"Moving from knowing to not knowing--
this is good.
Moving from not knowing to knowing--
this is sickness.
You have to become sick of your sickness
before you can get rid of it.
The sage isn't sick.
He's sick of his sickness.
Therefore he's not sick."
I talked to God this evening. I told Him, "I'm tired of trying to run from You in my shame."
When I was 17, I started masturbating. Some people might read that and say, "What took you so long?" Now almost twice that age, I sometimes still do. Some people might read that and ask, "Why?"
Either way, I couldn't tell you. At least, not specifically. But, "I know why," said my therapist in session years ago. "The shame. The shame that this will never be fulfilled."
As often and as deeply as I'd longed for the life and hope and love and joy that sex always has represented to me, I'd never been confronted like that before. I couldn't bear--and almost can't even now--to say aloud that when I looked in the mirror, all I saw was rotten garbage. My body was a joke to me, my very life some kind of hiccup or blister or burn or mistake. I would not be loved. I didn't deserve to be. And so I began to act in an unworthy way, even as I longed for something better.
Somehow, in spite of me and my attempts to kill it, the longing grew. I am blessed that, despite my egregious sense of self-worth, I could pour my longing into love for others. Still and all, I resisted pouring any for myself to drink.
I know now that He was waiting with me to fill my cup when I was ready to drink.
Recently I heard someone say that when you feel thirsty, it's too late; your body already is dehydrated. How blessed indeed can one person be, that with our Lord God in the Body of Christ, this is not the case?
this is good.
Moving from not knowing to knowing--
this is sickness.
You have to become sick of your sickness
before you can get rid of it.
The sage isn't sick.
He's sick of his sickness.
Therefore he's not sick."
I talked to God this evening. I told Him, "I'm tired of trying to run from You in my shame."
When I was 17, I started masturbating. Some people might read that and say, "What took you so long?" Now almost twice that age, I sometimes still do. Some people might read that and ask, "Why?"
Either way, I couldn't tell you. At least, not specifically. But, "I know why," said my therapist in session years ago. "The shame. The shame that this will never be fulfilled."
As often and as deeply as I'd longed for the life and hope and love and joy that sex always has represented to me, I'd never been confronted like that before. I couldn't bear--and almost can't even now--to say aloud that when I looked in the mirror, all I saw was rotten garbage. My body was a joke to me, my very life some kind of hiccup or blister or burn or mistake. I would not be loved. I didn't deserve to be. And so I began to act in an unworthy way, even as I longed for something better.
Somehow, in spite of me and my attempts to kill it, the longing grew. I am blessed that, despite my egregious sense of self-worth, I could pour my longing into love for others. Still and all, I resisted pouring any for myself to drink.
I know now that He was waiting with me to fill my cup when I was ready to drink.
Recently I heard someone say that when you feel thirsty, it's too late; your body already is dehydrated. How blessed indeed can one person be, that with our Lord God in the Body of Christ, this is not the case?
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