faith

i’m learning that my heart is no place for a home. if anything, it’s just a house. definitely not a home. no one lives there. no one would. the windows and doors are boarded up, no way of getting in. especially light. it’s completely dark. the outside has weeds and vines and bushes acting as a mask, hiding it deep, deep within. the outside looks decent. yet, nothing is new. nothing is fresh. most assuredly you are confident that by even the looks of the outside, despite how ‘decent’ it looks, no one could live there.

if you walk in, it’s very apparent that no one lives there. the two curtains in the living room are yellow as if they are urine stained, and you in all your imaginitive creativity wonder how in the world something like that gets that way. the windows are broken, some shattered. glass everywhere. the carpet is far worse off than the curtains. dirt, cobwebs and animal feces can’t begin to describe what’s on the floors. the walls are bare, except for all the holes where hanging nails and tacks had been. as you rub your finger over one of the holes, you notice that the color of the walls is totally different than what meets the eye.

the house is bare. there’s no furniture. no pictures. no paintings. no draperies, besides the two yellow, urined-stained curtains in the living room.

if you were to walk into the bathroom, a stench meets your face, causing you to react in a manner, repulsed by even the vilest of evil-doers. you dare not step onto the floor.

if you were to walk into the kitchen, an even greater stench hits you and you’re more afraid to walk past the corridor.

you see the door to the basement. you open it. you begin to walk down and you stop. it’s cold. feels wet. smells more than musty. eerie. a wimper-like noise comes from out behind your foot, startingly you. so you walk back out afraid of what you’ll find. and you shut the door behind you.

my heart.

no one could ever live there. not even God. and God doesn’t. hasn’t, maybe, might mark the better response. now does, i suppose. but He’s the only one.

…..

in my Couple’s Counseling class Dr. Frye says that the home is supposed to be a safe haven. he says it’s like home base in the game of tag we played as kids. playing tag you could venture as far out as you were comfortable, making faces at the other team, but when chased, always came back to home base. you were safe. the other team couldn’t reach you. nothing could happen to you. home base was the safe haven.

Dr. Frye says home is supposed to be a safe haven. a place where you feel safe. a place where you are not only accepted, but also embraced. a place where you are reached out to. you are rejoiced over and danced with. stories are told. laughter happens and joy is felt. you feel free to be open and vulnerable, knowing rejection is nonexistent and your feelings are validated. it is also a place of boundary. you’re protected as well as each of the other members in the family system. there’s commitment. all the other members are committed to you and you are committed to them. and you are wanted. and you are desired.

home is a safe place.

God is making my heart His home. it still looks like a house. but He’s working on it. and before anyone can come in, He first must be able to call it His home.

it has to be a place where He feels safe. a place where He is accepted, and He is embraced. He’s reached out to. a place where He is rejoiced over and danced with. stories are told. laughter happens and joy is felt. a place where He can be vulnerable and open with me, sharing with me the secret mysteries of His heart, knowing they will not be rejected and knowing His feelings are validated. He’s protected. He’s committed to. and a place where He is wanted and He is desired.

i long for my heart to be that place. God’s home. His safe haven. so that others can call it their safe haven as well. but it first must be God’s safe haven. God’s Home Sweet Home.

so, He’s doing some remodeling. gutting out the junk. cleaning up the mess. remodeling. new furniture. no more yellow, urine looking curtains. new draperies. whatever they are. (God insisted – i said ‘ok.’). new pictures. with new frames. and new memories. never to disregard the old pictures. simply, the difference in these pictures is that they include Him.

He’s even remodeling the bedroom. not for me. but for my future wife. whoever she may be. a place she can call her safe haven. a place where she feels safe to undress her soul. and He’s hanging a sign on the outside of the bedroom door – “Private. Do Not Disturb. Keep Out.”

…..

sometimes i wonder if the television show Extreme Makeover Home Edition is so popular is because somehow deep, down inside us, not only do we rejoice with the family whose house is being redone by Ty and his crew, but also because we find ourselves in their stories. they are us. we are living in a house that needs to be remodeled. in fact for some of us like me, if we are honest with ourselves, no one lives there. because it’s that unlivable. our spouse. our children. friends. parents. buddies. girlfriends. coworkers. life-group members from church. no one enters into the secret, intimate places of our heart.

not…even…God. no one. except us.

deep in that basement, in the cold and in the wet faints a wimper. it’s that little kid we used to be. he doesn’t even reach out, up, to anyone anymore. he can’t. he’s scared. he feels all alone. because a long time ago, he was so tired of being the only one to reach out, that he, himself, stopped reaching out. he was waiting on someone else. but no response. if ever he was rejoiced over and danced with, he initiated the dance. even at times, his dance was rejected. so, scared and alone, he moved to the basement. he’s cold. wet. hungry. head down. arms around his face. shivering. shameful. guilt-ridden. yet, longing to be reached out to.

…..

i’m finding that as i take down my walls and unlock my defense mechanisms, let go of my coping mechanisms, and allow God to slowly and gently walk in, clean house and make my heart His home, He’s walking down to the basement. He’s not scared. He’s happy and He’s sad. He seems to be rejoicing. because He’s there. in the intimate. in the secret. where no one else has gone. He’s found me. and He’s rejoicing. but He’s also sad, hurting. because of the little kid who has felt so undesired.

and He’s reaching out.

and i’m looking up.

still scared and afraid. my history would tell me i have every right not to trust Him. but my history also tells me that i have a multitude of reasons why i should trust Him.

Dr. Frye says that the reason individuals don’t change is because they would rather live in the comfortable dysfunction than the uncomfortable functioning.

it’s an understatement to say that to trust God is uncomfortable. to keep my head buried and to myself – that works for me. it’s lonely. but it works. has worked. for so many years. to trust God feels unsafe and to accept His reaching out to me is uncomfortable. but i’m accepting.

i’m starting to believe that faith has little to do with believing whether or not there is a God or that Jesus is God’s Son, but rather, faith has everything to do with allowing God into the secret.

into the basement.

may you find that, as you allow God into the secret places of your heart, into the basement, God is reaching out. and may you have the faith to lift up your head, lift up your arms and accept His reaching out to you and to allow God to hold you!

faith.

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