Now GET OUT!!!" I scream so hard my throat feels raw. I scream and I scream and I am right where I was before I ever even started screaming, behind a closed and locked door, accomplishing absolutely nothing. And do you know what happens with those words that left my mouth like venom? They burn. They burned coming out and they burn afterwards. They burn a hole right through you. They are words that never leave you.

There is no vindication in them. There is no answer. There is only weakness and the hurt that you felt and then placed on someone else. And maybe in that moment, when all my brother wanted was 5 minutes in the shower even though he had woken up late, he felt like he would use the prodigal son card to get what he felt he deserved. But when you feel like you have the authority to call yourself that it's also because you know how far you had fallen. How lost you had been. And instead of looking behind the condescending smile and the air of entitlement that I was "so sure" he was throwing in my face, I played into the older brother role yet again. And in that moment I was just as lost as I had always assumed he was. I was so far past any realm of understanding because I let my own brokenness cloud what was going on. I fell into my human nature and made my bitterness, my brokenness, more important than his struggle. And I will always carry that with me. You see, I vowed after that trip to NEVER again go on a family trip with John Wayne. Or at least to never be made to stay in the same hotel room with him. And I never did. I will never have the chance to. Because a year after that trip, he would never get the chance to take another one. 

I had prepared myself for this week's sermon. I had been given fair warning that this sermon was going to be about the prodigal son. I thought that I had come to terms with the demons that I faced that left me a heap of a mess after each previous sermon preached on this same story. I was wrong. Because again, from word one, I was waterworks. And do you know the moment that I truly broke open? It was these 4 simple words, "Jesus loves older brothers." That was all it took. I thought I had come to terms with it, with my sin and brokenness and the bitterness that played so strongly on my heart. I had asked God to forgive me. Thank God I had the opportunity to ask John Wayne to forgive me. But I realized, in that moment, that I had never allowed myself to forgive me. I never forgave that part of myself that held so strongly to those moments where everything in me broke. 

I held onto those words, to those moments of broken anger and others like them, like some badge of shame against myself, so that I would remember the feelings that came after them. I never really let them go. I let them play on repeat and fester in my mind and in my heart and all that did was lead to more broken and bitter feelings. This time at myself for the role I often played in our story. I feel grateful for the times where I could have a conscious discussion with my brother. I am grateful that not long before he died, we had been talking about trying to give the whole "family trip" another shot. And yet, I still could not surrender the hardness I had built against myself and his addiction to allow for me to drop my "older brother" badge altogether. I held onto it, unwilling to surrender it to God. Unwilling to let Him take it and make that part of my heart His. It seemed too ugly somehow. Too broken. But nothing is too broken for God.

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"Jesus loves older brothers." 

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My heart needed those words. Jesus came for everything lost in us, for the older brothers and younger brothers alike. And He said "I love you. I love you more than the pain of death and loss and I will carry you home. I will celebrate YOU, because you were lost and now you are found." And with tears streaming I surrendered the darkest parts of myself. The parts I tried to keep locked tight and hidden away. I surrendered them then and I will surrender them each time I feel like I am trying to pull them back, because God can do such a better job at loving the older brother in me than I can. 

If you would like to listen to the sermon and the rest of the series (preached by Zach Van Dyke) you can click through the picture at the top of the post or find it here. 

Sin Boldly

Do you sin boldly? 

No? You should! You should sin boldly. 

Sermons often have a way of rocking me, but some have a way of breaking me wide open. 

They are all just words, words formed by letters, to make a sentence that someone speaks aloud. But it is in that arrangement of those specific letters that one can truly see the power of words, the power in a sermon. They are words laid together just so, so that we can see God at work through the one who is teaching them.

Sin is a short word, comprised of three letters. But it holds so much if we let it... All week long I have heard those words "sin boldly", replayed the question in my mind as I attempt to fall asleep. 

This entire week and all week before that really, I have walked around in a fog. I stopped blogging. I did exactly what I had recently vowed I was not going to do anymore. I wrapped myself in cloak of haze and let myself hide in it. Why? Because I don't want to think. I don't want to remember. I don't want to move forward, because it is painful. I stopped thoughts, because I didn't want to feel the pull that it would bring from my heart. It has been almost a year since my brother died and with it comes the urge to block it all out again. 

But God gets through fog and haze has nothing on Jesus. And so, He met me where I was. He met me where I was so that I could see the question marks that I had been letting eat me from the inside. 

Do I sin boldly? 
That answer would have been no and I would have thought it should be. Sin boldly? Why would I want to sin boldly? And so I leaned in closer and I listened. "You sin boldly, because Jesus is bolder than sin." These words made sense, but not in real terms. And then there was a reference, a reference to a story that always brings me to my knees... the younger brother, the prodigal son. The inaudible intake of breathe, the invisible fingers tightening around my insides was all it took and the tears were pouring out, tears I had been forcing back all week long. This story has so much significance for me and usually without fail any mention of this story will leave me in tears, it has for years. But these tears were different. These tears held so much of what I have been working so hard to repress, because when this story was mentioned- in this particular sermon, in this particular context- I was confronted with all of the questions I have been refusing to acknowledge. The question prosed went something like this, "What if part of the reason the younger brother left in the first place was because his older brother wasn't contrite enough to share his own sins? What if the younger brother felt he could never live up to the expectations set by his older sibling and so he just didn't even care to try?" 
And so in the middle of a sermon, on a Sunday, in the far corner of a sanctuary I broke open. All week long words have been bottling up and now, because another sleepless night can wait, they will bleed out. Cut open, bleeding black and white. 

Was I contrite enough? 

Did I do enough to help a dark situation? 

Did my brother know that my heart could be just as sinful as his?

Did I share my story with him? 

Did I share my sin? 

I brought him to church, I encouraged him to come to reGroup. I did this checklist of things I thought might help him, but how did I do it? Did I say "come, you need this" or did I tell him how much I need it all too? 

I would like to think I did. I would like to think a part of me had gotten better, that I had learned to be more forgiving. I would like to think he remembered my apologizes more than he remembered the words I spewed at him in anger. But then I replay the number of my memories that include bitter undertones. I can't go back, I can't replay the picture. I can only hope that the things I shared with him before he died were enough for him to know just how badly I wanted him in those seats. I am grateful for the year we had before he died, I am grateful for the redemption our relationship had started to see, but I also know that I could have done more. Our stories are our own, but they are also there for the sake of others. Looking back, I wish I had shared more. Not on pen and paper, in my own private way, but out loud with him. I wish I hadn't waited until I had fully understood my own sin to share it with him, because it wasn't enough time. 

I know that these things - these questions and the way I throw them at myself- are a processing step; a self-inflicted guilt pang that will probably heal with scar-tissue that can still be felt from underneath the skin. They are real; they are the questions that I have been pushing to the far corners of my mind because I didn't want to address them. Yet, they are what I need. I need them to be the reminder that my sin should be shared; shared boldly, so that I don't have to question if I could have shared more. Shared boldly so that maybe another "younger brother" doesn't feel the need to run so far away, so that maybe they will want to settle into a seat, that fills a room, that is filled with people who can help tell them of God's grace. 

Sin is a short word, comprised of three letters. But it holds so much if we let it.

God is a short word too, but God will trump sin every time.

He doesn't need to hold any of it for us, He has already let it go. 

Link to hear sermon (preached by Zach Van Dyke)