Falling

“Every Christian must be thoroughly convinced that his spiritual life can in no way be viewed as a quiet unfolding of an inconsequential life without any problems; rather it must be viewed as the scene of a constant and sometimes painful battle, which will not end until death- a struggle against evil, temptation and the sin that is in him…‘without war there is no peace’…this combat is, correctly viewed, the place of our purification, our spiritual growth, where we learn to know ourselves in our weakness and to know God in His infinite mercy.”

– Father Jacques Philippe

The radios are quiet now with the end of the summer tourist season, but the air is not quiet. The air is bumpy and angry with the stormy low-pressure systems of October. I plod along through the air, slowly making my way south against the headwind. The mountain ridges ahead of me become soft with lowering visibility as I fly through another rain shower. The overcast skies make everything around me monochromatic in a hundred different shades of gray. The grayness sets my mood as I reflect on my life these past weeks and ruminate over all my actions and inactions. I wonder in frustration how it is that years into giving my life to Jesus, I STILL mess up. Not only do I fall, but I fall in the same ways over and over again.

In the midst of reflecting on my spiritual littleness, lyrics to a song overcome my pensiveness and trickle into my mind through the headset.

In tenderness He sought me

Weary and sick with sin

And on His shoulders brought me

Back to His fold again

While angels in His presence sang

Until the courts of heaven rang

Ooh, the love that sought me!

Ooh, the blood that bought me!

Oh, the grace that brought me to the fold of God

Grace that brought me to the fold of God. (In Tenderness, Citizen, 2013)

The words flow over me, and my whole body relaxes as I begin to dance (more like wiggle) in my seat to the upbeat song.  In tenderness, the Lord sought me and He continues to pursue me. He will continue to bring me to His fold again and again, no matter how many times it takes. Oh, the grace that brought me is not my own. I do not merit anything on my own because His grace is the goodness that flows through me.

I chuckle in gratitude that I’m flying an empty plane and nobody can hear me sing at the top of my lungs or see my flailing fists pump enthusiastically. 

To the right side of the plane, a shaft of light splits through the clouds, and I catch a glimpse of blue sky. No matter how dark and gray it is down below the clouds, I can trust that the sky is blue above. Looking at the sunlight bouncing off the dark, choppy water, I ponder if I trust in the Lord as much as I trust that the sun is always shining. 

The question, “Do I actually trust that the Lord is a good Father?” runs through my mind. Do I truly believe that He loves me and has a good plan for me? That I am more precious than any sparrow or flower? That His mercy and love for me are deeper than anything I can ever fathom? 

My frustration creeps back and this time it’s directed towards God. He knows every hair on my head, every action and inaction of my life, every moment, every fall. His desire for me is unity with Him in Heaven. But how does He expect me to get there? Knowing who I am, who He made me to be, I am too small and clumsy to climb the staircase to perfection without falling every step.

I look back towards the light spilling through the clouds and at the rainbow that has formed along the edge of the rain shower. The words to the song slip into the forefront of my mind again.

He died for me while I was sinning

Needy and poor and blind

He whispered to assure me

“I’ve found thee; thou art Mine”

I never heard a sweeter voice

It made my aching heart rejoice (In Tenderness, Citizen, 2013)

This is sweet consolation for my heart. He knows me. His mercy is endless. He found me, and I am His. All I must do is surrender to the gravity of His magnitude and allow Him to tend my mind and heart. Do I trust Him to do that? Do I believe? 

I recall the memory of my pilgrimage to Israel, a pivotal place in the answers to these questions and the place where Jesus lived His life, walked, preached, suffered, and died. The first days there, I walked where He walked, and the cyclical thoughts in my head were not beautiful reflections on His life but rather memories of heartbreak, depression, decisions I’ve made, and the sins of my life. This frustrated me deeply, and I asked the Lord to make it all go away so I could focus on Him and His goodness. He did not answer my request in the way I expected.

On one of the last days of the trip, we visited the Church of Saint Peter of Gallicantu, the place Jesus was believed to be held after he was condemned to die by crucifixion. I walked down the stairs deep into the cistern, the light getting dimmer, the walls narrower, the air damp and musty. Then, standing on the floor in the bottom of the cistern, I looked up through the hole in the ceiling. I looked up out of the darkness toward the sky, the world going dark around me as I felt the oppression of those walls. It felt like so many times in my life where I’ve fallen. It felt like all of my darkest moments: the depression, the anger, the helplessness. It all flashed through my mind and body. I felt it all. At the same time, I heard His voice, “I was here for you.  In each of those moments, I was with you. I lived every single one of them here so that you did not have to do it alone. You are not alone.”  You. Are. Not. Alone.

That moment cracked the depths of ancient barriers I’d constructed around my heart. The walls that I’d built in subconscious belief that I am alone because I am unworthy and unwanted, that who I am deep inside is not good enough, started crumbling away. 

What this changed was not my inclination to sin or the reality of deep wounds that affected the little girl of my heart. It helped change my response to falling in sin, to new opportunities, to relationships, and to the future. The world of possibility opened up as the knowledge that I am held in the palm of a loving Father moved from knowledge to belief. There is great freedom in trust. Great peace. 

Today, even in my worst moments, my biggest failures, when I fall into the same sin I’ve committed a thousand times, I can retain my peace because I know that this life is a battle. It was not meant to be easy. But I can rest in the truth that I am securely held by a God who knows me in every moment of this life because He created me. And He loves me enough to die for me so that I have the choice to live in freedom. I choose to fall into Him, surrendering to His goodness and mercy and to the life He has for me, a life that is far from inconsequential. 

Upon His grace I’ll ponder

And sing anew His praise

With all adoring wonder

His blessings I retrace

It seems as if eternal days

Are far too short to sing His praise

Ooh, the love that sought me!

Ooh, the blood that bought me!

Oh, the grace that brought me to the fold of God

Grace that brought me to the fold of God. (In Tenderness, Citizen, 2013)