the rambling missionary

by erika haveman

I’m really good at disregarding the limits to my own humanity.  I wish I was better because I’d probably save the world faster if I stopped trying so hard.

I’ve been thinking about what to write about during this Advent season.  I read a quote and it was something along the lines of Advent not being a season where we find God faithful in our waiting so much as we find Him faithful in His coming.  I need this perspective more.  So much of my energy is spent on anticipating and waiting and hoping for things that I think I want or things I dare say I desire.  But if Jesus is everything, if His humanity changes everything, then what in me is He changing, shaping, giving?  My question should not be, “what more do I need?” it should be “what is He giving me and what am I giving Him?”

Spiritually I have salvation, I have eternal life.  Live is lived not for this life at all.  Jesus’ coming ensured this reality.  Physically I have food to eat and water to drink and a warm bed to sleep in and good health.  Mentally I have my mind – while at moments I don’t think clearly I think that’s a part of being human – I can absolutely function at high capacity.  Emotionally I’m learning what it takes to exist in vulnerability and I can see God has been giving me the ability to tap into my emotions in ways I’ve simply never known how before.

Here’s where I’m at: it’s easier to live with a hard, arrogant heart than to live fully exposed and vulnerable, to know pain and have no control before Jesus.  Unconsciously I will always choose the former.  Consciously I have been trying to submit to the latter and WOW do I feel humbled.  In early November I went through a phase of feeling humiliated – not the nice kind of fuzzy feeling humbled.  Humiliated.  For the first time in my adult life I felt regret and shame over decisions I made that affected other people and I can’t help but recognize those feelings are running parallel to the vulnerability Jesus is coaxing me gently into.

Gently – I use that word loosely.

Have you ever been gardening and need to gently uproot an old plant and no matter how slow you go you still hear that ripping noise?  It’s like that kind of “gentle.”

Really trusting Jesus with my heart – not just my behaviours – is a whole other ball game, and it’s one with countless innings.  I approached the game the way I have approached all of them before – with my hard, calloused, in control heart and somewhere, probably in extra innings, I realized this wasn’t a game at all.  It wasn’t about winning or losing: it was about existing.  And it was an existence where I was not in control.  This meant that written words wouldn’t work.  Talking it out wouldn’t heal.  The things I rely on the most were inadequate.  Only Jesus could be and slow me down enough to make me “be” too.

You know how people sometime say Jesus “wrecked” them?  I never understood this phrase.  I always thought it was some hipster, young people phrase that the youths would say to describe the moment they chose to follow Jesus.  Maybe it is – and maybe in a way it is for me too.  Jesus has been wrecking me these past few months.  I have cried more since September than I’ve probably ever cried in my life.  Crisis brings us to the end of ourselves.  I have lost a loved one and lost my sense of purpose at work and lost several other things in between.  I didn’t know how desperately I was looking for Jesus to come and grow my emotional capacity, but He is doing it.

Growing my emotions has meant exposing my flaws.  Starting in January I’ll spend a few weeks talking through some specifics of what I mean by “my flaws” but for now I want to say I’ve realized our flaws may overshadow who we are from time to time but our flaws will never trump the good of who we are because Jesus overcame the grave.  It’s basic math.

I’ve needed that basic math reminder a lot recently.  I fear that my flaws will be seen – have been seen – and therefore become the definition of who I am.  I fear I’m seen as my shortcomings, my failures, my bad decisions, the hurts I’ve caused.  I fear that my apologies won’t give me a fresh start.  I fear this because I’ve seen myself exist this way towards people who have hurt me.  I fear this because I’ve sat and talked with friends who refuse to see other friends differently.  I fear this because I have seen it played out in real life.  I want an I’m sorry to be enough to start fresh.  I want to be better at receiving the I’m sorry.  I want to be quicker at offering an I’m sorry.

I read a[nother] quote that said something along the lines of how people can be known by their habits – if they are consistently kind we can trust that.  If they are consistently needy we can trust that.  I find this be a very limited and unfair view of humankind.  While, yes, we’re all stuck in patterns it’s the coming of Jesus, and subsequently Holy Spirit, that allows us access to our blindspots in a personal, gentle, painful, emotional, growing, refining kind of way.  I’m determined to grow, but I can only grow as fast as Jesus grows me and as possibly as people are willing to call me out and stick around.  This hurts.  Jesus addressing my ugly hurts.  A human addressing my ugly hurts.  This way is way more painful.  But this way has also incited more gratefulness in my heart than I’ve arguably ever felt. I’m learning the deepest pains and the deepest joys can exist simultaneously.  I’m sure I’ve said that before but I know that truth now so much so that I wonder how God can take me deeper.

I’m sure He will.  Why?  Because He never leaves us as the present messes we are.  He calls us out, heals us, then makes us aware of another area of mess (insert laughing face emoji here).  I want to be the kind of person open to be called out by friends and I’m quite confident I’ve never been afraid to call out my friends when I see them in their messes.

The coming of Jesus makes the impossible possible.  I rely on His faithful entrance because His humanity really does change everything.