When You Feel Like Letting Go

For years I was obsessed with having a strong, confident faith that appeared flawless and seamless. So when I felt the first shock-wave of resentment toward God and the church because I tried to live up to standards and expectations I now realize I could never actually meet, I thought it would be just a short-term jarring of my spine; what I didn't know was how shattered my faith would become. I looked at all the years I spent trying and trying and trying to live my life in ways the church said was appropriate -- how often I needed to serve and how I needed to keep serving even more when my proverbial cup had run dry -- and I was fed up. I became bitter towards those who cracked their whip at me, and became bitter even towards God for feeling like He was endorsing this breakneck, tired-as-hell lifestyle of service. 

You know what, God? If this is what being a Christian and serving you looks like, this is bullshit and I don't want it. That's the line I threw at God more times than I can count when I felt like I couldn't hold on any longer. I wanted to let go, run away from the expectations I came to loathe, and leave all that legalistic crap behind. 

I admit that in the mix of my anger and my desire to still hold on to my faith (despite the temptation to just toss it into a heap and leave it behind), I felt like the responsibility to 'hang on' was all on me and God was just sitting back watching, waiting to see what would happen to me. God, could you give me a hand here? It feels like I'm doing all the legwork. 

It's a frustrating sensation to feel like God is just watching me dangle on my string, swaying in the wind, as if this giant struggle was/is somehow a test of strength on my part. Will I let go or will I hang on until He decides to rescue me? 

But the part of me that has read over and over again in the Bible about how much God loves us and even knows the number of hairs on our heads (Luke 12:7) kept reminding me that He already carries more of my burdens than I realize. One of my favorite books in the Bible is Isaiah, an Old Testament book. (Reference point: the Old Testament is the set of books that tell of Israel's history before Jesus was born.) While the context itself is set in a particularly barren spot when the Israelites were exiled to Babylon, it is still a story of God's unconditional love for his people and his desire to rescue and redeem them. That story of love, redemption, forgiveness, and reconciliation is still alive today because of Jesus Christ, so I often feel a connection to those prophetic chapters in the Old Testament:

Shout for joy, you heavens;

rejoice, you earth;

burst into song, you mountains!

For the LORD comforts his people

and will have compassion on his afflicted ones.

But Zion said, "The LORD has forsaken me,

the LORD has forgotten me."

Can a mother forget the baby at her breast

and have no compassion on the child she has borne?

Though she may forget, 

I will not forget you!

See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands;

your walls are ever before me. (Isaiah 49:13-16, NIV)

No matter how forgotten, alone, or abandoned I feel by God, it simply isn't true. My anger, my uncertainty, my doubts don't drive him away. My pain doesn't intimidate him. In my own period of exile, God is still here. He still cares and tends to my every need, even if he seems silent; his love is never driven away by any circumstance. "For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, neither any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 8:38-39, NIV). No matter the height of my uncertainty or the depth of my doubt, God remains faithful, even when I feel my life and my faith and my ability to hang on has turned to shit. His hold on me is stronger than my own feeble, fickle, slippery grasp. For all the ways I am unfaithful and uncertain, His love remains steadfast, his grip perfect in strength. For that I can have hope. 

I have loved you with an everlasting love;

I have drawn you with unfailing kindness. (Jeremiah 31:3, NIV)