Selfish cry for love

[PetraFan007]

This past weekend, I went to a Christian event. I was told what happens at the event stays at the event. Maybe it’s for the sake of others, but I guess I’m allowed to share what I experienced? Well, here’s hoping I’m not doing something wrong. Sometimes, I actually don’t care and I want the whole world to know how mad I am. But wait—isn’t that asking for pity? I don’t want that either. Another damned catch-22. Plus, God’s grace is sufficient for me right? So, in the end, this rant doesn’t change my standing in His eyes, right?
He can handle this less-than-stellar review, right? Something dark seems to have risen up in me. Sometimes I’m too afraid to embrace it but also simultaneously know that I need to face it. This weekend was supposed to be my deliverance, healing, and filling with the holy spirit. I feel that I am not better off than before. I’m told that I’m listening to the lies of the enemy. It’s hard to stop believing them when it’s all I’ve ever felt… as if it’s a part of my DNA. I listen to over and over again about how I am a child of God and that I am royalty and that I am loved. Yet it doesn’t seem to get through to me. Her are fantastic lyrics to a 90’s song that explains this phenomenon:

He’s everything you want
He’s everything you need
He’s everything inside of you
That you wish you could be
He says all the right things
At exactly the right time
But he means nothing to you
And you don’t know why

For some reason, someone could say the nicest words to me, give me the most extravagant gifts, do the nicest act of service but somehow I don’t feel loved. Therefore, I feel bad that it didn’t move me like I expected.

The same Christians who tell you that you can’t live by feelings boast about how much love, peace, and joy they feel from God. Here I am, feeling like a fool for standing there in a crowd of overjoyed brothers raising their hands in praise and worship as I beg for these feelings. My wife told me that they were doing BECAUSE of God’s love not to get it. So, I guess I should have just sat there the entire time because mostly I didn’t feel it. In my mind, I was trying to be obedient and maybe God would zap some love into me. I feel like, once again, I did it all wrong. I feel a voice, probably from Satan, telling me… “Boohoo…you’re just a big baby whining that you didn’t get to feel any good emotions. HAHAHAHA! Loser… some witness you are…”. etc, etc, ad naseum Well, screw you, Satan.

I was told to come expecting and to be SELFISH. During a time of praise and worship, it was time to ask for the filling of the Holy Spirit. As others were praising God and laying down on the floor feeling his presence, I got what felt like a spiritual attack. Anxiety and fear took over after I spent so long trying my best to reach out to God. What the hell?! I complained to others that maybe it’s just not my time, but they were so sure of themselves. However, yet another event that I went to— trying my HARDEST not to believe those damned lies of the enemy but somehow I couldn’t stop them. I feel like I’m almost a heretic for even complaining about this! I feel like I am bringing shame on the people who helped make this possible for me… that I am besmirching their ministry because I can’t fall in line with the rest of the crowd who felt they were rocked by God. Maybe my expectations to actually feel an overpoweringly amazing good emotion was asking for too much. I was told I need to release the lies and that I should cry out for it. Raise my voice—yell even. I’m told it’s a free gift and that I get it because I’m a child of God. Why should I have to beg for what I am entitled it? I don’t have an entitlement attitude at all—but I do try to fight for what is supposedly rightfully mine. I will admit I am frustrated and mad…maybe even at God. Not a place I want to be. I know His ways are always good. So, clearly, the finger gets pointed right back at me. Clearly, I’M the problem if I’m not getting better.

At one point, I remember feeling this overwhelming sadness and was crying. I think the subject was family hurts. I know there was some stuff I went through growing up, and I did forgive the family members and others who I felt I needed to forgive. However, the message of how much I am deeply loved was being driven home…literally by the pounding of a nail into Jesus’ wrist and feet. I felt a sense of gratitude for what He did for me. Yet, I got hung up on the sentence, “Jay, he died for YOU.” Sure, he died for me. And billions of other people. He died for all of us. For some reason, my heart cannot receive a personalized love message from God. It would almost take God himself, or maybe an angel with a message, to convince me. Some MAJOR sign of heaven. That I am loved…and somehow me believing it to the point it actually TRULY changed me. Just some other human telling me… and me not feeling the corresponding emotions…is not enough. I need to EXPERIENCE it myself. Thus far, 33 years and counting, I feel that I am still on the outside looking in. Like a secret society of brothers and sisters who have somehow figured it out—somehow pushed past all the pain and hurt and found the right combinations of synapses in their brain to dare to believe that are loved…. which triggered some hormonal response of serotonin to release endorphins all over their body proving this very fact. All I could feel is the overwhelming feeling of “Why?” As soon as my heart dared to accept the fact in my vulnerable emotional state, it just simply had a hard time accepting it. “Why God? WHY do you love me? I don’t understand… Why do I NEED to be loved? Why do I NEED a Father?”

After this event, I am left feeling bitter. And one more question popped into my head… What is wrong with me? Could it be that because of my sins, or even because of my upbringing and subsequent response to it (bad behavior), that I have somehow sealed myself off from feeling love? Why am I like this? What did I do to deserve this? I feel that I wasn’t treated THAT badly and that I didn’t ACT that badly. When I bring these thoughts up— I am told that these questions are all based on lies. Ok, so be it… they are lies. That doesn’t change the fact that I still feel an immense OVERPOWERING belief in them. For someone to change, something has to change right? What if I don’t have the willpower or strength to change on my own? Am I not at the complete mercy of God to deliver me from this? If I am not able to pray it away or do enough GOOD things to deserve it, what other hope do I have save for a miracle from God?

Underneath all this tormenting emotional pain is my selfish cry for love. It’s more pronounced now than ever. Apparently, I have discovered that I am a lot more messed up than I thought. I have no idea how I got here, and feel like it will take the most advanced deliverance ministry on this planet to break through. It doesn’t match up to the road I’ve walked down. I haven’t been to some of the low places others have been to. Yet, my soul is somehow to full of pain to accept love? How can I break through this? I will not give up…

 

[faroukfarouk]

This past weekend, I went to a Christian event. I was told what happens at the event stays at the event. Maybe it’s for the sake of others, but I guess I’m allowed to share what I experienced? Well, here’s hoping I’m not doing something wrong. Sometimes, I actually don’t care and I want the whole world to know how mad I am. But wait—isn’t that asking for pity? I don’t want that either. Another damned catch-22. Plus, God’s grace is sufficient for me right? So, in the end, this rant doesn’t change my standing in His eyes, right?
He can handle this less-than-stellar review, right? Something dark seems to have risen up in me. Sometimes I’m too afraid to embrace it but also simultaneously know that I need to face it. This weekend was supposed to be my deliverance, healing, and filling with the holy spirit. I feel that I am not better off than before. I’m told that I’m listening to the lies of the enemy. It’s hard to stop believing them when it’s all I’ve ever felt… as if it’s a part of my DNA. I listen to over and over again about how I am a child of God and that I am royalty and that I am loved. Yet it doesn’t seem to get through to me. Her are fantastic lyrics to a 90’s song that explains this phenomenon:

He’s everything you want
He’s everything you need
He’s everything inside of you
That you wish you could be
He says all the right things
At exactly the right time
But he means nothing to you
And you don’t know why

For some reason, someone could say the nicest words to me, give me the most extravagant gifts, do the nicest act of service but somehow I don’t feel loved. Therefore, I feel bad that it didn’t move me like I expected.

The same Christians who tell you that you can’t live by feelings boast about how much love, peace, and joy they feel from God. Here I am, feeling like a fool for standing there in a crowd of overjoyed brothers raising their hands in praise and worship as I beg for these feelings. My wife told me that they were doing BECAUSE of God’s love not to get it. So, I guess I should have just sat there the entire time because mostly I didn’t feel it. In my mind, I was trying to be obedient and maybe God would zap some love into me. I feel like, once again, I did it all wrong. I feel a voice, probably from Satan, telling me… “Boohoo…you’re just a big baby whining that you didn’t get to feel any good emotions. HAHAHAHA! Loser… some witness you are…”. etc, etc, ad naseum Well, screw you, Satan.

I was told to come expecting and to be SELFISH. During a time of praise and worship, it was time to ask for the filling of the Holy Spirit. As others were praising God and laying down on the floor feeling his presence, I got what felt like a spiritual attack. Anxiety and fear took over after I spent so long trying my best to reach out to God. What the hell?! I complained to others that maybe it’s just not my time, but they were so sure of themselves. However, yet another event that I went to— trying my HARDEST not to believe those damned lies of the enemy but somehow I couldn’t stop them. I feel like I’m almost a heretic for even complaining about this! I feel like I am bringing shame on the people who helped make this possible for me… that I am besmirching their ministry because I can’t fall in line with the rest of the crowd who felt they were rocked by God. Maybe my expectations to actually feel an overpoweringly amazing good emotion was asking for too much. I was told I need to release the lies and that I should cry out for it. Raise my voice—yell even. I’m told it’s a free gift and that I get it because I’m a child of God. Why should I have to beg for what I am entitled it? I don’t have an entitlement attitude at all—but I do try to fight for what is supposedly rightfully mine. I will admit I am frustrated and mad…maybe even at God. Not a place I want to be. I know His ways are always good. So, clearly, the finger gets pointed right back at me. Clearly, I’M the problem if I’m not getting better.

At one point, I remember feeling this overwhelming sadness and was crying. I think the subject was family hurts. I know there was some stuff I went through growing up, and I did forgive the family members and others who I felt I needed to forgive. However, the message of how much I am deeply loved was being driven home…literally by the pounding of a nail into Jesus’ wrist and feet. I felt a sense of gratitude for what He did for me. Yet, I got hung up on the sentence, “Jay, he died for YOU.” Sure, he died for me. And billions of other people. He died for all of us. For some reason, my heart cannot receive a personalized love message from God. It would almost take God himself, or maybe an angel with a message, to convince me. Some MAJOR sign of heaven. That I am loved…and somehow me believing it to the point it actually TRULY changed me. Just some other human telling me… and me not feeling the corresponding emotions…is not enough. I need to EXPERIENCE it myself. Thus far, 33 years and counting, I feel that I am still on the outside looking in. Like a secret society of brothers and sisters who have somehow figured it out—somehow pushed past all the pain and hurt and found the right combinations of synapses in their brain to dare to believe that are loved…. which triggered some hormonal response of serotonin to release endorphins all over their body proving this very fact. All I could feel is the overwhelming feeling of “Why?” As soon as my heart dared to accept the fact in my vulnerable emotional state, it just simply had a hard time accepting it. “Why God? WHY do you love me? I don’t understand… Why do I NEED to be loved? Why do I NEED a Father?”

After this event, I am left feeling bitter. And one more question popped into my head… What is wrong with me? Could it be that because of my sins, or even because of my upbringing and subsequent response to it (bad behavior), that I have somehow sealed myself off from feeling love? Why am I like this? What did I do to deserve this? I feel that I wasn’t treated THAT badly and that I didn’t ACT that badly. When I bring these thoughts up— I am told that these questions are all based on lies. Ok, so be it… they are lies. That doesn’t change the fact that I still feel an immense OVERPOWERING belief in them. For someone to change, something has to change right? What if I don’t have the willpower or strength to change on my own? Am I not at the complete mercy of God to deliver me from this? If I am not able to pray it away or do enough GOOD things to deserve it, what other hope do I have save for a miracle from God?

Underneath all this tormenting emotional pain is my selfish cry for love. It’s more pronounced now than ever. Apparently, I have discovered that I am a lot more messed up than I thought. I have no idea how I got here, and feel like it will take the most advanced deliverance ministry on this planet to break through. It doesn’t match up to the road I’ve walked down. I haven’t been to some of the low places others have been to. Yet, my soul is somehow to full of pain to accept love? How can I break through this? I will not give up…

Hi there; so you mean Petra the band?

 

[rockytopva]

If E = mc2 then we can divide and conclude that...

Mass (m) = Energy (E/c2)

And there are three varieties...

Natural E/c2 - All mass is basically cooled plasma
Mental E/c2 - Mentally, A mathematical formula, but this has chemical and spiritual properties as well.
Spiritual E/c2 - E (motivation, warmth, love) / c2 (faith, hope, charity, joy)

The following is a story about a teenager who first failed to find the spiritual in the wrong place, and then succeeded in the right place.

"Grandfather was kind to me and considerate of me, yet he was strict with me. I worked along with him in the field when the weather was agreeable and when it was inclement I helped him in his hatter's shop, for the Civil War was in progress and he had returned at odd times to hatmaking. It was my business in the shop to stretch foxskins and coonskins across a wood-horse and with a knife, made for that purpose, pluck the hair from the fur. I despise the odor of foxskins and coonskins to this good day. He had me to walk two miles every Sunday to Dandridge to Church service and Sunday-school, rain or shine, wet or dry, cold or hot; yet he had fat horses standing in his stable. But he was such a blue-stocking Presbyterian that he never allowed a bridle to go on a horse's head on Sunday. The beasts had to have a day of rest. Old Doctor Minnis was the pastor, and he was the dryest and most interminable preacher I ever heard in my life. He would stand motionless and read his sermons from manuscript for one hour and a half at a time and sometimes longer. Grandfather would sit and never take his eyes off of him, except to glance at me to keep me quiet. It was torture to me." - George Clark Rankin


George Clark Rankin was then sent to Georgia after his grandfather could no longer care for him. With his belongings in a satchel he had a Colt's navy pistol of a large make. It was an old weapon, and what under the sun I wanted with it is a mystery to me to this good day. I reached the station in time to catch the eleven-o' clock train. I purchased my ticket and boarded the car for the first time in my life. I had one lone lorn fifty-cent piece left in my depleted purse, and that was the sum and substance of my finances for the rest of the trip. As the train whizzed along I looked first at the people and then through the window at the country and thought over my journey and what was to come of it. At nine o'clock we reached Dalton and disembarked. I had never been in a hotel. I saw one not far from the depot and went to it. I asked the clerk what he would charge me for a room that night and he said fifty cents. That was exactly my pile! I called for the accommodation, but before retiring I told him I wanted to leave very early the next morning for Spring Place and that I would pay him then, for no one would be up when I would leave. He smiled and took the silver half dollar. I went to my room, and solitude is no name for the room I occupied that night. After a while I fell into a sound sleep and awoke bright and early the next morning. It was not good daylight. I arose and hastened downstairs, and there sat the same clerk whom I had the night before it had never dawned on me that a hotel clerk sat up all night. I thanked him for his kindness and bade him good-bye in regular old country style.

It was not long until I was in the road and making tracks across the country to where my uncle lived. It was in 1866 and the marks of Sherman's march to the sea were everywhere visible. The country was very much out of repair and all around Dalton the earth was marked with breastworks. Every hill showed signs of war. Much of the fencing had not been restored and here and there I could see blackened chimneys still standing. After I had gotten out a few miles I stopped and took that old pistol with its belt and scabbard out of my satchel and buckled the war paraphernalia around my person on the outside of my coat. Just why I did this I cannot explain. I must have looked a caution in my homespun suit and rural air trudging along that highway with that old army pistol fastened around me. In going down a hill toward a ravine from which there was another hill in front of me I met two men horseback. They spoke to me and eyed me very curiously, but, strange to say, I could not tell why. Why would not men eye such a looking war arsenal as that? There were two others riding down the hill in front of me, and as the first two passed me they stopped and looked back at the others and shouted: "Lookout, boys, he is loaded!"

In the course of an hour I was at my uncle's. He was surprised to see me, but gave me a cordial welcome. The first thing he did was to disarm me, and that ended my pistol-toting. I have never had one about my person or home to this good day. And I never will understand just why I had that one. A good dinner refreshed me and I soon unfolded my plans and they were satisfactory to my kind-hearted kinsman. He was in the midst of cotton-picking and that afternoon I went to the field and, with a long sack about my waist, had my first experience in the cottonfield. We then would get ready for the revival occurring that night…

After the team had been fed and we had been to supper we put the mules to the wagon, filled it with chairs and we were off to the meeting. When we reached the locality it was about dark and the people were assembling. Their horses and wagons filled up the cleared spaces and the singing was already in progress. My uncle and his family went well up toward the front, but I dropped into a seat well to the rear. It was an old-fashioned Church, ancient in appearance, oblong in shape and unpretentious. It was situated in a grove about one hundred yards from the road. It was lighted with old tallow-dip candles furnished by the neighbors. It was not a prepossessing-looking place, but it was soon crowded and evidently there was a great deal of interest. A cadaverous-looking man stood up in front with a tuning fork and raised and led the songs. There were a few prayers and the minister came in with his saddlebags and entered the pulpit. He was the Rev. W. H. Heath, the circuit rider. His prayer impressed me with his earnestness and there were many amens to it in the audience. I do not remember his text, but it was a typical revival sermon, full of unction and power.

At its close he invited penitents to the altar and a great many young people flocked to it and bowed for prayer. Many of them became very much affected and they cried out distressingly for mercy. It had a strange effect on me. It made me nervous and I wanted to retire. Directly my uncle came back to me, put his arm around my shoulder and asked me if I did not want to be religious. I told him that I had always had that desire, that mother had brought me up that way, and really I did not know anything else. Then he wanted to know if I had ever professed religion. I hardly understood what he meant and did not answer him. He changed his question and asked me if I had ever been to the altar for prayer, and I answered him in the negative. Then he earnestly besought me to let him take me up to the altar and join the others in being prayed for. It really embarrassed me and I hardly knew what to say to him. He spoke to me of my mother and said that when she was a little girl she went to the altar and that Christ accepted her and she had been a good Christian all these years. That touched me in a tender spot, for mother always did do what was right; and then I was far away from her and wanted to see her. Oh, if she were there to tell me what to do!

By and by I yielded to his entreaty and he led forward to the altar. The minister took me by the hand and spoke tenderly to me as I knelt at the altar. I had gone more out of sympathy than conviction, and I did not know what to do after I bowed there. The others were praying aloud and now and then one would rise shoutingly happy and make the old building ring with his glad praise. It was a novel experience to me. I did not know what to pray for, neither did I know what to expect if I did pray. I spent the most of the hour wondering why I was there and what it all meant. No one explained anything to me. Once in awhile some good old brother or sister would pass my way, strike me on the back and tell me to look up and believe and the blessing would come. But that was not encouraging to me. In fact, it sounded like nonsense and the noise was distracting me. Even in my crude way of thinking I had an idea that religion was a sensible thing and that people ought to become religious intelligently and without all that hurrah. I presume that my ideas were the result of the Presbyterian training given to me by old grandfather. By and by my knees grew tired and the skin was nearly rubbed off my elbows. I thought the service never would close, and when it did conclude with the benediction I heaved a sigh of relief. That was my first experience at the mourner's bench.

As we drove home I did not have much to say, but I listened attentively to the conversation between my uncle and his wife. They were greatly impressed with the meeting, and they spoke first of this one and that one who had "come through" and what a change it would make in the community, as many of them were bad boys. As we were putting up the team my uncle spoke very encouragingly to me; he was delighted with the step I had taken and he pleaded with me not to turn back, but to press on until I found the pearl of great price. He knew my mother would be very happy over the start I had made. Before going to sleep I fell into a train of thought, though I was tired and exhausted. I wondered why I had gone to that altar and what I had gained by it. I felt no special conviction and had received no special impression, but then if my mother had started that way there must be something in it, for she always did what was right. I silently lifted my heart to God in prayer for conviction and guidance. I knew how to pray, for I had come up through prayer, but not the mourner's bench sort. So I determined to continue to attend the meeting and keep on going to the altar until I got religion.

Early the next morning I was up and in a serious frame of mind. I went with the other hands to the cottonfield and at noon I slipped off in the barn and prayed. But the more I thought of the way those young people were moved in the meeting and with what glad hearts they had shouted their praises to God the more it puzzled and confused me. I could not feel the conviction that they had and my heart did not feel melted and tender. I was callous and unmoved in feeling and my distress on account of sin was nothing like theirs. I did not understand my own state of mind and heart. It troubled me, for by this time I really wanted to have an experience like theirs.

When evening came I was ready for Church service and was glad to go. It required no urging. Another large crowd was present and the preacher was as earnest as ever. I did not give much heed to the sermon. In fact, I do not recall a word of it. I was anxious for him to conclude and give me a chance to go to the altar. I had gotten it into my head that there was some real virtue in the mourner's bench; and when the time came I was one of the first to prostrate myself before the altar in prayer. Many others did likewise. Two or three good people at intervals knelt by me and spoke encouragingly to me, but they did not help me. Their talks were mere exhortations to earnestness and faith, but there was no explanation of faith, neither was there any light thrown upon my mind and heart. I wrought myself up into tears and cries for help, but the whole situation was dark and I hardly knew why I cried, or what was the trouble with me. Now and then others would arise from the altar in an ecstasy of joy, but there was no joy for me. When the service closed I was discouraged and felt that maybe I was too hardhearted and the good Spirit could do nothing for me.

After we went home I tossed on the bed before going to sleep and wondered why God did not do for me what he had done for mother and what he was doing in that meeting for those young people at the altar. I could not understand it. But I resolved to keep on trying, and so dropped off to sleep. The next day I had about the same experience and at night saw no change in my condition. And so for several nights I repeated the same distressing experience. The meeting took on such interest that a day service was adopted along with the night exercises, and we attended that also. And one morning while I bowed at the altar in a very disturbed state of mind Brother Tyson, a good local preacher and the father of Rev. J. F. Tyson, now of the Central Conference, sat down by me and, putting his hand on my shoulder, said to me: "Now I want you to sit up awhile and let's talk this matter over quietly. I am sure that you are in earnest, for you have been coming to this altar night after night for several days. I want to ask you a few simple questions." And the following questions were asked and answered:

"My son, do you not love God?"

"I cannot remember when I did not love him."

"Do you believe on his Son, Jesus Christ?"

"I have always believed on Christ. My mother taught me that from my earliest recollection."

"Do you accept him as your Savior?"

"I certainly do, and have always done so."

"Can you think of any sin that is between you and the Savior?"

"No, sir; for I have never committed any bad sins."

"Do you love everybody?"

"Well, I love nearly everybody, but I have no ill-will toward any one. An old man did me a wrong not long ago and I acted ugly toward him, but I do not care to injure him."

"Can you forgive him?"

"Yes, if he wanted me to."

"But, down in your heart, can you wish him well?"

"Yes, sir; I can do that."

"Well, now let me say to you that if you love God, if you accept Jesus Christ as your Savior from sin and if you love your fellowmen and intend by God's help to lead a religious life, that's all there is to religion. In fact, that is all I know about it."

Then he repeated several passages of Scriptures to me proving his assertions. I thought a moment and said to him: "But I do not feel like these young people who have been getting religion night after night. I cannot get happy like them. I do not feel like shouting."

The good man looked at me and smiled and said: "Ah, that's your trouble. You have been trying to feel like them. Now you are not them; you are yourself. You have your own quiet disposition and you are not turned like them. They are excitable and blustery like they are. They give way to their feelings. That's all right, but feeling is not religion. Religion is faith and life. If you have violent feeling with it, all good and well, but if you have faith and not much feeling, why the feeling will take care of itself. To love God and accept Jesus Christ as your Savior, turning away from all sin, and living a godly life, is the substance of true religion."

That was new to me, yet it had been my state of mind from childhood. For I remembered that away back in my early life, when the old preacher held services in my grandmother's house one day and opened the door of the Church, I went forward and gave him my hand. He was to receive me into full membership at the end of six months' probation, but he let it pass out of his mind and failed to attend to it.

As I sat there that morning listening to the earnest exhortation of the good man my tears ceased, my distress left me, light broke in upon my mind, my heart grew joyous, and before I knew just what I was doing I was going all around shaking hands with everybody, and my confusion and darkness disappeared and a great burden rolled off my spirit. I felt exactly like I did when I was a little boy around my mother's knee when she told of Jesus and God and Heaven. It made my heart thrill then, and the same old experience returned to me in that old country Church that beautiful September morning down in old North Georgia.

I at once gave my name to the preacher for membership in the Church, and the following Sunday morning, along with many others, he received me into full membership in the Methodist Episcopal Church, South. It was one of the most delightful days in my recollection. It was the third Sunday in September, 1866, and those Church vows became a living principle in my heart and life. During these forty-five long years, with their alternations of sunshine and shadow, daylight and darkness, success and failure, rejoicing and weeping, fears within and fightings without, I have never ceased to thank God for that autumnal day in the long ago when my name was registered in the Lamb's Book of Life.

.../Quote...

 

[Anguspure]

This past weekend, I went to a Christian event. I was told what happens at the event stays at the event. Maybe it’s for the sake of others, but I guess I’m allowed to share what I experienced? Well, here’s hoping I’m not doing something wrong. Sometimes, I actually don’t care and I want the whole world to know how mad I am. But wait—isn’t that asking for pity? I don’t want that either. Another damned catch-22. Plus, God’s grace is sufficient for me right? So, in the end, this rant doesn’t change my standing in His eyes, right?
He can handle this less-than-stellar review, right? Something dark seems to have risen up in me. Sometimes I’m too afraid to embrace it but also simultaneously know that I need to face it. This weekend was supposed to be my deliverance, healing, and filling with the holy spirit. I feel that I am not better off than before. I’m told that I’m listening to the lies of the enemy. It’s hard to stop believing them when it’s all I’ve ever felt… as if it’s a part of my DNA. I listen to over and over again about how I am a child of God and that I am royalty and that I am loved. Yet it doesn’t seem to get through to me. Her are fantastic lyrics to a 90’s song that explains this phenomenon:

He’s everything you want
He’s everything you need
He’s everything inside of you
That you wish you could be
He says all the right things
At exactly the right time
But he means nothing to you
And you don’t know why

For some reason, someone could say the nicest words to me, give me the most extravagant gifts, do the nicest act of service but somehow I don’t feel loved. Therefore, I feel bad that it didn’t move me like I expected.

The same Christians who tell you that you can’t live by feelings boast about how much love, peace, and joy they feel from God. Here I am, feeling like a fool for standing there in a crowd of overjoyed brothers raising their hands in praise and worship as I beg for these feelings. My wife told me that they were doing BECAUSE of God’s love not to get it. So, I guess I should have just sat there the entire time because mostly I didn’t feel it. In my mind, I was trying to be obedient and maybe God would zap some love into me. I feel like, once again, I did it all wrong. I feel a voice, probably from Satan, telling me… “Boohoo…you’re just a big baby whining that you didn’t get to feel any good emotions. HAHAHAHA! Loser… some witness you are…”. etc, etc, ad naseum Well, screw you, Satan.

I was told to come expecting and to be SELFISH. During a time of praise and worship, it was time to ask for the filling of the Holy Spirit. As others were praising God and laying down on the floor feeling his presence, I got what felt like a spiritual attack. Anxiety and fear took over after I spent so long trying my best to reach out to God. What the hell?! I complained to others that maybe it’s just not my time, but they were so sure of themselves. However, yet another event that I went to— trying my HARDEST not to believe those damned lies of the enemy but somehow I couldn’t stop them. I feel like I’m almost a heretic for even complaining about this! I feel like I am bringing shame on the people who helped make this possible for me… that I am besmirching their ministry because I can’t fall in line with the rest of the crowd who felt they were rocked by God. Maybe my expectations to actually feel an overpoweringly amazing good emotion was asking for too much. I was told I need to release the lies and that I should cry out for it. Raise my voice—yell even. I’m told it’s a free gift and that I get it because I’m a child of God. Why should I have to beg for what I am entitled it? I don’t have an entitlement attitude at all—but I do try to fight for what is supposedly rightfully mine. I will admit I am frustrated and mad…maybe even at God. Not a place I want to be. I know His ways are always good. So, clearly, the finger gets pointed right back at me. Clearly, I’M the problem if I’m not getting better.

At one point, I remember feeling this overwhelming sadness and was crying. I think the subject was family hurts. I know there was some stuff I went through growing up, and I did forgive the family members and others who I felt I needed to forgive. However, the message of how much I am deeply loved was being driven home…literally by the pounding of a nail into Jesus’ wrist and feet. I felt a sense of gratitude for what He did for me. Yet, I got hung up on the sentence, “Jay, he died for YOU.” Sure, he died for me. And billions of other people. He died for all of us. For some reason, my heart cannot receive a personalized love message from God. It would almost take God himself, or maybe an angel with a message, to convince me. Some MAJOR sign of heaven. That I am loved…and somehow me believing it to the point it actually TRULY changed me. Just some other human telling me… and me not feeling the corresponding emotions…is not enough. I need to EXPERIENCE it myself. Thus far, 33 years and counting, I feel that I am still on the outside looking in. Like a secret society of brothers and sisters who have somehow figured it out—somehow pushed past all the pain and hurt and found the right combinations of synapses in their brain to dare to believe that are loved…. which triggered some hormonal response of serotonin to release endorphins all over their body proving this very fact. All I could feel is the overwhelming feeling of “Why?” As soon as my heart dared to accept the fact in my vulnerable emotional state, it just simply had a hard time accepting it. “Why God? WHY do you love me? I don’t understand… Why do I NEED to be loved? Why do I NEED a Father?”

After this event, I am left feeling bitter. And one more question popped into my head… What is wrong with me? Could it be that because of my sins, or even because of my upbringing and subsequent response to it (bad behavior), that I have somehow sealed myself off from feeling love? Why am I like this? What did I do to deserve this? I feel that I wasn’t treated THAT badly and that I didn’t ACT that badly. When I bring these thoughts up— I am told that these questions are all based on lies. Ok, so be it… they are lies. That doesn’t change the fact that I still feel an immense OVERPOWERING belief in them. For someone to change, something has to change right? What if I don’t have the willpower or strength to change on my own? Am I not at the complete mercy of God to deliver me from this? If I am not able to pray it away or do enough GOOD things to deserve it, what other hope do I have save for a miracle from God?

Underneath all this tormenting emotional pain is my selfish cry for love. It’s more pronounced now than ever. Apparently, I have discovered that I am a lot more messed up than I thought. I have no idea how I got here, and feel like it will take the most advanced deliverance ministry on this planet to break through. It doesn’t match up to the road I’ve walked down. I haven’t been to some of the low places others have been to. Yet, my soul is somehow to full of pain to accept love? How can I break through this? I will not give up…

One problem with events such as this is that they don't reflect real life. All of the hype and emotion serves as a stand in for what we can really experience when we live in loving community with one another, but in respect it is psuedo-community in the same way that the one who stands in for Christ is the psuedo-Christ. I am as happy as anyone to get emotional and excited with a group of people that I am personally close with, but with a group of strangers? Bahhumbug.

Perhaps there is something within you that fights against the His Spirit, perhaps your flesh is strong. But we who are in Him are His hands and feet on this earth and He Loves others through us, and this breaks down all barriers even if it takes time. His Love through us is like water that although being gentle and refreshing is also a universal solvent that carves through solid rock.

It is a unique and rare experience if Jesus makes us feel Loved apart from our flock and many will never experience it for any number of reasons, but this does not mean that we should not feel Loved by Him through the kind attentions of our family in Him.

I too suffer from what you are speaking about, even though I have been fortunate enough to feel His Love, even in a spiritio-physical sense in the past. I know that I am Loved, as are you, but long for the intimacy.

But the close feeling that you are looking for, if it is to be found in purity, is generally only found in deep and intimate relationship with His family.

This is so sorely missed by much of the Church: Now that you have purified yourselves by obeying the truth so that you have sincere love for each other, love one another deeply, from the heart. (1 Peter 1)

 

[W2L]

When i think of love im reminded of the lords words that say we must humble ourselves as children. Its hard to do but it may be the key you seek.

 

[Citizen of the Kingdom]

We've been told to dummy down so much that it makes feelings of love from God hard to be prove to ourselves never mind to others, that are expecting to see a change in what? Initially what attracted you to the gospel is the foundation being built on. Too often the bottom falls out of one truth revealing a new level of truth that takes some getting used to. Only to find another platue further up. No one ever claimed that Christianity is a pure joy ride. The fact that sometimes we maintain at all is a miracle. Passion is the best that can be mustered when times get rough and it sounds to me like you have that. Allow Him space into the hurt and rest there till you find yourself moving thru it. To me that is proof of His love as that too has passed. Then on to new things in a personal journey with Him. You don't need other people's signposts to His love. Btw, Petra? An oldy but a goodie!