Overwhelmingly Gentle
In the American Christian community, we hear a lot about God’s “reckless love,” his violently-described love (think “How He Loves” by John Mark McMillian), his overwhelming love that our knees buckle under. It’s a beautiful description if you understand it (but perhaps more frightening if you don’t believe in God). I’m sure us Christians look crazy to non-Christians and to our legalist brothers and sisters in Christ that just don’t know yet. Amidst God’s reckless, violent love, is it possible for Holy gentleness? Do we typically equate being overwhelmed with gentleness? It’s an odd juxtaposition (aren’t all juxtapositions odd?), but possible.
Marching into my early 20s like the naive yet all-knowing adult I was, I blindly invited negative influences, toxic relationships, and false logic into my life. The more negative and toxic it got, the less I talked to God.
You see, I knew everything, and so I didn’t need him.
You see, I knew everything, and so I didn’t need him. However, life quickly brought me to my knees a couple of short years later and in my helplessness, I came back to the Father (I prefer to call him Dad, now). I found out that I didn’t actually know everything and I needed guidance. I’d tell you the best part about it all was that he didn’t shame me for bad behavior, but it’s actually so much better than that. He told me over and over again that I’m void of the dirtiness, I can’t earn his love, and he’ll never love me any more or any less than he always has. His love is there, ready at the door to begin his work with me.
Even now, I still have to be reminded of it. This past year I’ve been scooping out year-old problems to identify them and understand how they’re connected to my actions and thought patterns today. Dad’s helped me a lot in this process, but the past couple of months have been a lot harder. The pile in one hand started weighing down and spilling over while the other hand kept digging. Overwhelming and heavy, I couldn’t do it anymore so I set the first pile aside. I knew in my spirit that I would come back to resume the work Dad and I started, but I struggled with what I deemed a failure. I wasn’t reading my Bible, praying, or going to church as much so taking a break was the weak link in an eight-month-long process of learning and growth.
One day, feeling guilty about it all, I quietly heard Dad say, “Don’t worry, I know you’ll come back.”
“But...I’m not doing it right.”
“That’s okay. I know you’ll come back.”
That’s okay. What a beautiful sentence. I decided to believe him but still felt compelled to clean the pile. I didn’t want to put it off too long because what if he didn’t really mean it. Or he only meant it conditionally, like I’ve got a month to shape up but then I’ll run out of grace.
That’s okay. It’s uncomfortable and freeing at the same time to remove self-condemnation, and allow yourself room to make mistakes. I struggle with the mentality of “I have to fix this problem as quickly as possible to minimize it’s effect as much as possible,” but when you’re grieving, processing, and just learning, it’s impossible to get it all right.
That’s okay. I knew Dad wasn’t saying it in a way of excusing bad behavior, but rather telling me that I’m already forgiven. I imagine a child who’s learned to walk and is now learning how to run: they sort of know how to do it but they don’t quite have control over their bodies either, so they run into things a lot and sometimes veer off to the side unintentionally. As a parent, do you scold them for this, or do you help them up, make sure they don’t fall in a ditch, but allow them to learn the correct way to run as they grow and develop? Dad put up guardrails so I didn’t fall in a ditch and then allowed me to learn how to run the correct way.
That’s okay. When you let go of control, you allow room for growth. If someone is controlling you, all you’re thinking about is what you can do that appeases them in the short-term rather then figuring out what you’re own decisions will be. Dad wasn’t trying to control me and reminded me to remove the self-condemnation. What remained was the feeling that I genuinely wanted to be close to him again and the Holy conviction to change my pattern of behavior to go back to him. (Psst, this is what repentance is.)
When I decided to pray again, I was prepped to have a long session of lots of apologizing and the deepest, most spiritual prayer I could think of to make up for lost time before being allowed by God to come back into his good graces…. I didn’t have to do any of that. I started praying and immediately Dad was there, gently, steadily, and recklessly. He already knew I was coming and he met me there, and then we resumed the work on our piles.