Yesterday I served a man named Heath, who had a stutter. As soon as I realised the difficulty he was having, I felt such sympathy for him — I wanted him to see in my face, to hear in my voice, that I didn’t look at him differently because of his disability. I wanted him to know that I cared for him. Yet I could see that as he struggled to communicate to me, his stutter became worse. As he dwelt on this failing which he could not change, he let it gain more power over him. And I only wished all the more to help him, reassure him.
Is this how God sees me, as He watches me struggle with sin in my life? As I fight with this stutter in my life, is my Father looking on, wishing that I could know how much He loves me in spite of it all?
One thing that I’ve only just begun to realise that I’ve been struggling with a lot lately, is fear. I’ve been letting it control me. We all know the old saying: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.” As an easy piece of advice given to children, I can see its utility. Yet as an adult, I understand how horribly backwards it is. I can’t recall ever being very fearful for my physical safety, because I’ve been hurt in my body before, and quickly realised it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to me. Yet when my heart has been wounded, then I have known real pain, and then has fear crept into my life — upon quiet, secretive feet, as I see now. I understand as an adult that words have a much more profound impact on a person’s life than sticks or stones, or fists, or blades, could ever have; because words have the power to change how we see ourselves, to change what we believe. Words can change our very being. And that is a truly dangerous thing.
“The tongue is but a small member, yet it boasts of great things. How great a forest is set ablaze by such a small fire! And the tongue is a fire, yes, a world of unrighteousness…”
I am afraid of what others’ words may do to me. Even unsaid words, for not all that is thought in the mind is spoken by the tongue, and I usually imagine the worst of what I cannot know for certain. Thus, I avoid putting myself in situations where I must grant others power over me with their words. In truth, I know what it is I fear from them: rejection. Whether they say it or not, I worry that in their heart, they don’t want me. Worse, there is a part of me that says they’d be right in that course, for surely I am not worthy of wanting, not worthy of their desire. I know this is a lie, yet I have for so long allowed it to rule me. And thus I am faced with another emotion, one which I’ve thus far in life been quite unfamiliar with.
Regret.
As a rule, so I have stated, I regret nothing in my life. Everything I have done, even the things that I know I should not have done, have worked to create the man that I am today. To regret those things and change them, if such a thing were possible, would be to change who I am today, and I cannot know that I would be better off for those changes. And so I can look on my past, so dirty and fractured and full of little broken pieces, and be thankful for it. Because I am thankful for my present. And yet, today, I realised that I do know regret. Because of late, I’ve been choosing things out of fear, and looking back on those decisions realizing that had I chosen differently, I know that I would now be better than I am. The risk in these things has been worth the reward, and choosing otherwise has given me more pain than the other path would have. In my case, what I risk in choosing what I’ve been rejecting, is simply the possibility of embarrassment. What I choose instead is to neglect the opportunity, and then, a short time later, look back on it and wish I had done differently, wish I had taken the leap. And I regret it.
I do at least now know that regret is a terrible thing, something I didn’t know before. Wisdom is gained in failure only when you recognise the way in which you failed. And so Regret, a raging animal inside of me, joins those whom I have already known: Anger, Bitterness, Jealousy. What a terrible force they are!
I should have spoken to her. Yet now, knowing my failure for what it is, I am committed to change. I am determined to do differently in the future, in spite of the risk. For I understand now, that I risk much more in not taking the chance.
“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.”
To know even in part the great flaws of my heart, and yet to know that God truly loves me, ought to make a much greater impression upon me than it does. It is beginning to, I think. I think I am coming to appreciate what His love for me means. As I get to know Him better, and myself at the same time, it’s becoming clearer to me just how good a Father He is. If I, being evil, could care for one such as Heath, how could not God care a thousand times as much for His very children?
Just what I’ve been thinking the past couple days.
with love,
— Joel