Baptism
Eight years have come and gone. Eight long, difficult years. Eight incredible years. Did I understand at the tender age of fourteen what I was getting into when I “accepted Jesus” and was baptized? Absolutely not. I didn’t even begin to understand what it meant to live for the Kingdom of God until I got to college. And even then, in the midst of my personal struggles, to this day I fight to understand.
Did I know approximately two years after my baptism I’d still be struggling, and even more so than ever before? Would I be able to tell my life would never be the same after that first time I took a sharp object to my skin? No. At the time, I thought self-harm was stupid, and didn’t understand why anyone would ever do that to themselves. I would have never guessed that at sixteen, life would take on a different direction than the journey I thought I was about to embark upon.
It makes me think of a quote in Donald Miller’s Blue Like Jazz,
Early on, I made the mistake of wanting spiritual feelings to endure and remain romantic. Like a new couple expecting to always feel in love, I operated my faith thinking God and I were going to walk around smelling flowers. When this didn’t happen, I became confused. What was more frustrating than the loss of exhilaration was the return of my struggles with sin. I had become a Christian, so why did I still struggle with lust, greed, and envy? (p. 60).
“Good” Christian logic says we don’t struggle with things like that because Holy Spirit. Wait. What? Despite all I lack, I’m still human. Or perhaps I am not human enough, in light of Jesus. It’s hard with the things I face to look at my life in a God’s eye view. If I can’t bring myself to see my value on that level, there must be something wrong. I don’t get it. It’s like some people don’t understand I do try, I am trying. Always. But there are days when everything is wrong, and with all the trust in Jesus in the world, I still cannot push beyond these things. I am not grateful for the new mornings that come to me, because let’s be honest, I can’t bring myself to care beyond the tears of pain and hurt. I just want to go Home.
And some have shunned me for that. Or looked past my hurt, my sadness, my deep anger, the things I “can’t” control, and tell me I need to focus more on Jesus. Like I don’t do that at all ever. Let me put it clearly: Jesus is the ONLY reason I’m still alive. It’s through tears I write that, because I’ve been terrified of myself for quite a long time. I don’t know what place my mental health has with my faith, but it’s for some reason God only knows. I have people surrounding me, telling me I’m victorious in Him, but it’s exhausting to look at it in that manner. I’m thankful they love me that much to not give up. It’s those siblings in Christ who understand my position more than the one saying I’m living all wrong.
And honestly, there are times when I don’t know which one is right. But I am appreciative of those who support and encourage me, and I try to do likewise. Encouragement is my “thing” even when I’m struggling, too. And I believe God has put me in a place of knowledge over various issues of mental health (living with them) in order to better pursue people passionately with the love of Christ in the days when I am a counselor, myself. Perhaps I just answered my own ponderings above, for what reason only He knows I struggle like this.
So I press on. He who began this work in me so many years ago will see me through until I finally do get to go Home. I am reminded in my fragile state of being that I don’t belong here, and that’s why I just can’t find solace right now. But in the day when I see His wonderful grace completed in me, then I know the journey will have been worth it all along. So I press on.
The water that flooded over me cleansed darkness that hadn’t even existed yet, and what amazement and joy that brings to my heart. There’s something greater within me than that of which I am often so preoccupied with. Thank You, Spirit. I have often been reminded of the victory I have already won. And while I often don’t feel it, in the pressure and stress and burden, it’s in times like these that I know. I know beyond my doubts. I know beyond my pain. I know beyond my addiction. I know beyond this flesh of mine. I have been redeemed by the blood of the Lamb, my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
Of Muddy Paws On The Concrete Road 
You have an amazing testimony. It’s so refreshing and encouraging to hear it said like that, “redeemed by the blood of the Lamb, my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.” His name is so wonderful.
I pray that I will never be one who shuns you or tries to think up some fault to correct you in. I hope I can always be an encouragement to you. I know you hurt, and I know you struggle. I realize I will most likely never begin to understand how you feel or where you’re at, so I won’t pretend I know just how you feel and just what you need. I don’t always know how to help you, but I’ll do my best to be there for you and pray for you.
I don’t think you’re doing things wrong. I listen to you talk, see you struggle and persevere, and I know you’re doing your best. You’re not being punished; you’re being molded. God is doing great things with you, and there’s something He wants you to learn through this. I have faith that you will always do your best and strive for a closer walk with Him, and that’s something I love and respect you for. Keep up the good work, friend. I’m always praying for you.