There is a dying to self that I simply refuse to do. It hurts too much right now.
Like Eustace assenting to Aslan's painfully clawing away his dragon scales, I know that there is true relief and peace and growth on the other side of that seemingly impossible change. But from where I am right now, it honestly does seem impossible. And it's not greed that's transformed me.
I give up. Talking it out is my natural tendency, but I think I'm done with the cycles of the same conversations over and over--with the people I feel wronged by, with my pastor, with my former or current small group leaders. That hasn't stopped me from spinning through it all in my head, in hypothetical arguments with imaginary people or actual raging at a very real God (though I don't particularly feel his presence or his love most of the time). But the conversations don't resolve anything--or they only start another round of grievances and misunderstandings--and I feel like I know the answer anyway:
I need to repent. To turn to Jesus and trust him. Accept his goodness and love for me--let it transform my heart to love my enemies, to love even myself.
But I refuse. Evidently, I cherish my hatred and hurt more dearly. I am unwilling to submit to the Lordship of Christ--even though I know it's for my good.
Being a Christian involves repentance. Repentance involves humility. I've always been prideful, and there are time when I know that I am just too stubborn to be a Christian.
How long can I keep on worshiping my mess? Forever? I faith to know that that won't be the case, that I am held and upheld by a strength and power and goodness far greater than my fiercest rebellion. Only by the grace of God do I even stand and breathe and speak out my heart's heresies.
My only hope is Jesus. But what does that mean for the here and now, in the aftermath and the everyday bits and pieces? I just don't know how to be a Christian anymore. I've been realizing the last few months how tremendously wide the gulf is between what I know in my head and what I believe in my heart--like I am (at least) two different people.
I give up. Toward the end of the worship service last night, I couldn't take it anymore and I literally RAN away from the church and back to my house. I don't know where that leaves me, kind of treading water, waiting for a thaw (do I even want it?). I have a few ideas, but no real clue. In the meantime, it's not exactly going away or getting any better. And I'm not changing right now, that's for sure.
Tin Man, Tin Man, would you even take this heart of stone?
It isn't doing anything inside this stack of dry bones.
It'll make you think you're living, it'll teach you love and hate.
You might not feel it beating, but I'm sure you'll feel the weight.
Oh, Tin Man, Tin Man...
