Letting Go of My Dream and Seeking God's Glory

Still exploring the 'how's and 'why's behind my lack of confidence in my God (if you need to catch up check out my original post, Getting to Know my Heart, and my previous post, Asking God Why), I wanted to go back farther than my last post. I wanted to go back to my childhood. That's what all the psychologists do, right? I thought I would go fishing in the muddy waters of my childhood and see if I could catch the big one, the one that would explain just where exactly I went wrong, or should I say where exactly I feel God went wrong.

In my exploration and prayer, I remembered a dream I once had. I was twelve. That dream became a vision of sorts to me, I used to think it was a glimpse into my future, part of my calling. In that dream, I was an adult, walking out of an old-fashioned little white house onto a dirt road running by the house. I heard a screen door slam behind me as I walked out, and laughter, lots of laughter. I walked down the porch stairs into the waiting arms of happy smiling children. We were all bare footed wearing simple white clothes. They were much darker complected than me, the white of their smiles glowed in the sunlight. It must have been sunset because I remember gold everywhere, not the kind you wear, but the color. We were surrounded by golden grass swaying in the breeze. There were short, gnarled spreading trees on the horizon, and across and diagonal from that little white house was a little white church. The kind you see in books and old tv shows with a steeple and a cross on top. Arm in arm with two children and followed by several more, we walked across the dirt road and into that little white church. Then I heard singing, beautiful and majestic....upon waking, I felt as if I'd had a glimpse of heaven, and not one detail of that dream has faded from my memory. It's still as clear in my mind now as it was the moment I woke up.

Not long after having that dream I felt called to surrender to full-time Christian service. It wasn't in some special church service or youth rally. I remember spinning (yes I said spinning, twirling really, something little girls do) in the sun outside my house. The sun was warm on my face, uncommon for December. I was wearing my favorite Christmas sweatshirt (one my Aunt Linda and my cousin Beth made with me back when puffy paint was cool). I was praying while I twirled, thanking God for the sunshine, my favorite sweatshirt, my family and the life He gave me. It was almost like He asked, "will you serve Me?" And, in the beauty and warmth of the moment, I emphatically replied, "Yes."

Naturally putting two and two together, I assumed that the dream was the indication of my calling. I was to be a missionary, probably to Africa somewhere. There were small deviations from the plan, like wanting to be a vet or a graphic designer living in New York City, but I always came back to this vision I thought God had given me. I chose a Christian college, and pretty much only dated people who shared that calling. Well, that is until I started dating the man who is now my husband. He was called to be a medical doctor, and while he surrendered to serve in missions on a mission trip our youth group took to Mexico while we were dating, he made it clear that what I thought I was called to and what he was called to were two very different things. The problem was that this was three months after we were married. I won't lay all this on him because any time there's a communication breakdown, we're both to blame. We might both speak English, but I've found in the nearly 10 years we've been married, we don't speak anywhere near the same language. I was devastated. Somehow, doctor's wife didn't fit into my full time Christian service plan. Now what?

Fast forward to my marriage falling apart just a little more than one year after we were married, and I struggled with believing I had made a huge mistake. This man wasn't the right one for me, and now I was stuck. Of course, any time I really began to believe that, God took me back to college and reminded me of a very special time of communion with Him in which He gave me a verse and the go ahead to date this man.

"For it is God that worketh in you, both to will and do of His good pleasure." Philippians 2:13

At this very moment, I am miraculously still married to that same man, educating our three children at home, and managing our autistic son's care. By the standards I set for myself back when I was a child, I haven't accomplished much in my life to this point.

It's easy though to blame our own failures on those around us. It's in our DNA and goes all the way back to Adam and Eve. Can you hear me now, "God, the man you gave me isn't doing what I wanted him to do...." So, here we are in the here and now. "The man YOU gave me." This is the biggest part of my distrust in God. It's His fault I never realized what I feel was my true calling. Some days I feel like He just taunted me with it and then took it away. Now, let's stop for a second and think about this. If God is the one making the plan and calling me to it, and He's also the one guiding me in my life, how exactly can I blame Him for not getting me there? The logical conclusion is to say, that His plan isn't my plan, and it wasn't really where He wanted me to be. It was just a dream.

Great. Now, I'm living without a dream. That's awesome, because I do so well without a plan. Anything I've attempted to accomplish since letting go of that dream, I've stopped short. Getting my Master's degree is the perfect example. I've been two classes away from finishing since before my daughter was conceived, and she's three now. I feel like I'm drifting through life, watching it and all those around me with dreams and callings pass me by, and I still feel like God is to blame.

I like wrapping up my posts with some type of happy conclusion, something that I learned or how God intervened, but unfortunately this one is ongoing. I know in my head that I should be happy with my calling as mother to three amazing children and wife to a good man, but in my heart, I can't shake this feeling that I've missed something. I'll address more in the next post, but again I find myself wanting to believe God is good, He loves me and He does have a calling for me. I WANT to believe it, but my heart is so wrapped around the loss of that dream, that I can't honestly say that I do.

Here's where I believe God takes our doubt and uses it to make us better. My question for God is no longer 'why did all this happen to me' but 'where are You?' "Are you going to leave me here to figure this out for myself or will you heal my heart and give me a new calling? I bend before You and ask like Moses, please show me your glory."

"And he [God] said, 'I will make all my goodness pass before you and will proclaim before you my name, 'The Lord.'" Exodus 33:19

"Show me Your glory, God, and I will proclaim it from the rooftop You've given me."

Asking God Why

I mentioned in a previous post that I struggle with trusting God. I even blame Him for the loss of many of my hopes and dreams. In light of this new information about my heart, I'm attempting to unpack some of the 'why's and 'how's behind those feelings. I've been going back to the places in my memory where things changed drastically, and while my OCD tendencies would prefer this went chronologically, I don't think the Holy Spirit is working that way.

The first memory that came back as I pondered my distrust and blame of God was the first time my husband asked me for a divorce, and as odd as it might sound, I remember it more clearly than the day I said 'I do.'

It was a cloudy Autumn Sunday. I went to church alone. I even remember what I was wearing, but I won't bother you with anymore unimportant details. Our pastor was in the middle of a sermon series on Jesus' last words. This sermon was on John 19:25-27 where Jesus told Mary, "Woman behold your son" speaking of John, and He told John, "behold your Mother." I don't remember the entire sermon, just the part that would later be etched in my memory. In Jesus' moment of greatest agony, when His body was being torn from Him, when His human heart needed love and support the most, when He was surrounded by a throng of venomous mockers, there were only a handful of those who loved Him there at His feet. Only one of them was family. The Cross is a lonely place, and chances are the closer you get to it, the farther your family will be. If you make it there, stay there and cling to those around you because they are now your family. I felt lead to pray at the altar a prayer that I don't think I will ever forget. I wanted Jesus to lead me to the Cross and help me stay there even if my husband didn't go with me. I didn't fully understand that prayer until later, but there was a great moving of the Holy Spirit in my life that day. From the altar to the parking lot of our apartment, I felt surrounded by His peace and comfort. I remember my hand trembling as I reached for the car door. I didn't want to get out and go in. There was a growing sense of dread the closer I got to my building. Climbing the stairs, I felt like my feet got heavier with every step, and as I opened the door, I lost my breath. Standing there waiting for me was my husband and those words no one wants to hear, 'we need to talk.' I could never have imagined what he would say next, all I knew was that I didn't want to hear it. I ran to the back bathroom claiming not to feel well and shut myself inside. With my back to the door, I slid down collapsing on the floor. Then he asked for a divorce, and the first thought in my head was why. Why now? Why this? Wait, God, this isn't what I meant. Am I really going to be a 23 year old divorcee?

After the ensuing conversation and argument, when I was again alone trying to figure out what just happened, I asked God again. Why? Then immediately began to think. Oh, wait, you're not supposed to ask God why. You're supposed to take what you get and trust He'll work it out. So, I began that journey in denial believing God was going to work it out. That I had followed Him and worked so hard to make my life pleasing to Him, that He wouldn't let this happen to me. My husband was making a mistake, and God would correct it, I just needed to have faith.

The thing is, though, Jesus isn't an insurance policy. You don't pay in good to get protection from evil. However, I couldn't grasp how a good and loving God could let this happen to me. It had to be a mistake.

By the time I accepted that I couldn't fix my marriage, and I stopped trying to force my husband to stay (or rather, strongly suggested he go), by the time I was finally and completely alone, I started to see this wasn't God's plan B. He was in this from the very beginning. I was able to see what a gift that Sunday was, and how He had been with me every step of the way. He was there when I handled things well and He was there when I handled things more like a 2 year old. He was there to comfort and guide me when I thought I would die from the pain, and when the loneliness seemed to overtake me, He was there to prove He would never leave me. He was there to answer me in my distress, and in time He would answer my need to understand why.

God is not intimidated or threatened by our questions. When we cry out in humble desperation, He hears and responds in love. I cried out in pain begging to know why, and I believe He answered my question, at least as much as I could understand at the time. You see, there weren't just things in me that needed tweaking like most Christians are willing to admit. There was a monster growing inside me that I didn't have the capability to see. I didn't understand why a 'good girl' like me should suffer something like this. I didn't think I deserved it. It's a scary thing to think you deserve certain things from God, and this kind of trial was the perfect way to show me exactly where I stood. While I believed I was serving God, I had begun to put my trust in my performance, in my handling of my life. I had created idols almost invisible to the human eye, invisible even to me, and up until the crumbling of my marriage, anyone who knew me would never have thought I was anything less than a model Christian.

God in His sovereignty allowed me to suffer the loss of my image, the view I thought others had of me. See, it had to be the crumbling of my marriage (and subsequently other areas of my life). Infertility, sickness, the sickness or death of a child, the death of my husband, or any number of other blameless sufferings, all of these things would have only fed this monster. It had to be something I couldn't explain away. I couldn't stand completely blameless, a mere subject of the evil of this world. It certainly couldn't have been something I could claim to have been found worthy to suffer. It had to be something that carried a certain social stigma with it to help me see where my true devotion lied, to see that I had, in a sense, decided that God owed me for my 'clean living.'

I wanted to be near the Cross. I wanted to go even if no one else went with me, but I couldn't get there carrying the pride of a life well lived. Every good thing in my life came from above. It is not my doing. I did not earn any of the blessings I've been given. I don't even deserve the breath I'm taking right now.

My marriage didn't end that time, not that time or any of the several other times when divorce seemed like the only option. Somehow, we've made it, but it is none of our doing that has brought us here together. It is only by the grace of God, and it is for His glory not mine that I can stand here and proclaim His goodness as I remember the pain.

Two Years of Silence

I never make New Years resolutions because I hate facing the inevitable failure they usually bring into my life. However, looking back over this year and my obvious lack of a plan, I decided I needed some resolutions. One of those is to blog at least once a week. Seems simple enough, 52 or more posts this coming year. No big deal, I LOVE to write. So, why haven't I been writing? Life, children, homeschooling, new home (foreclosure remodel), essentially chaos, and I have to say this past year has been one of the hardest for me emotionally. I don't think that is because of the obstacles in my path but in my lack of a proper outlet.

Why I NEED to blog....Looking back over the last two years (since the last personal blog post), I can't see progress. I feel like I'm still there at the end of that post struggling with the same things. I know God has not been silent for two years, but it does seem that way to me looking back. I know God has moved and worked in my life, but I can't see it or remember the details. So, although I do hope someone reads my rambling digital journal entries and finds encouragement and hope in the words I type out, I blog for me. I want to blog so that I can look back and remember how God has lead me, so I can see His hand and my need to hold tightly to it.

To the handful of people who enjoy these posts, thank you. I hope you're able to glean something from them. Stay tuned. I do plan to be more diligent in blogging my every thought.

"May the Lord direct your hearts to the love of God and to the steadfastness of Christ."

2 Thessalonians  3:5

This is my prayer for those who read this blog, and for myself. I also hope that at the end of this year I can look back and see that direction. I hope to finally learn to trust Him and believe He does love me, He is good, and He really will work all things out for my good.

Little Lamb

I wrote this song when I was 13 years old after I read or was told (can't remember which) that it was common practice in the more rural areas of Israel during temple worship to make the sacrificial lamb a 'pet' for the time the family owned it before sacrifice. They would feed it, play with it and care for it like it was part of their family making the day of sacrifice more sacrificial. The death wasn't an anonymous animal but a beloved family pet.

I had sheep growing up, and that thought moved me and helped me identify a little more with why God called Jesus His Lamb, the Lamb that was slain.

It's VERY simple, but for those in my family who have asked me to record it so it is saved somewhere other than my head. Here it is.

Little Lamb
by Rachel Pruett

Personal Psalm

A few months ago, I was challenged to write my own psalm of remembrance. It was supposed to be an exercise of praise, worship and discovery, but because I have to know EVERYTHING about EVERYTHING before I can start ANYTHING, I researched it and over analyzed it, wrote a bunch of things that made little to no sense at all. I started thinking it wasn't for me. Then after reading through the Psalms and spending time in prayer about what it is I needed to remember, I started writing things down. I was surprised at how freely it came, and while it's not quite poetry or even really a psalm, I think I accomplished the goal.

I remember walking close
I could feel your warmth
I could hear your voice
I knew your presence

I remember peace in chaos.
I remember joy in trial.
I remember purpose in the mundane.
I saw you everywhere.

I knew you.
I knew me.
I knew where I was headed.
The future was bright.

I remember walking away.
I could feel the cold creep in.
Your voice got lost in the silence.
I chose the cold because I couldn’t face the pain.

I remember forgetting.
Forgetting your peace.
Forgetting your purpose.
Forgetting the future you ordained for me.

Everywhere I looked I saw gray.
In each sunrise I saw pain.
In every moment I felt hopelessness.
I didn’t want to think about the future.
I didn’t want to think about you.

I remember darkness.
I remember cold.
I remember numbness.

I felt no pain.
I felt no joy.
I felt no purpose.
I felt no hope.

I remember falling apart.
I remember the voices of your people, praying, encouraging, crying over me.
I could feel you using them to pull me out of the darkness.
Slowly I chose to reach out.
Slowly I began to reach up.

I remember feeling the first ray of light on my face.
I remember gaining warmth with every step.
I could hear your voice again.
I heard you calling me out.

Back to your presence.
Back to your peace.
Back to your joy.
Back to your purpose.

I remember facing the pain.
I remember facing my sin.
I remember facing You again.
I remember heartache like I’ve never known before.

In this sorrow I found repentance.
I found hope.
I found life.
I found the real me.
I found my way again.

Keep me walking close.
Never let me walk away.
Show me how to bask in your warmth.
Teach me to listen to your voice.
Show me how to embrace your presence.

So I can once again have peace in chaos.
Joy in trial.
Purpose in the mundane.

I remember you.
Never let me forget.

Here is Love

Here Is Love: The Love Song of the Welsh Revival
Written in 1876 by William Rees and Robert Lowry
(Me singing and playing)

Getting to Know my Heart

The heart is deceitful above all things,

and desperately wicked; who can know it?

Jer. 17:9

I memorized this verse as a child. It is one of the few that survived the memory collapse that accompanied the birth of my children. While I've known it and had it on file in my memory, I have to say I have never really understood it.

There were some major events in my life a few years back that sparked a desire in me to be real. I wanted the outside to match the inside. There's a common worship song that says "consume me from the inside out, Lord," and I made that my prayer. This accompanied a realization that being a hypocrite isn't being a Christian who sins, but being a sinner who pretends to be righteous. I found myself playing a role not just with my family, friends and church, but with my God, too. There were two different people living in my skin, and one of them had to go. While this struggle is ongoing, I felt the need to post about the most recent developments.

I have begun praying over the course of the past few months for God to reveal to me the contents of my heart. I want to 'know' my heart the way He does. After all, if you don't see a problem, you can't fix it, right? I had no idea what I was praying or how the answer would play out, and I can't say if I had known I would have gone through with it.

I'm not the kind of person that gets embarrassed easily, and anyone who knows me knows I'm an open book. There's no such thing as TMI with me. You can't gross me out or embarrass me. It's just not possible after three kids and 30 years of foot-in-mouth disease. What I'm about to share doesn't really qualify as TMI, but it is probably TMH, too much honesty. I'm actually a little scared of hitting the publish button and sending this out into cyberspace. My hope, though, is that if there's someone else out there that is struggling with these kinds of things, maybe this post will help them through it, too.

If you've heard my testimony, you've probably heard me say "I accepted Jesus as my Savior when I was 6 years old, and I've never doubted that He is who He says He is and that He did what He said He did." Well, that's not really true. I did accept Christ as my Savior at 6, and up until the last time I said those words, I did mean that I had never doubted. However, God has been showing me one truth at a time that my Christian walk has been plagued with doubt.

During one of my pastor's sermons a few months ago, he shared his own struggle with doubt, and what God has done in his life. This sermon kind of set up the foundation for this quest to know my heart, and it was during this sermon that God gave me the first answer to my prayer.

1. I don't really believe God can change people.

That truth hit me like a wrecking ball. If I'd been in an audible conversation with someone who had brought up the subject, my defense would have gone much like this. "Yes. I do too believe. Look what He's done in my husband's life. Look what He's done in mine. I do too believe." However, I wasn't having a conversation with someone else who couldn't see my heart. I was arguing with the Spirit that sees all. That's when that still small voice felt as if it was booming through a megaphone. Humbled, crumpled in my chair, I had to admit I didn't really believe. If I did believe, I wouldn't spend my life in fear of the next time the bottom would fall out. Or wondering when the attempted change would fail? When would it all fall apart? Right there, plain as day, I was realizing that I'd been living my life holding my breath.

I remember thinking I felt like the father of the demonized boy in Mark 9. "I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief."

I thought that was tough enough, but God wasn't done. There was more to be revealed.

My mom sent me an email one day. The subject was God loves you, and in the body, she said “God knows what we need, and He provides it.” Before I could filter my thoughts, I said to myself, “No. He doesn’t.” And, there it was, another ugly truth about my heart and what I truly believe.

2. I don't really believe God loves me and provides for me.

I struggle and hurt. I work hard and long. I just can't seem to get ahead. I guess the best way to describe how a healthy American stay at home mom could feel this kind of ungrateful disbelief is that I've suffered and struggled so long, I just don’t believe in God's love and provision anymore. I pretend I’m ok. Tell the world I love God and believe He’s mighty and loving, but inside I feel abandoned and forgotten. If God loved me, why have all these things happened? Where's my happy ending? Why am I still struggling?

This was harder to swallow than the first truth God revealed. This went against what I thought about myself, what I told others, who I thought I was. How many times have I told someone else, "God will take care of you. He has always taken care of me." I was starting to see the hypocrisy of my life. I was starting to see where my heart was lying to me and how I was lying to God. However, this was only the first sign of the ungrateful selfish nature of my heart.

I didn't really know what to do with this one. So, I just started praying the same thing I prayed over the last revelation. "I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief."

So, to this point, God had revealed that I didn't believe that he could change people, not my husband, not me, and not anyone of the dozens of people I was praying for. He had shown me that I didn't really believe that He loves me and provides for me. We're not done, yet, though. There's more, and it gets more painful as we go.

While listening to a sermon on the Holy Spirit by one of my favorite podcasted preachers, God showed me yet another truth. He quoted the verses about how if earthly fathers know how to give good gifts to their children, then how much more will our Heavenly Father give good things to His children. In his sermon he talked about how crazy it is to think that a loving father would give his hungry child a stone or live snake to eat. Yes, it does sound crazy, but....Here came that still small voice again. "You don't trust Me." There it is.

3. I didn't really trust God.

Now wait a minute. I do, too. I have to. I.....don't. I don't? [big long pause as I try to face up to this one] My mind races back to prayers asked and answered in painful ways. A prayer for unity in my marriage, I submit in total surrender only to hear my husband say, "I want a divorce." A prayer for healing for my son, a plea to hear the doctor tell us we were jumping to conclusions, begging God to have the doctor say that he would be just fine only to hear the doctor deliver the dream killing diagnosis, "pervasive developmental disorder." [autism] I offer up my defense. "Well, God, you say you know what's best, but when I trust you I get hurt. Surrendering to You means pain. It seems like it always has for me....I can't do this anymore. I don't want to know any more. If I can't believe in Your power to change people, if I can't believe in Your love and provision, if I can't trust you to do what is best for me, then what can I believe and trust in? If I'm just pretending, then what good is it to follow You."

I've had many seasons in life where I've drifted from God, but none quite as lonely as the past week. I felt like He had cut me open and left me to bleed. I didn't pray. I didn't read. I didn't listen to sermons. I hid away from Him, hurting alone.

This past Sunday, I struggled but went to church. I prayed for the first time that week as we got into our seats. "God, I miss you." Our pastor preached on Restoration versus Judgment (it was a very good sermon), but before the sermon even began, the music shattered my hardened heart. "All our wounds, and broken dreams, we lay them down at Calvary. Savior Your grace restores our lives." This last truth about my heart hit fast but softer than the last 3. In that moment I realized that I resent what God has done in my life. I blame Him for my shattered dreams. I haven't forgiven Him for taking them away from me. All of my unbelief and distrust is rolled up into one basic truth,

4. I think God ruined my life.

I had dreamed of full time Christian service since I was 12 years old. That dream was shattered the day I said 'I do.' I had dreamed of completing my MFA and building a successful free lance business. That dream was postponed with the birth of each of my children, and shattered the day my son was diagnosed with PDD. I had dreamed of a life that meant something, something bigger than me, but I gave up. I've lived for years now without a dream. Hopefully as you read these words, you can see where I'm going with this. I'm married. I have three beautiful children. I'm healthy. My husband is healthy. I live in lavish comfort compared to the rest of the world, and I think God ruined my life. I couldn't stop crying. The whole song and some of the sermon, I just sobbed. "Oh, my God, my God, how did I get here." This was one of those prayers that I know the Holy Spirit had to translate for me. I made peace with God though, right there in my seat, in my church, right where I needed to be. For the first time in years, totally honest. Totally broken.

God answered my prayer. He showed me my deceitful, wicked heart (probably just a small part, because He knows how little I can bear at a time). I could see the selfishness, ingratitude, and cruelty I had let fester inside, and I surrendered to His will. Only He can remove those terrible things and make me new.

The cat's out of the bag now. No more pretending to be righteous. No more hypocrisy. No more struggling to accomplish my plans over His. No more holding my breath. No more holding back. It's time to let go. 

You'll have to stay tuned to find out where this goes. I don't know how much more God will show me, but I do know God IS good. God IS love. Jesus is ALL I need, and He IS enough.