Taking Back What Has Been Taken

"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." -Maya Angelou 

Some of you may know that I've been writing this blog for a few years now, and since it isn't my job to do so and life continues to go on around me, I don't have as many opportunities to write as I'd like to. Though I'd enjoy sitting down every day and pouring out my thoughts, I am lucky if I have time and energy to post twice a month. In fact, I tend to write here only when a story is bursting at the seams inside of me and I have no choice but to tell it. 

I say that to say this is one of those precious moments, and I am absolutely giddy to put this on paper. (Well, technically you're seeing it on a screen, but it was on paper first). 

So if you're familiar with the way Jesus spoke to others in the bible, you'll know he would speak often in parables. I typically enjoy this because I love a good analogy, thought sometimes it can create such confusion about what he was trying to say. I used to feel that way about the parable of the talents- confused, that is- until I heard it explained a certain way and I felt like I really understood the purpose of the parable. 

One of the things I love about God, though, is that even when you think you understand something he'll blow your mind and teach you something new each time you read it. 

So I'm sitting there this morning reading the parable of the talents in Matthew 25. The story is about a master who is leaving for some time and grants talents to three of his servants (talents were a form of currency). When he eventually returns, he analyzes what each servant did with the talents they had been given. Two of the servants invested what they had, and with these the master was pleased. The third servant, however, feared the wrath of his master and consequently buried his talent so he wouldn't lose it. With this the master was angered, and he cast out the servant who wasted what he was given. 

It's a great story, I think, about being faithful with the gifts and resources God gives you to use for His glory. As I read this, I pondered who I am in this story. I questioned which servant represents me, and I realized I didn't see myself in the parable at all. Why not? Because I saw myself as a fourth servant who is even worse than the third. 

I saw this picture of myself receiving talents from my master. He leaves for some time and I excitedly make a host of plans regarding the use of my talents. I am thrilled about what he has entrusted to me, and I look forward to using the gifts purposefully. Unfortunately afterward, an enemy who wishes to destroy my plans attacks me. His goal is to keep me from reaching my own, and he steals the talents away from me. And there I was- talentless. 

I see myself as this servant, one whose God-given talents and resources have seemingly been stripped by the enemy. God gave me the gift of writing, and satan deceived me into believing my words didn't matter. "Don't write," he said. "No one will care enough to read it anyway." God gave me a heart of compassion, and satan convinced me I had nothing to offer. "Don't even bother reaching out or trying to help. You have nothing to give." God would give "this," and satan would deceitfully say "that." My talents had been stolen, and I felt powerless to do anything about it. 

Seeing myself as this servant brought me both deep discouragement and hope. Discouragement because I considered myself to be in a worse position than the third servant, yet hope because now that I could clearly see my situation, I would be able to change it. The truth is that in Christ I'm not powerless, and I have the courage and strength to steal my talents back. I may have been that servant at one point, but I am determined to no longer be. This game the enemy has been playing with my mind is over. 

I mean, here's the thing: what if the enemy wants me to believe so badly that my words don't matter because my words will be the avenue through which I give to and change the world? 

I look at it like that and my heart screams, "enough!" I'm not about to sit idly by while satan continues to steal from me. When he steals from me he is ultimately stealing from my Lord, and he must be crazy if he thinks I'm going to keep letting that happen. 

So where do you see yourself in this story? If you feel like your talents have been stolen like mine, courageously step up and steal them back. God has given you great gifts- use them well.

God the Restorer of my Heart

So, I can be a little weird in that I love being convicted.

I'm serious: I thoroughly enjoy it. Maybe it's because I feel trustworthy, like God trusts that I can handle what he is revealing. Maybe it's because I believe when God brings up something it's because He's ready to work with me to heal that something.

Mostly I think it's because many times when I am convicted I have a time of repentance and prayer with God that leads to a deeper time of fellowship with Him. Each time I come out on the other end of conviction, I know God deeper and I feel Him closer. It's pretty awesome.

So conviction and I, we're pretty tight. I obviously don't jump for joy every time I feel conflicted, nor do I repent and pray each time I feel it- I'm an imperfect being, after all, and many times I ignore it- but overall I'd say I'm quite delighted when the Holy Spirit convicts me. I get excited to deal with tough issues in my heart.

Now, the spirit has been nudging me lately about a certain subject in particular, but I've been pretty hesitant. I'm open to change in this area, but I'm also scared out of my mind, so I basically just stand there. I'm stuck taking two steps forward in faith, then two steps backward in fear. 

If you do the math, you'll see those steps equate to a solid zero. I suppose I have made some progress, but most days it doesn't feel like all that much.

So today I was talking about this particular area of weakness with another woman, and I made a comment about how God needs to do a lot of breaking in that area of my life. She looked at me and said, "He doesn't need to do breaking, he needs to do restoring." I immediately saw my healing process in an entirely different light, and I was overwhelmed by the beauty of it. 

You see, I had always thought God was in the business of breaking people. I didn't think so in a bad way, but I thought breaking was his way of making us right again. I pictured my heart surrounded by layers of walls that I had built. Every brick was made from hurt, and over time the walls became nearly impenetrable.

God in his strength, however, could break down anything, right? So that's what I thought he did: he broke down my walls so he could uncover my heart. 

I look at that analogy now and I see there are quite a few flaws. First, it portrays me to have more strength than I do. Realistically speaking, a more appropriate illustration would be one of me pushing people away rather than building walls to keep them out. I didn't have walls, I had fear. I didn't protect myself, I ran from others. 

The second problem with the analogy is that I appear to have a whole heart behind the walls that I have built. I don't know about you, but my heart isn't whole. If all I did was build walls to keep people out, wouldn't the whole heart inside of those walls still feel good? Well, it doesn't, so I feel it's safe to say my heart isn't whole.

So I got to thinking about what it would look like for God to restore me rather than to break me, and here is what I see:

Imagine yourself as a helpless child. Someone hurts you, and the darkness steals away a piece of your heart. As you grow, more and more of your heart is stolen away with every hurt you experience. Your heart is fragmented and in the hands of the enemy. Your heart doesn't contain walls; it contains shattered pieces.

God stands up, however, and proclaims that he has not made you to have a broken heart. He desires for your heart to be whole- the heart he originally crafted. He confronts the thief and easily overpowers him, taking back what was originally yours, what was originally his gift to you. 

God returns to his wounded, precious daughter, and asks her to open up her heart. He doesn't want to force himself in, but he wants to make her whole again by returning the pieces of her heart she lost years ago. He knows she is afraid, for her heart has little left to give, so he gently knocks on the door and assures her he isn't there to take, but to give. 

Fearfully she opens up her heart to her father, and by his magical touch it is restored and renewed, and she is once again whole.

God isn't breaking, he is restoring.

I think this analogy paints a much clearer picture of the loving and protective, gentle, yet strong father that he is. God isn't in the business of breaking, he's in the business of restoring, and he is the only one who can truly make your heart whole.