Where our strengths lie

The longer I live, the more I'm amazed at the human tendency to anger. I am not speaking about the ability to become angry. I am referring to our tendency to carry anger around inside ourselves for injuries or injustices carried out many long years ago. One pin prick, one little rub the wrong way, and we erupt in a seething volcano.

Perhaps that is why Heather King's words in her book Redeemed struck me as very profound: I thought I'd be loved by being strong, by carrying my own weight, by not needing anything. I'd never understood we are loved by being vulnerable (p. 189). King is speaking of her own anger at a relationship gone awry. In her reflections, she realizes she too has some blame to carry. In her desire to appear strong, she became isolated.

Being vulnerable is important, not because it has the power to soothe our own angry souls (it doesn't), but because it keeps us aware of our real fragility.  We read in Phil. 4:13 I can do all things in him who strengthens me. I think sometimes when I am doing all things, I risk forgetting my fragility. It is even easier when you have been on the spiritual journey for a long time, and have come to believe that you are stronger than you really are.

Perhaps we should keep in mind another verse from Philippians: Though he was God, he did not deem equality with God something to grasp at; instead, he emptied himself, taking on the human in all things, becoming humble, even unto death. Being vulnerable does not diminish us; it is rather a fact of life. When we understand this, we remember where our strengths lie.

Finding the real someone

I loved reading Heather King's story of her loss and found. She tells how her lawyer career left her feeling empty inside, betrayed by her colleagues and disappointed in her profession of her hopes and dreams. She then begins to doubt her life, think of all of her struggles, and wonder what was wrong with her that she can not seem to fit in? In the midst of her questioning, she made her first retreat, and a kind director, seeing anguish all over her face, touched her lightly and said, You're very dear to God.  She felt overwhelmed with the gesture, and writes Christ is just the Person who sees you when you feel like you're most invisible. In a way, Christ is just the Person who knows what's in your heart before you do.

There is so much implied by these words. First, that we all have those moments when we wish someone would see the real me...and Jesus is just that person. Secondly, any real search for Jesus, for Divinity, for God, ultimately reveals our real self. For our search isn't just for some 'feel-good' experience; it is looking for that something to steady us when things aren't so certain, finding a "someone" rather than a "something."