The airing of the Fears

About a week and a half ago, a thought came across my mind that requires absolute honesty. I think we have all dealt this this thought, but few of us have taken the time to entertain it, chew on it, and mull it over because it scares us to death! The thought is this; somewhere, in the back of our minds, we are fearful that if God wouldn't spare his own son, why would he spare me? Jesus was perfect and yet he was brutally tortured and murdered. I am far from perfect, much less decent, on my own accord, and deserve far worse. why would this loving God not spare his own son, yet would love me?

See, we are far beyond thankful for Jesus' sacrifice and the relationship it brings. But somewhere in my mind, (a dark recess, no doubt; one I refuse to allow myself to think on) I fear that if this great, almighty, "loving" God would sacrifice his one and only son (even if it was for my sake, in redemption of our relationship) he wouldn't waste any time in sacrificing me for any slight reason. I'm not talking about a physical killing-off, as it were, merely a tossing-to-the-trash-heap-like-a-high-school-romance king of thing. It's silly, I know, but a genuine fear from the deep cavities of a mind warped by fear and sin. But, if Jesus were to get rid of me out of anger, spite or mistrust, it would fly in the face of his own sacrifice to win me back in the first place. Why would God go to such great lengths to restore our relationship only to destroy me or abandon me? But somewhere inside of me is a scared little boy hoping he's good enough to still be allowed to hang around.

I'm painfully aware of the fact that I have a strong personality. I'm an encyclopedia of ridiculous and unnecessary facts, and I love to talk with anyone and everyone. I know I can seem overbearing, and I worry all the time that I'm getting on people's nerves. I've had friendships for long periods of time, only to find out they found it agonizing to be around me at all. I'm sure we've all felt that way at least once. I know it's also happened for me (and I'm probably not alone) that I've done something or experienced something that was amazing to me or that I'm very proud of only to discover that others find it mediocre at best, and, at worst, stupid. I've known those that no matter what story, experience or creation you bring to the table, theirs is better. Living in that muck from day to day is tiring, frustrating and discouraging. Pretty soon, you're afraid of being yourself; gun-shy of being confident in your abilities. People mistake your pride in the talents God has given you for arrogance, and now you're afraid to share what God has put in you.

That kind of social conditioning trains us to believe that God is the same way. He isn't, though. He is, instead, like the mother whose daughter brings her a bouquet of fresh-picked weeds. The mother doesn't scold the child for bringing her worthless, parasitic plants, but puts them in a crystal vase in the picture window or the dinner table, proudly displaying the priceless, beautiful gift. In and of themselves, the weeds are ugly, unwanted things, but the love of a daughter for her mother is expressed, and that's what's important. Only self-centered, spoiled brats care more about the gift than the giver. God doesn't require you to be the best. He doesn't even require you to be your best. (Think on that for a second! He doesn't require you to be your best because your best isn't good enough!) He just wants you. Scars, wounds, limping, bruises, all of you. He loves YOU.

God, I know your son had to die to restore our relationship. I know you didn't send him as punishment or because you were mad at him, but because you loved your creation so much that you'll stop at nothing to get at me, and show me your love.

Dad told me a story of an earthquake halfway around the world. It struck in the middle of the day and among the damage, an elementary school was leveled, trapping children inside. After digging in the area, rescue crews deemed it too unstable and dangerous to continue, but one father kept digging in the rubble with his bare hands, despite the risk. He was told to give up, but he wouldn't quit. After 2 days, he broke through into a chamber in the wreckage where his son and 30 classmates were still alive. The boy beamed at him, shouting, "I told them you'd find me! They said their dads would give up, but I knew you'd save me!" God risked everything by loving us. The fickle, adulterous people we are. He has fallen madly in love with us and will stop at nothing to restore us...

I knew you'd come for me...