I take a deep breath in, fill my lungs to tightness against my chest wall, a relieving stretch, and then release downward, pressing, pushing, feeling. Closing my eyes I repeat. Over and over again. I fix my thoughts on God. In this case, I fix my thoughts on Jesus and keep breathing. Yaweh: breathing in, Ya, and out, Weh. Slowly and deeply as I return my chaotic mind to focus on Him, over and over. Then I asked a question: Jesus, can you be in this room here now? Jesus, can you be right here, present, in this room and on this couch in a home once filled with joy that has been shrouded in the darkness of my sins against a holy covenant and stained by the blood of broken hearts? “Yes”. “I’m here.” Like a shock from my temporal lobes that spread throughout my mind, I heard Him speak, I saw the words, I felt His presence. I would never be the same. How could I be? Let’s begin, then.
For months, I don’t know how to even begin to describe the unraveling of my world. Too much, if not all of it was wound into one person. That person meant, and will always mean, more to me than any human being I’ve ever known. But our love had different conditions. And it turns out I was unloveable and cancellable, after all. And after all, anyone except the most present in Christ would say I deserve it. But no matter how severe I messed up, my love was very true. And my heart was in that person. I only was struggling to love myself. So when it all unwinds it creates a great deal of chaotic momentum and confusion; one looks to God and hears nothing. I thought I could provoke God from His sleep with my anger, my sadness, my genuine devotion. Bargaining. Nothing. Screaming. Crying. I tried it all. But I couldn’t hear or see him through the smoke and ashes I was flinging about. I silenced Him. But He was there.
Jesus came to me- in the beautiful green mountains like rising emeralds. We were alone and a fire burned near by, well kept, and flames dancing about. He had removed my heart from my chest. It was large, as big as a volleyball, and he was wrapping in a white cloth. He placed it back into my chest and reached his hands out, palms up, scars in his palms. I looked down and blood was running from my chest and down my arms and hands. I reached out and put my hands in his and he began to bleed. His blood, dark rich red, flowed down his arms and covered my own. I asked questions, even as this vision disappeared and was replaced by a soft nothing. He showed me her pain and showed me how He sees her. I was broken, but I felt a presence. I asked if I could see her one more time and He said, yes, soon. The next morning, I awoke early to join a friend for breakfast from my old men’s group. A group that I held dear but have not returned to due to my own shame and embarrassment. I passed through a red light and there she was turning into the median. I saw her long enough to see she was safe, content, alive, well…All the things I used to be a part of. All the things I want for her.
I know I’ll never see her again. But God delivered on His promise. He spoke to me and it happened. And he talks to me still. Constantly, reshaping and remaking and finishing my real identity. The identity he gave me at birth that I allowed to be hidden. The part of me that make people feel safe and loved. The part of me that is connected to the kingdom. And He tells me what he calls me as I confess to him the horrible things I call myself. How I have longed to see God like this-even in my darkest hours with pain that I could have never fathomed. How I have longed feel His presence. And how I look forward to sharing more of it with you.
