breaking the silence...part II

Unfortunately, my last days in Portugal were tainted by grief, or at least the early signs of it. I remember distinctly mulling over the decision of who would take me to the airport that early June morning. One year prior, the decision would have been clear. But everything had changed. I felt overwhelmed by a sense that I had ruined everything, killed the friendships that had sustained me throughout my time there. I decided on a taxi cab. Yes, that was the appropriate send-off for someone who had left a trail of damaged relationships for the past six months.

Perhaps seeing my need, my team leader and his wife insisted that leaving in a taxi was a terrible idea. I awoke, stripped my sheets and placed them in the washing machine, placed my bags in the elevator, and stood on the curb. The morning was serene, adorned with early morning chill and quiet streets. The quiet continued on each flight home. Months that had culminated in bitterness steadily gave way to shame and hurt. At home, I soaked up the love of my family, something which felt every bit undeserved. I was the desolation after a storm, wreckage and spoil.

I moved to North Carolina. And still, I was a disaster. Sure, I was fortunate to make friends and forge a new lifestyle, but my carefree aspect was merely the fruit of inner turmoil that seemed well beyond my own ability to resolve or make sense of it. I had no difficulty shrugging off the opinion of others and no concern for my own reputation. No external opinion could have been as devastating as my own opinion of myself at that time. And for all the self-inflicted judgment, I felt surely God could not bear the sight of me or the words of my prayers.

And I tried speaking to Him, apologized multiple times daily for my failures. Every prayer began with remorse for the sin and grief that flowed through my veins and stole the life of those I had loved. Never in my life had the knowledge of my own sin been more apparent. I would venture to say that I did not understand my sin until this point, when God allowed me to be utterly crushed by my own doing. At its foundation, the problem was not the offenses of others. God was concerned with my responses and the apparent gracelessness within me. Not only had I refused to go to my brother and sister in love, but I had slandered the very body of Christ.

For months, my Father kept reiterating two lessons. Gossip, at its very heart, is exponentially more damaging than speaking words at the expense of others. And gossip was rampant among our mission team. Absolutely disgraceful. I was a listener, and people love to speak openly when someone is listening. I heard everything, and gossip is poisonous. Especially among believers, gossip is hatefulness toward those who are also part of Christ, members of His very own, chosen body. To speak against fellow Christians is to offend Christ himself. My sin against my brothers and sisters was equivalent to slapping my Savior's face, repeatedly. Judging others in that way revealed I had no real knowledge of my own sin, the severity of my forgiven debts, and what it cost Christ to save me. How could I accept a reprieve on my own debts, only to turn around and exact payment for minor offenses from others? I looked into the law of grace, forgot it, and proceeded to punish others.

The second lesson was gradual and painful. I continued to dialogue with the Lord, but my prayers were dominated by knowledge of my own sin and inability to fix myself. II Corinthians 7:10 says that "godly grief leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death." Somehow I knew I needed to experience godly grief, because the overwhelming shame I felt was killing my spirit daily. I would awake, pray, be slain by my sin, pray, drown in my shame, pray, despair. I desperately needed salvation that came not from my own hand or devices, but the salvation from Christ that rescues the powerless. Gradually as I acknowledged my inability, God began washing away the remorse, guilt, sadness, pain, and shame.

These two lessons were the impetus for what was to come, the unimaginable joy that I could not have hoped or asked for. But that unchanging joy could only be found on the heals of understanding the true gospel. I know that God began working in my life when I was very young, but I could not appreciate His salvation until I was demolished by the knowledge of my own sin, in all its ugliness. I could not appreciate His grace until I knew my desperate want of it. I am the invalid, sick, criminal, ugly, and unworthy. And yet God in His perfect love chose to wash, heal, restore, forgive, and adorn me with His mercy. I could not have cleaned myself up enough for Him; I had to surrender in my weakness and trust His grace to take pity on me...