Most of my life I have been displeased with God’s will for me, as it was generally not my will of the moment. More times than I want to admit, I have lived in self-deception, convincing myself that my will must be God’s will, often ignoring all signs otherwise until it is too late. Once the rapids have pulled me under, filling my lungs with water, dashing my body against the rocks and I have fought for a good long time to right myself with no success, I surrender, knowing I will drown otherwise.
This self-deceptive tendency has been especially true with men and things to which I have attached my value. Sometimes it is money, sometimes something as trite as someone’s approval. At other junctures, as brief as a moment or as long as a lifetime, I have wrestled with God and with man to get what I wanted, what I thought was best for me. Sometimes God lets me win. I am always sorry in the end. It never turns out as well as it would have if I had simply stepped aside and accepted God’s, “No.”
This battle of wills has brought me decades of unnecessary heartache. My willfulness has cost years of my life in contentious relationships that pulled me off purpose, away from the divine plan and fulfillment that could have been mine had I rested in God’s reply and trusted that his love for me would never deny me something that was good for me.
It all came down to trust — my lack of comprehending God’s great love for me and his intention to always do me good. As an adult child of an alcoholic, I came to distrust authority early. And who is God but the ultimate authority? Herein lies the heart of the matter. I had singled out one of God’s attributes and allowed myself to be blinded to God’s heart for me. I was a master at seeing his love and protection for others, but in my life my scotoma loomed large. When God said, “No,” I became an angry willful child certain he was withholding love and happiness.
The incinerator of self-worth burns white-hot in alcoholic homes; adults who survive venture through the world as homeless beggars, feeling unlovable and unworthy. Love distorted in the shadow of addiction births denial of self, of affection, of truth; it is laced with the poison of condemnation, rejection, and belittlement. We are trained early to ignore our intuition. Our worlds never quite line up — what we see, what we are told and what we feel —is all a muddle. We have been trained to question our own sense of reality. Relationships are a giant Rubik’s Cube; we are always twisting and turning the colors in hopes of solving the riddle.
To survive, children from alcoholic homes learn to morph themselves into whatever other people want, because surely that way we will be loved or, if not loved, at least stay alive. We are used to surrendering ourselves to the demands of unreasonable people, as our alcoholic parents were frequently unreasonable, and often our very survival depended upon our surrender. The hardwiring of our childhoods dominates our adult lives, and we bend ourselves like Gumby at the behest of others. We bend ourselves beyond recognition. We bend ourselves until we can bend no more.
Before I made long strides in healing the wounds of my youth, I used to grieve what I viewed as rejection from another. As an adult child, I tortured myself over what I had done wrong or why I was so unlovable. After all, wasn’t it my fault Daddy drank, Mother screamed, things went bump in the night? Other times I focused my energy on my offender’s behavior, a powerful tool to stay trapped in the victimization of my childhood, trapped in my anger versus feeling my pain. Such damaged thinking produced so much anger toward God, myself and the offending party that I was blind to the wisdom, love and protection that God was working tirelessly to provide.
When I look back, there were early signs in all my relationships with men. God whispered the truth of incompatibility to me, gently nudging me to walk in wisdom. Sometimes I willfully turned a deaf ear to God and tried to get love in the only way I knew how. I gorged myself on my will or allowed myself to be consumed by the will of others and, in so doing, made myself sick.
Oh, the destruction I caused by not releasing the other person or myself to follow the path that God had laid before me. I chased chaos, stepped into hardship, ran toward the burning building versus running away, because I had grown up in the fire, and the smell of its familiarity I mistook to be the fragrance of love. The consequences produced scar tissue upon scar tissue, wounding that has taken decades to heal. Such injury has prevented me from allowing myself to be loved properly — by myself, by God and by others.
It is a long road from dysfunction to wellness (am I there yet?), from judgment of parents, God and self, to acceptance of our mutual humanity and God’s great wisdom. I wish I could report that I was a quick study, but sometimes I fumble in this Fox Trot with the God of All Things. If I were a quicker study, I might have known sooner that God sees into the hearts of men and women. He knows who blesses and who curses, not because we are necessarily good or evil but because our flaws can create such pain in one another that in God’s wisdom he pulls us apart to protect us both. Sometimes it is a temporary pulling, other times permanent.
Three years ago I began to pray that God would change my will to his will. Acceptance and gratitude, regardless of how things appeared or felt at any given moment, have become a holy grail for which I reach daily. Fortunately, Christ is in the healing business. Despite my desire for God to wave his royal scepter and deliver instant healing, it remains a journey, a daily process of believing God will do for me what I have been unable to do for myself, of trusting God’s love above my own desires.
It has taken a lifetime for my head to grasp what my spirit knew long ago: God sees the whole river of life for each of us. We see only where we have been or the bank on which we currently stand. We cannot see the future, despite our arrogance and false beliefs. We push and pull and fight for what we want, when all the time God is saying, “No. Trust me. Let go. I have something better.”
He has been carving a new heart, one that understands his intention is always good and that he is able and willing to manifest great blessings in my life through my acceptance of his will versus my stubbornness. This truth is allowing me to release others in love and blessing. My need for man’s approval and the sting of rejection lessens every day. With new spiritual eyes, I see that rejection from man is so often protection from God, and thus a small rejection is fashioned for my greater good. I am beginning at last to thankfully accept his protection. It is a sweet blessed new reality that shapes my world. And though my flesh might sting for a moment, my spirit shouts with joy because I accept at last God’s love is always looking out for me.