This past week I felt a dryness to I have never experienced before. For those who live around me, they will immediately perk up to respond with “We have had so much rain! What dryness?!” Even though everything around me was soaked, spiritually I was experiencing a separation from God for reasons I was unable to ascertain on my own that left my heart cracking like a dried riverbed. A series of events led me to uncover myself hidden within a shelter of fig leaves I had built around my own heart. Keeping it from anyone and everything including God. I had noticed my poor actions prior to layering the walls with clay ridden mud because I didn’t know what to do besides keep building. The more I pondered over this reaction, the more I began to barricade myself inside with no concern of the dryness that was spreading to my full body. This dark place felt familiar and safe even though I knew it was going to be the death of me. Purposeful starvation of love seems so obviously bad for me in hindsight, but I was basking in the dry darkness that had once been my home for so long.
The factors that lead me here were only brought to the surface when I finally confessed in a mentor of mine. This was not the original plan for the conversation, but it quickly changed when he noticed my face and demeanor. Physical pain is something that has always thrown off my balance. The weather around me of consistent rain gave me a more accurate determination of the barometric pressure outside than the weather app could ever do. He asked me if what I was feeling was just physical since he noticed how awkwardly I was sitting. I swallowed my accountability pill and decided to tell him about the days prior to our meeting.
While I suffered a silent internal war of physical pain, a church group of mine had started to fall apart. Some had revoked their commitment to an open discussion conversational group based off readings inspired by and containing God’s word. This was one of my safe places with people I felt connected with through faith. A scheduling conflict arose in our group chat and that was the start of the collapse. Texts were sent and emotions were heightened for some including myself. One of the members informed us he was no longer planning to attend since he made other commitments that now did not align with the groups schedule. One of the brothers made a few comments that I was not happy to see. I felt singled out when I offered two possible ways to keep the group meeting that were meat with an assumption of me overstepping my role. This was mostly unwarranted in my mind because there were no roles or leadership positions, but he made it clear that I was not the “leader”, and I was not the one to make any decisions even though I only offered options. This disappointing outcome combined with my physical pain drove me to a dark place of anger I have not seen in several months.
So, I pulled out the contact list and dialed this brother with the plan to clear the air. To my surprise, he answered calmly. Due to my current state of mind this response fueled my anger. I demanded he explain where this tension was coming from and asserted that he was making this personal. He responded with a timid tone lined with uncertainty. Feeling justified at every turn, I reciprocated with my quick-witted responses to every “um” or “er” he made. The relentless interrogation continued for a few minutes until we both received calls from other people. Shortly thereafter, the originator of the group called me and stated that he was “just a facilitator” and agreed with some of my statements in the chat. After a few short seconds of vindication, he then informed me that he would no longer be able to attend the group due to his other commitments to another group he was with before. I felt foolish for even caring about the group. That past hour of emotions felt like a waste to me at this point.
Unsure of how to proceed, I reached out to another good friend who was in a similar group. As far as I had gone down that angry path, I knew I needed help and just kept talking until he heard something he could point out to me. He proposed I prayed over this and advised that I should ponder over if I was projecting my feelings on others. This made a lot of sense. I have always struggled with feeling accepted or respected. Anger has been a problem for me in the not-so-distant past so of course I am in this place right now. Meditation superseded the calls. I thought about my words, my intent, my actions, and my emotions. I did not use harsh language at any point, but over the phone my tone was shaped like a spear that was being hurled through the strength of mild manner vernacular poisoned with ill intent. The transcript would appear like a rose with thorns, but unbeknownst to the reader those thorns were surreptitiously brushed with tetrodotoxin. This realization of my poor reactions was followed up with an apology which was immediately met with forgiveness from that brother, but I still felt out of place. “Where was it coming from?” I asked myself. “I thought I was doing better. Why am I failing myself?… Why am I failing God!?”
For several days I laid in the carcass of my own ego and expectation. The physical pain had me locked into a trap of anguish and my mental health was following suit. So, I withdrew. I hid myself not knowing what I truly felt. I was lacking direction and choosing to not feel anything. I built that shelter around my heart and eventually my whole self. While in there I was shriveling up slowly dying. I didn’t want anyone to see me like that, especially God. While working, I was short tempered, irritable, and volatile. The people I was supposed to serve with love were getting doused in gasoline with every question they asked with no idea that a lighter could be thrown at any time. Awareness of these unchecked emotions spilling into my work life caused me to panic and start filling the cracks in the wall with whatever I could find and eventually withdrawing further into emptiness. The next day is when I was scheduled a meeting with my mentor.
While in his office, I explained all of this to him in less articulate words. He followed up with a few questions. “Is this the first time any brother has let you down on this journey?” I thought about this during the long awkward pause he left ringing in the air. I realized that this was a place I was really hurting. That hurt was from feeling rejected by my own community and the loss of the community itself. “Was this group important to you?” he asked with an understanding look. “Yes,” I replied with tears now resting upon my eyelids ready to break form down my cheek. “Are you grieving?” he asked. “Yes,” stumbled out of my mouth as I fought the crippling wave of emotions trying to overcome my stone like demeanor. In those few questions I found the words for what I need to pray for and registered that I was denying God access to my heart. I knew forgiveness was outside of my walls, but I was afraid I would hurt someone else or give them an opportunity to hurt me if I ever left. In these moments my shelter was crumbling, and I felt the water rise from the once cracked riverbed. In four days I had experienced abandonment and loss which led to self-isolation and anger with an unknown need to grieve during one of the most physically limiting periods of my life. I cornered a brother based off an assumption of disrespect in a group chat. Emotionally, I was ignoring my wife and friends. At work I took out my hostility on people just needing some direction or for simply asking how my weekend was. God was pruning me to better myself and I was retreating from the pain of the event after a branch I felt was “not so bad” was loped off. Several weeks prior to this I told my mentor I thought God was punishing me and he quickly responded, “God does not punish us, he prunes us.” I smiled and said “yeah… I can see that. I am better for it.” Then he responded with words I didn’t fully understand until now. “It’s always great when he is pruning the dead branches, but the live ones hurt.” Yeah… I can see that. And I am better for it.
The Agape Narrative Project 