Stripped Away

 This was supposed to be written for the Secret Name read-along, but I was busy. Or grumpy.  Or something...I can't remember.  I thought about writing though.  Really.  Maybe my arm was hurting.  I can't remember anymore.  What I'm about to write comes more from Marla's questions than it does from my reflections on the book.

 I may have mentioned before that the church I grew up in was very legalistic.  There were some very good things that I took away from there, but understanding grace was not one of them.  Instead, even though I knew my Scripture, I came to believe that having a relationship with God required a lot of work on my part.  My church did not believe that Christians could be depressed.  Instead it was taught that if a "believer" was struggling with depression, he or she was not truly walking with God.  Instead of medication or counselling, the depressed individual needed to pray more, read their Bible more and attend more church services.  Our church had six services throughout the week. The same philosophy held true for any areas of weakness.  If a believer struggled, it was because he or she wasn't trying hard enough.  Hearing this was hard for me as I struggled with addiction and depression from a very young age.

 To be honest about my struggles would have meant rejection.  I wouldn't have necessarily been able to communicate about them effectively as it took me many years to learn the words for what I was experiencing.  But I knew I didn't measure up, that my life needed work.  I both loved and feared my pastors, so when they said to try harder, I did.  I began to pray through a huge list every night before I went to bed and read through my Bible multiple times.  I attended as many services as I could during the week, but still I struggled.  During my teen years, I tried to be as Godly as I possibly could and yet always always always fell short.  I hated myself, believing that I was just too bad for God.  The messages I received from the authority figures in my life didn't help matters. Eventually I walked away from God because I was just too bad for salvation.

 I didn't want to walk away.  My crisis of faith wasn't one of belief for I had personally known who God was from a very early age.  I knew God, knew that He was real.  But I began to believe that there was something deeply flawed in me, that God had made a huge mistake when I was formed.  It wasn't Him, it was me.

 So I walked away and longed for God, but couldn't really come back.  I'd try periodically, but something would happen.  I finally gave my boyfriend an ultimatum that it was either me or drugs and alcohol.  I couldn't live this far from God, it was destroying me.  He chose drugs, alcohol and partying instead of me.  But he still loved me and we couldn't bear to be apart so even though we weren't dating anymore and I was trying to follow God again we kept sleeping together.  I hated myself even more because I just couldn't get it right.  Couldn't stop sinning, couldn't follow God properly enough, just kept failing.

 And then right before my 21st birthday, I got pregnant.  I found out shortly after my birthday.  I was terrified.  My parents were horrified, my family angered.  It was a horrible time.  During that time, God allowed all I held dear to be stripped away.   My relationship with my not-exactly boyfriend further disintegrated as he became aggressively abusive and hostile.  When I was eight and a half months pregnant, he left me for someone else.  I plunged into the depths of despair.  Being at home was horrible.  My parents were so hurt and angry with me, my sister claimed that I had ruined her life.  After a violent encounter at home, I grabbed what little of my possessions I could carry and left.   During that evening, I lost my home and my best friend from childhood( another long crazy story).  Thankfully, the grandmother that I had been distant from took me in for the duration of my pregnancy.  Without her intervention, I would have been homeless.  Shortly after this, I lost my ability to walk.  So there I was, without my boyfriend, my family, my best friend or my job.  Everything had been stripped away.

 I turned to the only place I could turn: to God.  I began to pray constantly.  I began to devour my Bible. One of the pastors at the church my parents had been attending came alongside me.  When I tried to commit suicide, he dragged me on the 20s retreat.  There two couples befriended me and came alongside me in a big way.  They loved on me, offering no condemnation, but plenty of prayer and good examples.  For the first time in a long time, I was able to just be me.  I couldn't hide my sin anymore, it was right there for all to see.  By my baby bump, I was marked a sinner. During that time of shame and brokenness revealed,  God restored me.  I read in Romans that it is by our faith that we are made right with God.  That verse hit me.  Could it really be that easy?  All I have to do is believe?  And that was it. It was that easy.   After all that time of striving, freedom was there in the resting, the believing, in the simple act of following.

 It took what felt like years, but God changed me.  He freed me from the chains of addiction and although depression will probably stick with me for the rest of my life, I have experienced much healing and grace in that area as well.  There have been more trials, more stripping away and rediscovering God, but my relationship and understanding of God will never be the same.  For that I am so thankful that God allowed me to walk through the fire.

 Shortly after Aris was born, I met a wonderful man.  He fell in love with my little one first.  He became a good friend, one that understood grace too.  Just by being in my life, he challenged me to be better.  I followed God even more passionately, determined not to fall back into my sin because I wanted to be better for  him.  After a brief courtship, we married just after Aris'  first birthday.  After six and a half years of marriage, I praise God for him even more than I did in the beginning.  It hasn't been easy, but the hard times have served to further develop our character and love for each other.

 I regret the pain that I caused myself and my family.  Sin destroys.  But somehow this crazy wonderful God of ours never ever lets go and He redeems all things.  Absolute craziness!  My eyes are burning with tears because I am so so so thankful for God's amazing grace and mercy that He has showered on me, a sinner.

Who Am I?

 Who am I? This question has haunted and challenged me for many years, quite possibly as long as I can remember.  There are many answers to this question, some positive, others not so much.  Unfortunately, the one that comes to mind first is "Failure".  I've been pondering this question and the concept of names(birth, given and secret) over the holidays when I started reading Kary Oberbrunner's book Your Secret Name.  Marla chose this book for her winter readalong, which I have decided to participate in once again.  This is actually the second week of her readalong, but my arm hurt too much to type last week as I broke my arm over the holidays.  So here I am now, attempting to process the many ideas mentioned in YSN.  We're reading chapters 3 and 4 this week.

 So who am I?  I have a hard time answering that question.  I could respond with the things that I am passionate about, but then I feel like a fake.  I'm not yet a doula as I'm still working on my certification.  Although I'm attending births and seeing clients, I'm not officially a doula.  I'm scared to claim a name that isn't rightfully mine.  Technically we're missionaries, but I haven't been through training because I married in and we live in my hometown.  As a stay-at-home mom, I don't have an official missionary-type task, I just talk to people. Mommy is a title that I can definitely claim, but I doubt that my efforts are good enough.  There are an awful lot of mothers that do a much better job than me.

 As a child, I absorbed the given name of "Not good enough".  So I tried very hard, quickly earning the family title of "Responsible One".  But I soon learned that "Responsible Child" is short for "One who is in Trouble Whenever Anything Goes Wrong".  I really didn't like that name.  Names like "Pretty", "Talented", "Funny" and "Smart" were names I aspired to, but my sister scooped up those titles and didn't let go.  I tried desperately to be noticed, to be special, but that didn't work either.  I tried for attention-getting names like "Anorexic", but my parents didn't notice when I stopped eating for 6 weeks. Eventually I lost heart, believing that "Not good enough" was my God-given name too.  That's when I started trying on "Bad Girl".  But "Bad Girl" didn't fit right either, although the process of trying it on brought significant and long-term consequences.  Although that time is a significant piece of my story, I feel uncomfortable using the words "Bad Girl" because I was more of a wannabe.  It was like wearing clothing outside of my comfort zone, that even though I looked good, I felt like everyone who looked at me could tell I was a fake or trying too hard.  Being fake sucks.

 This concept of a secret name, a new name, a God-given name excites me.  I long to be special.  The idea of having a special identity, one that is set apart, created for me before I was formed in the womb seems too good to be true.  I want to have a good name, one that glorifies God.  But almost more that than, I want it to be true.  Not something fake or assumed, not something that I have to strive for, but something that fits just right like my favourite pair of jeans and SuperFriends t-shirt.    I am both cautiously optimistic and desperately hoping to find my secret name and shed the old names that cling like sand to wet feet.