It's the quiet night that breaks me
I cannot stand the sight of this familiar place
It's the quiet night that breaks me
Like a dozen papercuts that only I can trace

I read a quote somewhere that said something like before anyone can be used by God, they must first be broken. It all sounds very nice and religious, but as I think about it more I find it somewhat strange. I wonder if, like a parent, it hurts God to break those He has chosen. I wonder if it's hard for Him to let a friend be lost, a love betrayed, a hope stepped upon. I wonder if it is any easier for Him because He sees the big picture, the finished tapestry instead of the chaotic threads. I wonder if He feels our loneliness while we're in the midst of it, if He feels the sting of our wounds.

All my books are lying useless now
All my maps will only show me how to lose my way

It's often strange where I turn when I feel I need answers. I will search everywhere before turning to God and simply asking for wisdom or direction or strength or faith. And that prayer is not some poignant, eloquent speech; instead, it is muttered and confusing and drips of weariness. You'd think I'd have learned a thing or two by now. As much as I hate it when people reduce the Gospel into a three-step plan for betterment, I want that. I want it to be easy. I want to followed the steps and have my life better and become more joyful, etc. But the Gospel is challenging and difficult and so full of wonder that my small, small mind can hardly ever take its truth in.

Oh, call my name
You know my name
And in that sound, everything will change
Tell me it won't always be this hard
I am nothing without you
But I don't know who you are

Last week in Sunday school, we talked about the difference between knowing and understanding. We all went around and shared the things we feel we know in our heads, but have a difficult time understanding or accepting. I shared that I cannot wrap my mind around the fact that God demands nothing from us. So often, I feel unworthy to come before Him. I attempt to clean myself up before I approach Him, not understanding that my attemepts to beautify myself only make me more dirty. I will never be worthy, yet I still fight for it. I do not understand a love that empties out like oil on the heads of rebellious children who are not only blind to that love, but who, when they do see it, spit all over it.

It's the crowded room that breaks me
Everybody looks so luminous, and strangely young
It's the crowded room that's never heard
No one here can say a word of my native tongue

I have a hard time around certain people, especially certain Christians. I don't respond to people who seem to have it altogether, who seem to live a struggle-free life of faith. I judge these people, and I shouldn't. But when I am around people like this, it's very hard to take them seriously. Anyone who is honestly pursuing a relationship with Christ, relationship being the key word there, will know doubt at some point. They will know what it feels like to be on your knees seemingly shouting at the heavens and feeling as if the God who is supposed to be listening is not. They will know what it feels like to wonder about the future, to wonder if He really does have a plan, and if He does, if it's something easy and good. They will know the struggle to get up again after failing one too many times, the struggle to be rid of selfishness. Anyone who makes the choice to love Jesus will know intense heartbreak and also intense joy, breathtaking highs and getting-the-wind-knocked-out-of-you-lows. With any genuine relationship comes these struggles, and those who seem not to have them are people I cannot seem to relate to. I always wonder if their Jesus looks like mine does.

I can't be among them anymore
I fold myself away before it burns me numb

I was talking to a good friend of mine a while ago, and she was having a problem with someone else. It's been so long I don't even remember who or what the problem was, but I remember telling her that she should just talk to the other person, that talking always helps. After I told her this, I just sat there for a moment and realized that I rarely take my own advice. I'm all for peace. I can't stand confrontation. I hate the idea of anyone, even people I don't especially feel close to, not approving of me. When I feel wronged by someone, or when I feel I have wronged someone, I fade into myself. This is especially true where Jesus is concerned. The other night I was tired and edgy and had the desire to pray, which is rare for me most days. But I didn't. I just laid there and instead fell asleep. It all went back to the worthiness thing. I knew I wasn't worthy to come before Jesus, so I didn't. Oh, how much I miss by doing this.

Oh, call my name
You know my name
And in your love, everything will change
Tell me it won't always be this hard
I am nothing without you
But I don't know who you are

I believe that. That in Your love everything will change. That I really am nothing unless Your presence fills me up. And it's true that I don't know You very well. But You do indeed know my name. And I've heard You whisper it on good daya and on bad ones. I have felt the pursuit of a Lover who is beyond what any mortal could ever be, the pursuit that I knew I was not deserving of. I suppose this is one of those muttered, confusing, and weary prayers, but in spite of that, help me understand what love is, what Your love is. Help it sink in that I owe you nothing, that I can never fix myself or make myself lovely. I am nothing without you, but so often try to be something that I miss the point of grace completely. To paraphrase Moulin Rouge, the greatest thing in life is knowing and giving love and to be loved in return. Help me with that second thing.


(Lyrics from Vienna Teng's song "Nothing Without You," found on Dreaming Through the Noise.)

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