Note from a good day (The Wilful Sunflower)

I have good days and I have bad days. Yesterday was a good day - today was OK, until now, in the night, when I am struggling with old demons. It is midnight and already many tears have been shed; 11 pages filled in my private journal, crying out to God.

But things are changing. I know they are changing. And so I will quote from yesterday's journal entry, because I need to be reminded of what I have written. Because tonight, my journal has been filled with questions and doubts, the clear confidence gone, the triumphant joy missing. Not for long, though, I think. Because things are changing.

It's hard to keep a balance between not taking Your mercy for granted and yet not feeling condemned for failing yet again. You know it's been really hard for me to accept that it's OK to make mistakes, OK to fall as long as I allow You to help me up again and start over. It has been hard to believe that You don't hold my past history - that long line of similar failures - against me.

Now when I fail I try to look up at You, resolutely refrain from looking back, and be comforted that I can begin anew. "There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus" - but then I wonder if it is wrong of me not to feel guilty.

Perhaps guilt brings a sense of false piety - that whole "Oh no, I have sinned against You AGAIN, yet I love You so much" thing. That whole, "I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry," abasing myself, thing. Perhaps You don't want me to abase myself. The loving father in the parable ran to embrace his son, pulling the fella into his arms when the son would have knelt in servile attitude at his father's feet.

But then sometimes I fear I am over-confident of Your mercy (it occurs to me now, though, that I have every reason to be confident of it in Christ - yet I still must not take it, and You, for granted, Father). Like I sin, and I say, "Oh, I can always try again. It's OK."

So I've gone, I sometimes fear, from one extreme to the other: from the extreme of being weighed down by guilt to the extreme of feeling no remorse whatsoever.

Father, I thank You for Your patience with me, for Your gentle love, for Your tender care - which I still can't quite grasp, I still can't quite imagine, I still find a bit hard to believe in and to trust - but I know it's there, I know You're there. I am so hungry to be cherished and loved, and You are teaching me to accept Your love, to allow You to love me... "perfect love casts out fear" - perhaps that is why I no longer feel guilty, why I no longer cringe in fear before You?

I don't know... all I know is that for much of my life I've lived in fear - I feared Dad, then I feared You... I feared Your wrath, feared disappointing You, feared I could never be what You wanted me to be... but now You are showing me that it's not up to ME to make myself into some sort of super-perfect paragon, that's not what You want... You want me to surrender to You, to run into Your embrace, to let You mould me into what You want me to be. To let You restore me, remove the dross, tend to me with care and bring forth the woman You created me to be. It all happens within Your loving arms; I am safe there, protected. I can trust You. I can allow myself to feel loved, I can allow myself to be cared for. I am hidden under the shadow of Your wings.

Thank You, Father. Thank You for the restoration, the reassurance, the love. Thank You. There are no words, my God.