… I’m back.
Eight and a half months. That’s how long it took to figure it out. And let’s not tiptoe around the obvious. This isn’t figured out.
It would be great to tell you that I’ve conquered all my personal demons. I would love to say that everything is shipshape in my life and outlook. There’s part of me that really wants to let you believe that the 3/4 of a year that’s passed has been tidily archived and that none of the mess remains.
None of that would be true.
I’ve written that believing that there’s something wrong with me is one of the lies I believe. It’s not a lie. There’s something deeply wrong with me. I run away. I’m weak. I’m inconstant. I’m afraid. I’m lonely.
But this is all I know how to do. So, I’m back.
A friend asked me a great question recently. He’s not a believer, and the irony that his question was the fulcrum for what God was whispering into my heart is rich and deep. Maybe I’ll tell you more about him later. He asked me “Rick, what makes you happy?”
In the middle of all my denial and doubt, in the middle of my self-medication and management of suffering, in the middle of all the agonizing and writhing, the misdirection and self-deception, the pretending and the fakery … there was only one answer to give.
The only thing that makes me happy is knowing and loving my Maker. (I wanna stop you here, because this is the point where you’ll be tempted to think “Aw, how beautiful! Even in the difficulty of his life, he runs after God.” Please don’t fall for that. I really want you to believe that, but the reality is that the moral filth I was sitting in at the moment of this realization makes the Prodigal’s pig pen look like a spa by comparison. I’m not going to share details. Just trust me.)
But, nonetheless, that’s the moment I started to stop. That’s the moment I began to believe the promise again. The promise that He would never leave me nor forsake me. That He never had. That He was chasing me and pursuing me and loving me and calling me back to Him. That He already had one arm out of the robe and the ring held tight in His hand, and was trembling in anticipation of a long run down a dusty road to embrace his beloved son who keeps dying and coming back to life.
So, I’m back. Such as I am.