Posted 13 years ago
Who am I?
I have trouble writing with complete honestly. That’s why I love poetry. I can be open without being vulnerable. I can clothe brokenness in metaphor and not worry about someone entering the innermost parts of my heart. They can drive all around the outskirts, but they’ll never reach the softest area. Ultimately, though, those clothes fall apart like fig leaves and I’m left standing naked in a pile of flimsy green compost. Every blemish and inadequacy laid bare for all to see.
I remember times where I’ve been astonished at the evil inside me. I was once talking with my friend who had a dead Jewish grandmother and a lesbian roommate. Somehow we ended up talking about heaven and I mentioned about how being good wasn’t enough to get to heaven, how Jesus was the only way. I also said that homosexuality was an obstacle to heaven. She left to get the friends we were going to hang out with. When she came back, she was bawling her eyes out. A mutual friend, who was an atheist, blasted me with words about how judgment only belongs to God. I looked at her tear-filled eyes and saw that I had crushed her heart. Her tears proved him right. It’s intensely humbling when a person who lives the opposite life you do gives you discipline from God.
I can remember every time I’ve made a woman cry. My friend from the previous story. My mom, when I insulted her to her face. I think I once made my sister cry when I was around 8, when I beat her with my fists.
I have a laundry list of sins that I can pull up at any time. Many broken promises to God, saying I would never look at porn and masturbate again. Times I was a coward and didn’t help someone I should have. All the times I was lazy and refused to look for a job to help my cash-strapped parents.
This is why the gospel bothers me. I’ve treated God like crap over and over, yet still he returns, saying, “I love you. Come back.” He hates the evil inside my heart and the bad things I’ve done. Yet forgiveness is freely offered. It amazes me that a God who numbers the hairs on my head and keeps all my tears in his wineskin refuses to keep a list of my sins.
But he doesn’t just stop at forgiving the acts. For the evil acts flow from the evil in my heart. He gives me a new heart. A new identity. What does that mean? Who am I, now that Jesus is in my life? Who should I be? Who was I made to be?
I invite you to join me on this journey. There’ll be ups and downs, strange revelations and a lot of grappling with truth. Not to mention combating lies. But I hope that as I discover more of who I am and who God is, you’ll discover his and your identity as well.
–Θωμᾶς