Suspended Beneath The Stars- Genesis 33

From the beginning these words have been prophetic. What is written here becomes true, and what is true has become written, because this is the Spirit within me. The Spirit is moving.

Our name is Israel.

Our story is written in the stars, which is why abundance is soon to be ours.

Our name is Israel, and so we are ashamed of the past, fearful of the future, and presently beloved and chosen by God. We are indeed the chosen ones, every one of us.

Dear Jacob, I set up camp with you, just outside the confines of Grace, a short distance away from shame.

We are somewhere in between. We are suspended in time and space, uncertain of the outcome.

We are uncertain not because of lies, because we are now too smart to believe those. Instead, we are uncertain because of hard truths- things about our past, realities about the present, possibilities for the future. We are stuck on these assumptions based on past experience: We will only belong if we make ourselves useful and follow all the rules. We will only feel loved if we feel needed.

Dear Jacob, I lie on my back in the grass next to you, gazing up at the stars in the dark of night and asking why. Why has it come to this? God why?

The truth of Grace does not factor in very nicely to this equation. It upsets our assumptions and turns them on their head. So we set up camp just beyond them, where we can observe and listen. We watch the stars for a sign.

And as we watch with wary and curious eyes, our familiarity with fear and shame is overshadowed by a nearby Truth which we observe from a safe distance. This upsetting Truth says that we belong and are valued simply because of our inherent divinity.

Our name is Israel and we are not convinced.

What does forgiveness really mean, anyways?

Unsure which truth to believe, we keep moving, always searching, never trusting. We camp outside of community because we do not trust it. Because the truth is, we only feel as good as our offer. Can we adhere to the necessary requirements? Do we abide by the legal structures of our religion? Will we conform to all the proprieties?

If success is not certain, we set up camp elsewhere, as that place from which we run will not feel safe to belong.

Our soul is like a wounded animal, hiding from healing and afraid to step out in trust.

I roam with Jacob, I avoid forgiveness, I consider alternatives. We camp between two truths, one that says our name means shame, the other which says our name means freedom. We are suspended in time beneath the stars.

In order to make sense of it all, here in the in-between, my life has become an eternal church service. This is a coping mechanism for my insecurity about my small contribution in a world driven by mass production.

I bring very little to the table, and what I bring does not change my name.

I am suspended in an eternal church service because it feels safe there. Since my journey to healing began, my entire life has converted to a Sunday morning. Day after day I worship. Day after day I doubt.

Day after day my story is written in the stars for all to see, full of abundant prophetic divinity.

Worship music, sermons, scripture, prayer. It’s constantly running in the background. Often there is a teacher in the background while I work- Garden Church, North Coast Church, Saddleback Church or Super Soul (yes, Oprah! Yes.). If it’s not a teacher, it’s a worship album- Bethel, Hillsong United, Jesus Culture, Elevation Worship- anything ethereal and full of divine longing.

Israel, are you listening? I am talking to you. This is your story, too.

I stake my claim on the outskirts of Grace and I worship, read, listen, write and pray alongside my brother Jacob. I compose a prophesy that will be vindicated by the Spirit of the universe, and the stars will illuminate the darkness and reveal the Spirit that moves powerfully within me.

We feel safe in this suspension of decision because we feel protected from scrutiny, here in this basecamp of cautious certainty.

While I fold laundry, wash dishes, make meals, write blogs, pick up toys, pack lunches and vacuum up eternal mounds of German Shepherd fur (will dogs shed in the Kingdom? Dear God!). Sunday morning is every morning in this place. It’s how I cope with hard truth. It’s how I observe Grace from a safe distance.

It’s how I process the resignations of certainty and security. My story is vindicated, but my story is unchanged. It is I who remain here, in this suspended place.

Our basecamp is located somewhere in the middle, between Grace and shame, and it’s full of curiosity and questions.

You will only belong in this world if you make yourself useful and follow all the rules. To be admitted into the inner sanctum you need to be needed. This is true in some religions. This is true in some churches.

Jacob and I have run from our homeland because the truth broke our spirits. And it will require a massive surrender of volition to trust this ridiculous and impetuous offer of Grace.

We prefer a truth we can stake our claim on: If you show the world what you contribute, your offering might make you worthy. You can bring something to the table in hopes that it will earn you the invitation into the next meeting. You might be allowed to belong if you measure up.

But you won’t, because this is not your destiny. The stars tell a different story.

Here in this basecamp of cautious observation, this is the place where we accumulate a wealth of excuses to stay away from either side. We are too wise to return to shame, but we are too smart to surrender to redemption.

And in the dark of night, as we lay on our backs looking up at the stars, listening to the distance sounds of two truths battling for our allegiance, we feel small, insignificant, and unwanted.

Our name is Israel. We are loved. We are chosen. We are afraid. What happens now? What are we fighting for?

The hard truth is, our contribution looks pathetic and everybody knows it. And so we pile up as many things between our camp and the threats on both sides- shame looms, Grace beckons.  

The more we are needed, the safer we feel. So we make ourselves as useful as we can be in this strange place, suspended in uncertainty, because where we feel needed, there we feel loved. So we try to make ourselves useful in the suspension in-between.

We lie on our backs, side by side on the cool sand, and we gaze upwards in silence, watching the universe unfold. We realize that our resilience cannot endure this suspension for eternity.

Grace beckons with the truth that my identity means I have already inherited the whole entire universe. Shame beckons with the promise that admittance can be earned.

But here on the outskirts, we have learned to feel safest in places where we contribute the most and make ourselves most useful.

It is time for the Spirit to move. Our story is unfolding now.

And so, like my brother Jacob, I face the unknown with everything I’ve got:

33 Then Jacob looked up and saw Esau coming with his 400 men. So he divided the children among Leah, Rachel, and his two servant wives.² He put the servant wives and their children at the front, Leah and her children next, and Rachel and Joseph last.

Our name is Israel and sometimes we are ashamed.

Beware the regret that threatens to poison your inheritance.

We stoop low before our debtors, as they have come to observe our debts.

³ Then Jacob went on ahead. As he approached his brother, he bowed to the ground seven times before him.

Seven times we admit our holy apology. Seven times we are so sorry.

As we inch slowly, crawling brokenly away from our basecamp under the stars, we encounter the first truth- we are met with Grace.

⁴ Then Esau ran to meet him and embraced him, threw his arms around his neck, and kissed him. And they both wept.

The arms of grace receive our tears. We are forgiven. We are forgiven. We are Israel and we are forgiven.

And for a moment time stands still and all is well. The stars shine over our radiant hearts.

We fall into the truth of Grace

and shed tears of relief.

But we are human, and our name is Israel. And forgiveness is a threat to certainty, so it is difficult to accept. We falter, here in this embrace.

⁵ Then Esau looked at the women and children and asked, “Who are these people with you?”

We have brought all our qualifications to negotiate with the impossible truth of Grace.

Because we recall the past experience which invades this embrace- belonging must be earned. How can it be any other way? It is a ticket that must be purchased, an admittance that must be approved. Forgiveness cannot be free! We don’t dare to fathom the depth of love before us.

Our experience has taught us that we cannot step foot into the inner sanctum without following the rules and conforming to the labels. We have been trained to believe that we are not allowed a seat at the table until we are clean.

We can’t imagine that this truth of Grace will endure the test of time- we only feel safe to belong if we feel certain to be needed.

So we try to earn the gift. We try to buy the blood.

“These are the children God has graciously given to me, your servant,” Jacob replied.

The truth of shame says that when we enter the space of potential acceptance, we must be sure to impress.

⁸ “And what were all the flocks and herds I met as I came?” Esau asked.

Grace asks us why we brought all this pomp and circumstance.  The truth of shame says that we must work to earn our name.

So we offer gifts instead of words, because we don’t know what to say.

The stars observe our striving.

Jacob replied, “They are a gift, my lord, to ensure your friendship.

We offer the very best of our unworthiness, because the truth is we are small and weak and the whole world knows it.

And Grace trys to tell us to keep our blessings and prepare for more. Keep that which remains and make room for abundance. Because the truth is that Grace is a secret purveyor of magical things.

⁹ “My brother, I have plenty,” Esau answered. “Keep what you have for yourself.”

But we hear the voice of shame, and freedom is not part of that equation.

We want to purchase our own forgiveness. We keep trying to produce more reasons why.

We strive to belong, we strain to feel loved.

¹⁰ But Jacob insisted, “No, if I have found favor with you, please accept this gift from me. And what a relief to see your friendly smile. It is like seeing the face of God! 

Ah yes, we have seen this Face before- in a dream. When we wrestled with God, when we were bent

on holding onto the physical because we could not grasp the spiritual.

And God had said to us then “Let go of me, because how much more I will accomplish living inside you than I would walking beside you!” He asked Jacob to let go of the Man. He asked the disciples to let go of the Savior. He asks us to let go of our basecamp of pomp and circumstance.

Yes, we have seen this Face before. This Face gave us a new name, holy and beloved.

We are learning to look up, up, up at the stars,

Jacob and I.

We search the entire shining galaxy for one reason to trust this ridiculous and impetuous Grace.

¹¹ Please take this gift I have brought you, for God has been very gracious to me. I have more than enough.” And because Jacob insisted, Esau finally accepted the gift.

Finally He consents to our fears and tells us yes, that’s OK. My child, be still. The truth is that Grace will meet us where we are at today, no matter how far away that is from the place we once called home.

And then it beckons for us to return, because our name is Israel and our abundance will exceed that of the stars in the sky. Our inheritance is the entire galaxy. Eternity is within our very being.

¹² “Well,” Esau said, “let’s be going. I will lead the way.”

But we couldn’t accept such a generous offer as that. Not today. It just wouldn’t feel merited, it wouldn’t feel safe. There is no guarantee in this holy charity.

We don’t trust forgiveness. We trust earning. We want to stay camped nearer the voice of shame because it has guided us so far and for so long.

We make our excuses. We have so many reasons why. Such a strong case in our defense.

God, but the stars see, and our story goes on for all eternity.

¹³ But Jacob replied, “You can see, my lord, that some of the children are very young, and the flocks and herds have their young, too. If they are driven too hard, even for one day, all the animals could die.

I can’t walk that way, God, it’s too hard. Please try to understand. I’m not coming with you, Lord. Not there.

We have come too far not to defend our basecamp, the one which lies somewhere between the truth of Grace and shame, the one suspended between two truths, far beneath the stars.

We make empty promises which are easy to keep because they are vague and contain so many legitimate loopholes. We have learned this from those who came before us, our broken ancestors, our imperfect leaders.

We have all the right words, but the starlight shines right through them, and everybody knows it.

¹⁴ Please, my lord, go ahead of your servant. We will follow slowly, at a pace that is comfortable for the livestock and the children. I will meet you at Seir.”

And Grace respects our indecision.

It offers to walk with us back to our basecamp and talk about it.

Grace will not abandon us in our time of brokenness.

¹⁵ “All right,” Esau said, “but at least let me assign some of my men to guide and protect you.”

Then shame steps in to warn us that we could never accept such an offer- we cannot depend on charity. We have been let down before, why start believing now?

We trust Grace to save our soul for eternity, but not to change our earthly address.

Living out under the stars between the conflicting truths about our identity, this place is comfortable and safe, untouched by either passion or risk.

We kindly thank Him but shake our head no, not today, Lord. It’s too soon. Twenty years would not be enough, we need more time, more time, more time. More time to heal. More time to grow. More time to interpret the glowing hieroglyphics in the night sky.

Jacob responded, “That’s not necessary. It’s enough that you’ve received me warmly, my lord!”

I know enough to stay away from the truth of shame, that place where I come from. But I don’t know enough yet to follow the voice of Grace back home.

We are suspended in the middle. It feels safer that way. We will camp out under the stars and dream about redemption, but we will not yet surrender to reality.

It’s all talk. For now, anyways.

¹⁶ So Esau turned around and started back to Seir that same day. 

Our name is Israel and this story is written for the entire universe to read. And our resignation is the pivotal moment of a holy alteration in our divine trajectory.

Nobody is required to walk with Grace. If we say no, well, Jesus is a gentleman and won’t impose Himself.

Like that lovely line in Polar Express, “Nobody is required to see Santa.”

We must learn to trust the truth of our name, Jacob and I. The stars in the sky reveal that even though our name is Israel and we are fearful and ashamed, our name is Israel and we are loved and accepted. We are safe to belong everywhere, because the entire universe and the expanse of the night sky all belong to Him who blessed us.

Unsure which truth to believe, we keep moving, always searching, never trusting. Stargazing on our lonely hill, suspended in uncertainty.

¹⁷ Jacob, on the other hand, traveled on to Succoth. There he built himself a house and made shelters for his livestock. That is why the place was named Succoth (which means “shelters”).

We build our shelters under the stars, a collection of doubts and fears housed in dreams of peace.

We can still hear the voices on one side which warn us to remember that we are only as good as what we offer. Labels and conformity equate belonging.

Religion wounds, reality bites, resignation heals.

We can also hear the voices on the other side which beckon us to come closer and receive. We are curious but not convinced. We watch the signs in the sky for more reasons why.

¹⁸ Later, having traveled all the way from Paddan-aram, Jacob arrived safely at the town of Shechem, in the land of Canaan. There he set up camp outside the town.

And as we dwell here in the in-between, there are some days when we think we have our name figured out.

We settle into our patterns of knowing. We tell Grace to please just meet us on the other side, thank you very much.

But this suspended place of solitude is the end of a chapter, not the end of a story.

This is the end of a chapter, not the end of a story. Look up if you don’t believe me. Lie on your back next to me in the dark of night and gaze at the lights and wait for a sign.

We are shedding something precious because we are growing up. This is good.

We will gradually move closer to Grace and further from shame, step by step, inch by inch, at the pace of a blind beggar full of stubborn doubt and weary fear, hungry for things made of stars.

Our name is Israel and we know it deep down in our bones, in the royal place inside that retains dignity and holiness despite our effort to ignore it.

¹⁹ Jacob bought the plot of land where he camped from the family of Hamor, the father of Shechem, for 100 pieces of silver.^[a] 20 And there he built an altar and named it El-Elohe-Israel.^[b]

God, the God of Israel.

Our God, the one who names us holy and righteous and redeemed.

We both have sacred altars to our God, my dear brother Jacob and I.

We both have abundance written in the night sky.

This is because we are ashamed and foolish.

This is also because we are beloved and chosen by God.

Our name is a holy, our name is hard. Our name is full of pain and prophetic stars. It is a contradictory truth suspended in the place of solitude between shame and Grace.

We fall in line with the broken ancestors of our past and the wounded prisoners of war of our present, and together we lie on our backs on the cool night sand and read the starry sky for a sign of the vision for our abundant future. We lift our eyes up, up, up to ask for all the reasons why. Why? Why?

Today is not a victory. We have walked away from a holy offer. But today was one step closer to Grace- it was a conversation that ended in a long distance relationship. We may not join in physical communion with our community, my brother and I, but we join the entire universe in gazing at the same constellations that pierce our common darkness. This is prophetic hope.

Here begins the transformation of a broken life into an eternal church service, the kind that is full of singing and listening and stargazing and curiosity from afar.

The suspension between two truths is a place of character development and heart repair. It is a place for silent star-gazing and reflection, an interpretation of the golden hieroglyphics that rise above our fears.

We build an altar in this suspended place in order to have a haven from the conflicting voices that vie for our allegiance.

And truthfully, there are some really hard truths we tell ourselves in the dark of night: I am unnecessary, small, insignificant, unwanted. I failed.

We lie on our backs and gaze at the vastness of the universe and realize that the hard truth is this: our contribution is meaningless, and both sides know it.

And so we pile up as many things between ourselves and revelation as humanly possible. The more we are needed, the more we serve, the safer we feel.

But on the other side of that line of Grace which is still a ways off, the God of Israel has a higher truth for us, one which turns the meaning of our name upside down on its head.

We are learning we cannot earn true Love. We are learning that True Love respects us when we say “no”. When is good enough going to be good enough? Not until good enough looks perfect, or so we think. The stars will wait patiently for our revelation.

It seems impossible to believe the voice that says my greatest contribution is my entire holy being, which is eternal and timeless and exists outside of the realm of religious legalism and human failure.

Our name is Israel and so we are foolish. But our name is Israel and so our inheritance is a black canvas dotted with luminescent points of an ever-shifting trajectory.

And truthfully, we don’t need to offer anything at all. Grace says “yes, beloved, I will meet you where you are right now. Come walk with me, and let’s journey together from this suspended place of uncertainty. Let me show you the stars from another point of view.”

We are allowed to take as long as we need to accept the truth that we are worthy from the inside out, not the other way around. We must remember that if we are looking for reasons that we do not belong with Him, we will always find them. Those reasons cannot surmount the higher truth of Grace.

Our name is Israel, Jacob and I, and we are in delayed transit to move forward from the suspension of solitude. This is a journey which takes many years and many detours to work out- the truth is that we are loved not because of what we do, but because of who we are.

We could serve for a lifetime and never understand. This is our moment, this is our story. With the stars as our witness. He knows. God sees. He is proud of us even in the failing.

He can do so much more within us than He can beside us- but He is willing to walk with us in the other direction and talk about it. He is willing to wait from a distance away while we gaze longingly at the stars. Take as many detours as you need. He has an entire eternity to convince us of the depth of His love.

And one day we will rise up into His love like burning lights in the sky, illuminating a persuasive abundance of truth that says we are beloved and we all belong.

May every human being be peaceful and happy, even those like Jacob and I who are suspended in places of illuminated uncertainty.

Our name is written in the stars, which is why abundance is soon to be ours.

Peace to you, Israel. God will bless us both.

Amen and amen.

~*~

With deepest gratitude

for my tiny tribe of readers-

Rebecca

To read Pearls and Presence, click here.

To read my story, click here.

Authentic Pain Vs The Counterfeit Self- Genesis 32

I made the critical error of asking God to reveal the depth of His love for me. Never do this if you want to maintain control over your perceived identity.

Love is always war- it rages against your misconceptions and brings your counterfeit self to its knees.

But He is prepared for us to hate Him in certain arenas on the long journey to loving Him. He knows that His hope poses a threat to the captive mind.

I am here to talk about how

sometimes holding onto God hurts,

but why we should do it anyways.

Why fight for a blessing that involves pain? Why trust in something that requires our submission to weakness?

Who in the world wants to be blessed in such a violent way, where the awakening hurts?

This week I am limping along with my brother Jacob through Genesis 32. We are searching for healing. And we need help to claim our authentic names.

I have begun to lift up this prayer:

God, help me to understand how much You love me.

And after I asked for this blessing, not much later I started limping.

Why? He is touching the place deep inside that is curled tight and hard, attached firmly to a false sense of complete control. He shows me how much He loves me by touching the strained places. He points right at the weakness and then something snaps- the sudden severing of self from sufficiency.

 

This is the inopportune ripping away of denial and suppression.

Also, I might be limping because I literally pulled a tendon in my hip this week. That, too, might explain it.

The timing of my very real injury in conjunction with my writing is funny, but it also really hurts, so I will smile but I will not laugh.

And I don’t want to sit here and heal, I want to get up and do all. the. things. that need to be done. I want to control my environment, make things perfect, and execute my self-worth through production. I am what I do- am I not? Contentment is buried far beneath the laundry list of success. My counterfeit self finds validation in production and performance - this is the essence of control.

Human validation has become

the fly in the ointment

of all our hopes and dreams.

God, we have an agenda already. Can’t you just bless us quickly while we run?

This is the kind of limp where you think, “Yeah I am broken, but not THAT broken. Not me. I can still limp and keep up with the same pace as always. I can heal on the go.”

We rage against rest. We pull back from healing. Hope is an offensive four letter word.

My brother Jacob and I are learning that no person on this earth could ever fix what has been broken- human validation will always fall short. If you need it to succeed, you are destined to fail.

Accepting our limp requires sitting still in the presence of God, admitting weakness, asking for help, navigating emotions, and surrendering our agenda. This is best learned the hard way.

But because we are stubborn and resist change, we will put up a good fight first. He will have to drag us kicking and screaming out of the hard place we are determined to serve.

The truth is, only God knows the true identity of our most authentic self- we might think we know, but we really don’t.  

Not until we start to wrestle

in the dark of night with our trust issues

does the real pain begin.

God, reveal to us the depth of Your love.

Last week I followed Jacob through major relational conflict- he stole his brother’s birthright and inheritance and then ran for his life. He grabbed his blessing, flashed the peace sign and skipped town for good. He left his community behind.

Time passed- twenty years, to be exact, and then he gets the call that everyone dreads: it’s time to have that hard conversation- it’s time to face the past, there is no getting around it this time. Things are going to get heated and complicated.

So we straighten our spine, lift our head and enter the arena.

We are prepared to fight our brother. We are not prepared for what happens next.

Angels gather around to watch the fight.

32 ^[a]As Jacob started on his way again, angels of God came to meet him. ² When Jacob saw them, he exclaimed, “This is God’s camp!”

Right away we are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses who cheer for our victory. We must never forget this. It renews our hope to know that we are all supported by angelic forces. This revelation will serve to prepare us for the dark and lonely place, where the only companionship we will have is our fearful thoughts and angel guides.

But there is still a great deal of doubt and fear. Oh so much anxiety.

So we compose all the reasons that justify and explain our position, trying to make up for a lifetime of offense with a persuasive abundance of carefully crafted words:

³ Then Jacob sent messengers ahead to his brother, Esau, who was living in the region of Seir in the land of Edom. ⁴ He told them, “Give this message to my master Esau: ‘Humble greetings from your servant Jacob. Until now I have been living with Uncle Laban, ⁵ and now I own cattle, donkeys, flocks of sheep and goats, and many servants, both men and women. I have sent these messengers to inform my lord of my coming, hoping that you will be friendly to me.’”

Fear is looming on the horizon- fear of the unknown, the dark possibility of a fresh wave of accusation and offense. Even after so much time has passed, anxiety is still firmly attached to memory. The past is haunted with grief and regret. It threatens to overwhelm us now.

⁶ After delivering the message, the messengers returned to Jacob and reported, “We met your brother, Esau, and he is already on his way to meet you—with an army of 400 men!” ⁷ Jacob was terrified at the news.

Persuasive writing cannot save us here. The fear is that all the strife has accomplished nothing at all, and an abundance of reckoning is about to be unleashed upon our finest hopes and dreams.

What exactly are we fighting for here? The question looms.

We realize that this epic battle is going to require a massive surrender of volition, and we will need to hold on tight to Him through the pain. Anxiety is billowing; the kind that rolls in slowly during the night and completely shrouds the future in mystery.

¹¹ O Lord, please rescue me from the hand of my brother, Esau. I am afraid that he is coming to attack me, along with my wives and children. 

We grapple with all the things that we want to understand, so that we can secure our victory, guaranteed.

 “I am afraid”

We are afraid of facing our authentic identity. We shield the places within us that are wounded and weak, preparing for the worst.

¹² But you promised me, ‘I will surely treat you kindly, and I will multiply your descendants until they become as numerous as the sands along the seashore—too many to count.’”

We remind God he owes us, because of what we have lost. “You promised me, God!” We rage at the sky. We shake our fist.

But I have learned the hard way to remember this when I demand deliverance:

The ones I feel opposed to

are not really my enemies at all-

they are just wounded prisoners of war.

The One I will wrestle with is much bigger and more powerful, and He is on His way.

Keep this in mind the next time you find yourself pushing hard against the limits of human brokenness:

Jacob thought, “I will try to appease him by sending gifts ahead of me. When I see him in person, perhaps he will be friendly to me.” ²¹ So the gifts were sent on ahead, while Jacob himself spent that night in the camp.

We instinctually know we will have to face this fight alone, away from all the distractions, so we can wrestle unhindered with our doubts about our true identity.

We must meet our opponent in the midst of solitude and silence, where we stand alone in the lonely place, separate from everything we had planned.

²² During the night Jacob got up and took his two wives, his two servant wives, and his eleven sons and crossed the Jabbok River with them.²³ After taking them to the other side, he sent over all his possessions.

It is the dark of night and we stand alone, completely exposed. We cannot control this reckoning. The creation of our hands has now come to recreate us.

And then our Opponent enters the ring. And it’s not the enemy we expected.

We stand before our Maker.

He loves us too much to allow us into the arena with anyone less than Himself. And this is not what we had planned.

²⁴ This left Jacob all alone in the camp, and a man came and wrestled with him until the dawn began to break. 

Jesus.

What are You doing here? I came to fight my enemy. Where is the brother who hates me?

Jesus??

I brought all my best defenses- anger, wrath, vengeance, defense, excuse, a persuasive abundance of written words.

None of that will help me now.

God, reveal the depth of Your love for me.

We have forgotten that

Love is war.

He has come to rage against my pride. Because it is the heights of arrogance that reveal the depths of depravity.

And I stand before God and I resist His name for me with all I have. I don’t want to be rescued from myself, I want to be vindicated from my hurts.

I refuse to be loved.

But His plans are imminent and divine, and they loom even larger than my regret.

²⁵ When the man saw that he would not win the match, he touched Jacob’s hip and wrenched it out of its socket. 

He points right at the anger and obsession, and with a single touch the realization rocks our world, because He is dead right.

Oh my God, it’s true.

I am my own greatest enemy.

Those wounded prisoners of war who I was prepared to rage against, they do not belong in this arena. All the forces of my defensive anger are deflated by a single touch.

We are abruptly undone, pulled away without warning from our assumptions about ourselves and our world.

Jacob and I thought we knew our authentic self, until reality came and wrenched our self-perception completely out of alignment.

 “Don’t fix my identity it if it isn’t broken” has always been the subliminal mantra of certainty. But counterfeit confidence is the enemy of blessing.

There are wounds in our mind that we want Him to stay the hell away from. But to be healed, this obsession and pride must be broken.

God, reveal the depth of Your love for me.

Oh, but not like this.

Jesus!

God, the reckoning hurts like hell. There is a painful breaking of human arrogance in the divine revelation of God’s love.

He asks us to let go of the weapons

we think we need for victory.

He is going to reveal the depth of His love by commanding our brave trust in His insensible intervention. And this is madness. But what exactly are we fighting for?

²⁶ Then the man said, “Let me go, for the dawn is breaking!”

The morning comes to light the dark inside of us.

This is the triumph of the Son.

The dawn of our realization is approaching. We are beginning to rouse from our offended slumber, and when numb things awaken they always flood with pain before they fully come to life.

If He asks you to let go of something in the dark of night, something you were positively certain  you needed to win the fight, do you trust Him to still bless you when you awaken with the sun?

But Jacob said, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.”

When we ask for blessing, what we are really asking for is to be authentically loved. Jacob won’t release his grip on the physical nature of God, because he isn’t convinced of the Spiritual presence.

We still don’t trust that He will guide us if we let go. We were so certain of a particular type of victory- we had the outcome determined on our own terms, before He interrupted.

How can we win the battle against offense

if we fight against the people who offended us?

God, reveal the depth of Your love for me.

The breaking of connection between our identity and our grief will mean loosening our attachment to the regret of the past. The place within you that you withhold from Him, that is the place of pain that needs to be touched. And it will hurt like hell, because your authentic self is wounded.

He sees this and steps into the arena to save us from ourselves.

This is what it feels like to fight for a breakthrough- before facing your future you must be broken and blessed in the weak place.

It is time for a renaming of who we are, a declaration of our true identity.

What you call yourself is many names: hurt, broken, wounded, ruined, desperate, angry, offended, wronged, afraid. These are not the names He calls you. Can you cast down these crowns of pride and claim the humble title of beloved?

God will ask us who we are now that our weapons of defense have been broken and our false identity has been found out.

²⁷ “What is your name?” the man asked.

Now our Opponent has pulled out the ultimate weapon, one which ends the match in a single blow: a mirror. A question.

Who are we becoming in this fight?

We stare ourselves in the reflection and realize that our persuasive abundance of defenses have always been destined to become our undoing. We are our own greatest enemy.

Jesus did not enter this arena to replace our offender, He entered the arena to replace our pride.

God, reveal the depth of Your love for me.

The fight we expected is not the one we are in. To spar with your counterfeit self is to wrestle with the demons of your past, present and future, all at once. So Jesus stepped in to take their place.

What is our true name, anyhow? What are we becoming in this fight?

We don’t know anymore.

He replied, “Jacob.”

As we stare into this mirror, standing here in the arena with our Creator, breathing heavy and wiping sweat from our brow, straining and striving against the healing, our reflection begins to look like that of a total stranger.

What is my authentic self?

Why do we need to go to counselors and life-coaches and therapists and pastors and friends and churches to understand the workings of our own inner mind? Why do we need to write angry blogs, make broken resignations, and pour out a persuasive abundance of painful words?

It has come to blows because I am too scared to admit- I don’t understand His love for me. Not at all. 

I have underestimated everything.

We want to choose our own identity- but our present dreams are too small to give us the dignity we deserve as eternal spiritual beings. Now that we are broken, here in the arena with our wounded pride, He wants us to receive our authentic name.

It’s time to surrender to His blessing. It’s time for a new identity.

²⁸ “Your name will no longer be Jacob,” the man told him. “From now on you will be called Israel,^[c] because you have fought with God and with men and have won.”

We did not realize we were walking into this fight to discover who we truly are in Him.  We did not know we would receive a new destiny. We did not ask for this blessing, but here it is.

Savor this breakthrough moment- it is the beginning of a transformation that will continue on for all eternity.

But don’t get too hasty- our character is not developed here, only our curiosity. We realize we were wrong about God all along, just as wrong as we were about ourselves. There is much training to be done for the fight still to come.

For with the rising of the Son we will face those who we intended to spar with on this night, and we will be asked to address them by their own blessed names.

The battle will never be the same after this.

God, who are You, to know me better than I know myself?  Who are You to wrench away my precious pride?

²⁹ “Please tell me your name,” Jacob said.

This unexpected opponent, He is going to exit the arena for now, but our questions have only just begun.

We are afraid for Him to go, now that we are leaning on Him for support from this pain.

Do we trust Him to bless us in this way, through a breaking and renaming of our entire being? If so, don’t let go when strained things inside begin to break. Don’t’ fight against hope when it hurts. Keep surrendering.

Love wrenches away our masks when it sheds light in the dark places. When we hold onto God in the fight, we give Him permission to authenticate our brokenness.

And this redemption will feel like wrath,

because of our counterfeit perspective.

God, reveal the depth of Your love for me.

He points at the hard place and it breaks suddenly away. This will leave a scar- and a limp.

And then His presence recedes so that we can rest. He will be hidden in plain sight all around us while we slowly heal.

He will not overwhelm us with too much authenticity at one time. He blesses our doubts and honors our needs. He knows when to walk away from the fight. We cannot self-regulate our passion.

More is to come, but He does not want us to strive any more today. It is time to rest from the struggle.

It is time to begin to heal.

He will answer the hard questions another time.

“Why do you want to know my name?” the man replied. Then he blessed Jacob there.

Did Jacob let go, or did God? Was it mutual?

The blessing came in the instant between the wounding and the healing, that timeless pause between defeat and victory, that eternal moment between letting go and falling.

And when He releases us, we feel like time stands still. It’s just the dark and the quiet and the empty hard place.

But we have an awareness now- this pain is a signature, a promise, full of authenticity.

We have seen a glimpse of our divine identity- we hold onto that blessing while we limp away.

Jacob and I, we search our enlightened thoughts for a Name to put to the new desire that is rising in our heart.

The pain of blessing radiates into our entire future. Now we have the power to give the fight inside of us a new trajectory.

³⁰ Jacob named the place Peniel (which means “face of God”), for he said, “I have seen God face to face, yet my life has been spared.” 

We thought we would not survive the surrender.

But we tasted holy victory, the kind that comes after waving a white flag in the wind. And now we have seen God, struggled with Him, glimpsed the futility of our counterfeit person and been strangely blessed.

And I believe that one day when we are least expecting it, long after we have surrendered in gratitude and relinquished all control, the authenticity of our deep healing will reveal itself in an instant.

We will discover we have the power to limp with compassion towards those prisoners of war who we had once planned to rage against.

This fight was not what we had planned, but it was greater than we could have imagined. This is the emergence of the authentic self.

³¹ The sun was rising as Jacob left Peniel,^[d] and he was limping because of the injury to his hip.

Yes, the knowing leaves a scar. But now we don’t have to blame broken humanity for our suffering- rather, we can attach Divine blessing to it.

What once stood as a symbol of defeat

is now a war medal of victory.

He gives his beloved a limp that will be seen around the world, with a story that will go down into history as the glorious revelation of an eternal inheritance.

Dear readers, He has wrestled with me this week, and I have resisted Him. I have the limp to prove it. I can accept my weakness or curse it, but it’s a part of my story.

This is my story.

When God touched the strained and stubborn place, it sent off a chain reaction that has the potential to bless the entire world, one renaming at a time.

God, reveal the depth of Your love for me.

Never ask for Divine blessing if you want to maintain control over your perceived identity. Love is always war- it rages against your misconceptions and brings your counterfeit self to its knees.

What is my fully authentic self?

I don’t exactly know yet.

I have no idea what I’m doing. None.

But one thing I do know for certain- He blesses my questions. He prepares me for healing. And He renames my entire being.

He gives my passion

a new trajectory.

I have come here today to talk about how sometimes holding onto God hurts, and why we should do it anyways. The greatest blessings involve pain. This means we must trust in Someone that blesses our submission to weakness.

But who in the world wants to be blessed in such a crazy-backwards way, where the awakening hurts?

Once I am done writing this, I will limp forward from the hard place with mysterious hope in my heart.

The kind of hope that hurts inside as a reminder of where the healing has begun.

And I will come forth into my authentic self, one limping step at a time.

And there, at the foot of the cross where His wounds bless my soul, I will kneel and receive the bread and the cup alongside my fellow prisoners of war.

We will worship the One who has met us in the arena and brought us to our knees in victory.

And one fight at a time we will rise together above our wounds and we will inherit our true identities in the blessed Presence of our Creator.

Our victory is certain, because all are blessed when Love is war.

This is the proud moment 

when our brave surrender 

becomes the catalyst 

for our victory.

Yes, I am talking about you.

Dear tiny tribe of readers.

May all beings be peaceful and happy, even when it hurts. Amen and amen.

~*~

With deepest gratitude

for my tiny tribe of readers-

Rebecca

To read Pearls and Presence, click here.

To read my story, click here.