Living Loved

A magazine article a while back told the heart-wrenching, anonymous stories of people who had adopted children and then later asked to “send them back.” The point of the article was to highlight the often untalked-about challenges of adopting children who came from abusive or deprived situations. These families talked about how the new child took over their lives; How the subsequent adjustments everyone had to make eventually wrecked their relationships; How these people felt like the only way to survive was to somehow relinquish the child back into the system.

More recently, I saw an interview where a man broke down in tears over how wonderful his adoptive mom was and how much he loved her. He talked about how she had stuck by him through hard times, when he was constantly testing her, and how her steadfastness and patience won him over until he finally realized that nothing he could do would make her give him up. And, now, his devotion to his mama is fierce.

I mention these stories because Christians like to talk a lot about adoption. We like to refer to the verses in Romans and Ephesians that say we have been adopted into the family of God. (Now that I’ve read Paul, a Biography by N.T. Wright, I have a much better understanding of what Paul meant by those verses, but they do have wonderful spiritual implications today.)

Although Christians talk about adoption like it’s a good thing, many people have the impression that God is more like the parents in the magazine article. As the adopted kids, we understand that we are forgiven, we know that we are loved, but we don’t trust it. We worry that any number of small (or large) infractions will earn us the disapproval and dislike of God and He’ll “send us back.” We say we know he loves us, but we don’t always live loved. Instead, we see all the ways we are failing, especially in comparison to those around us. We often live in fear – constantly in a state of penance and confession, saying things like, “I know I shouldn’t….. I feel so bad for thinking… I wish I didn’t…” And among each other we are worse – constantly degrading ourselves for all the ways that we aren’t and can’t be better Christians. We look at the family we’ve been adopted into and can start to believe we are not good enough, we don’t really fit in, and if this is going to work, we might have to pretend to be something that we aren’t, and it’s really hard to keep that up for long…   

As random as it might seem, I started thinking about all of this because I’ve been cussing a fair bit lately, and it feels delicious. I am reveling in the freedom of it and it feels very much like testing the boundaries in a new adoption of sorts. Before all of this faith deconstruction/transition stuff started, I may have still used a swear word here and there, but I would feel so bad about it, and I would second-guess myself afterwards. “What did they think of me? Ugh I know I shouldn’t use that word because Christians shouldn’t talk like that. I should be an example. My speech should be gracious and kind and only for building others up… out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks. What does it say about my heart?!?!?!?! oh God, please forgive me for failing you!”  I would wonder if my friends were talking about what a potty mouth I had and thinking less of me because I used the F word.

I’ve probably used it 20 times this week.

Now, I’m not proud of my immature vocabulary, but it is freeing to use the formerly “forbidden” words without all of the spiritual guilt associated with them. If I’ve been adopted into the family of an all-loving God, then this is definitely my phase of testing some boundaries. But, it’s not even that I’m testing His love for me, but rather I’m testing whether I can bear this burden of His love. Can I truly live as though I am free? Can I truly live as though I am unconditionally loved? Can I exist in all of my humanness, messy and wild, and know that I am accepted just as I am? Can I fully trust that someone – God, my husband, my kids, my friends – can handle all of my humanness, everything that it means to be utterly ME?

It is a hard thing, to live loved. It can all feel so fragile. There can be a constant fear of screwing it up. What if you don’t like the right thing or don’t say the right thing or don’t act the right way? What if you DO ruin it? Then, maybe, the hardest thing about being loved — What if they keep loving you even when you don’t “deserve” it? What if they love you more than you love yourself?

THAT is one of the most uncomfortable, most vulnerable situations to be in – crushed under the weight of someone’s love and forgiveness.

Can you bear it?

The truth is that Love is Light. Love is life. What feels like the “weight” of love is often more like the weight of our own self-loathing. Coming face to face, not with them, but with ourselves. Having to accept the reality of who we are and that, no matter how much we pretend, we deeply see ourselves as being unworthy of such goodness and kindness and mercy in the hands of another.

I think of that man who wept as he spoke about his mom. The beginning and middle of their relationship was full of turmoil and angst. It was not smooth or graceful or even hope-filled. His insecurities and anger threatened to tear him away, but the strength and tenacity of her love held him fast. And, eventually, he surrendered to her love and now they have an incredible bond. I’m sure it wasn’t easy, but it was real.  

After living my life as a “Christian” for over 30 years, it feels kind of stupid (and humbling) to admit I’m only now in this very beginner, immature stage of testing boundaries with God. And that I’m “wrestling” Him by dropping an F-bomb, posting a controversial picture on Instagram, leaving a risky comment in a church Facebook group, or telling someone I no longer believe in Heaven and Hell in the traditional sense. I feel like a toddler throwing cheerios over the side of my high-chair and thrilling in the rebellion. How much more can I get away with before dad freaks out?

The thing that is fascinating to me is that the behavior itself is not addictive – I don’t love swearing – but the FREEDOM, oh the freedom is so satisfying. THAT is the feeling I’m after. Like the person who hates the taste and smell of pot but loves getting high. That freedom from guilt and shame is exciting and ignites this silly spark in me that feels like fire.

Now, because I AM mature in other ways, I am not going to use this freedom to wreak havoc on my marriage or my family. I am not going to go out and go crazy under the banner of feeling my oats. But my rebellions of choice are interesting to me. Did I really think God – or others – would love me less just because I said a curse word? Did I really think God – or others – would love me less if I disagreed with someone’s belief? Did I really think I was so unworthy of love – and that my relationships were so weak – that such minor things would kick me out of someone’s good graces?  

Yes, apparently I did.

And, so, here I am, testing out this theory that I am worthy of love even when I’m not trying to prove anything. It’s scary. I am pushing away a community I’ve always been part of. I am asking a lot of those friends who have only known me to be a certain way. I feel like I am taking baby steps into a wilderness that is gnarled and dark, yet temptingly exquisite. I am afraid, but I cannot turn back. I have tasted Love’s freedom and I want more.