Diary Entry:  January 2, 2010    Minneapolis, MN

I'll have to get used to writing '2010'! We are in a whole new decade!  
Lord, I got up because the baby was crying, but I want to stay up just to be with you. 
Will you come and be with me? 
Right now it's early morning and there isn't much on the front of my mind. 
What do you have on your mind? 
What are you thinking about this morning?

He replied so eagerly, if I’d been drinking coffee, it would have burned my nostrils on the way out. This written-conversation experiment with God was already proving more mysterious and exciting than my lackluster one-sided prayer journals of previous years.

I’d casually (but honestly) asked a question, and now GOD-OF-THE-UNIVERSE was clearly talking back. His reply was only one word but to me, it was like fresh bait on a hook.

"You"

I couldn’t match His gaze, but I could feel His eyes on me. Muscles tensed, palms sweating. Suddenly embarrassed by the baby spit-up I was sporting, I considered hiding in the couch cushions or excusing myself to change tops. It took me a second to realize self-consciousness with Him was ridiculous; the grip on my pen relaxed. . . slightly.

I asked Him to be more specific; what He said next would both thaw my frozen heart, and cause the hair on my arm to stand up.

"I always think about you--remember the sand analogy [referencing Psalm 139], and the number of hairs on your head? [referencing Luke 12:7] 

I know you. 

You have a lot on your mind (even on the forefront), you just aren't letting yourself see it, but it affects you all the same. 

You were thinking about what S.J. would think about the fact you quit breastfeeding.

You were thinking about how Marc would wonder about you not coming back to bed and having sex. 

When you walked out of the bathroom into the living room, you wondered if your 
mom and dad liked your apartment. 

You wondered if they were hurt that you don't have a framed picture of them on the shelf yet. 

It's just that these thoughts are such a constant background to everyday life, you have stopped realizing that they are thoughts and ideas altogether." 

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The Hidden Lover.

Exact on each point (down to the order of my thoughts), He gently made me aware of my desperate reality. There was space in my heart (hidden even from me), where I listened intently and acted on a voice other than His. The voice sounded like mine, mostly kind, then sometimes critical or demanding, because it held me accountable to the Master Plan (a performance checklist). “What was the Master Plan?”, you may wonder…to be the very best version of myself. Isn’t that what God and everybody wants?

The moment I told the truth (was honest-to-God), He yanked the covers off, exposing the other lover in my bed: “Perfect Merry”.

I didn’t know she was hiding, but—oh—how I loved her. Everything she did was exquisite. I hung on her every word, because she always knew best. If you were to put us side by side, it would be like those “nailed it” competition photos. Real Merry with spit-up on my shirt, Perfect Merry with pearls. The biggest shock was that she was an illusion, backed by demons (almost like an invisible puppet).

Over time, as I elevated this fake identity by listening to and acting out the false narrative, it led to a hidden affair of the heart.

I was losing my joy, growing increasingly restless. Nothing really got me up or down anymore. I knew idolatry was adultery, but I didn’t know making an idol out of my own image was possible. Call me an old-fashioned, Western Christian, but I figured the only idols I’d encounter were in a TJ Maxx aisle or while thumbing through Time Magazine.

I sincerely loved and worshiped Jesus, but He wasn’t first and He definitely wasn’t the only.

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Cozy Christianity.

Before the conversation that frosty morning, my aim and prayer was for an increase in wonder and comfort in this life until Jesus took me home . . . Oh. . . AND let His Kingdom come and all that good stuff too. . .

We were in the first magic months of snuggling our daughter. We were making plans for the future as income rose and debt decreased. We had strong church, family, and business community that were loving and supportive.

I was confident in my personal faith, but my sincerity toward Christ wasn’t enough to weed out the lies that were growing in my heart. That day, I learned God never leaves the room and no matter what church I attend, how inspired the preaching or worship, I choose the posture of my heart and whether to be honest to God and others, or not.

All of those thoughts the Holy Spirit exposed (plus more just like them) swirled day and night, mostly unnoticed. Whatever decisions I made, from the book labels displayed on my shelf, to deciding when to feed or sleep my baby, I considered what it meant about me and how others might perceive it.

This is a small check-list example when you’re trying to find self-worth in self-image:

• Dress nicely because stretchy pants means you lack confidence.
• Keep the living space immaculate because a messy home means a lazy homemaker.
• Say ‘yes’ to play-dates and outings because using my child as an excuse not to go out means I’m a selfish mom.
• Tell people all the great things that are happening so they won’t have a chance to ask you about all the things that aren’t great.
• If you don’t have a framed picture of everyone in the family, don’t have any, so you avoid hurt feelings.

Whatever I did, there were thoughts and reasonings, judgement calls on the silliest of things. I was so concerned about myself and how I was perceived, it left less time to selflessly love others.

From my sex-life, to mom-life, I would rate against the perfect (yet ever-changing) image in my head. Never questioning her voice, I would hear an idea or suggestion, think it sounded reasonable, then act on it. All of that happens so fast, it’s hardly noticeable.

The most humbling and heart-breaking part, I was doing all of this in front of Jesus. He never left the room. . . He patiently waited and interceded for me.

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Shameless Adultery.

I used to think the ancient Israelites were block-heads for melting the plunder of Egypt into a sparkly, baby cow. I have nothing against shiny display pieces, but Red-Sea-PTSD must have been a factor, because what woman (in her right mind) would willingly give up her own pair of gold hoops to make an over-sized-bovine-tchotchke?

What seems absurd to me, must have seemed reasonable and permissible (maybe even Godly) to Israelite women back then. Their story is our story. We may not relate to gold statues or blood sacrifices, but as the women of God today, what are the things we consider reasonable, acceptable, and even spiritual that break God’s heart?

He is willing and able to upend our lives to save us. He is the Holy God and doesn’t share space with the idols we make.

If I had slowed down to pay attention, I would have seen the cracks forming. I was exhausted by the voice and all it’s demands. I was pretending to be Wonder-Woman, but on the inside I felt like wimpy-woman.

My identity and value was connected to accomplishing the checklists; but, as life grew more complicated, more checklists formed. If married life was a single binder of these lists, becoming a mommy felt like a new library of binders.

Instead of acknowledging my internal weakness, I coated my outsides with more God-stuff. I wrote Bible verses on my mirrors, read motivational daily-devotionals, had my small group pray for better sleep; all good things, but nothing was getting to the heart of the problem.

In my secret (yet desperate) struggle for peace and rest, I was coating my life with ‘Jesus flavors’, like Julia Child butter-basting a turkey. Just one problem—Jesus is not butter, He is King and Lord. When I’m hoping to garnish my life with God, I live the lie that I’m the main dish.

As the King over all, He will not be used. He has authority, but He doesn’t drive us with a whip, He leads us like a good shepherd.

It was true I was giving myself to appeasing “perfect Merry”, but while I sat exposed in my idolatry, I was met by love.

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A New/Old Name.

Since illusions aren’t real, God doesn’t engage with them. He was waiting to speak with the real Merry. The tousled one with spit-up front to back.

My best advice: Be Honest to God.

God promises the Truth sets us free. The Truth about our sin and need for Him. And perhaps, even more than that, He tells us the Truth about who we are.

I felt like a patient with my doctor, being given a deadly prognosis right alongside the promise of a miraculous cure. I cried, laughed, and confessed.

Being known and loved intimately gave me courage to re-imagine my life. Instead of despair, I felt hope. Instead of shame or embarrassment, relief. I moved forward listening to the Holy Spirit and I haven’t been the same since.

My second-best advice: Ask Him to tell you what specific name you’re called in Heaven, it might just shock you. It certainly isn’t adulterer, liar, cheater, unworthy, or ugly one.

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