i’m gonna blame the ocd.

truth, specifically as pertains to religion, can be a slippery thing. tough to identify before even trying to grasp it.

add to this elusivity the mind that spins endlessly, pondering unrealistic angles of things that don’t exist. trying to understand truth gets even more complicated.

there are a lot of things i have always known. i had good parents who taught me very clearly right from wrong. they taught me about Jesus. they taught me about good, healthy living, about telling the truth, and about keeping the Sabbath. they modeled for me a life of service to God and to mankind. they demonstrated sacrificial giving. they smiled through suffering. they lived without — without complaining. i don’t remember NOT knowing… that is, cerebrally… an awful lot about God, the Bible, and our religion.

my mind being such as it is (and anyone that lives in the throes of ocd understands exactly how descriptive that non-description is) has had lots of material from which to assimilate my view of religion and, therefore, of God. i would say there are two theories in there, just as there are (hopefully) two lobes. on one hand, i know God to be loving, i know forgiveness to be freely available, and i know a relationship with Jesus to be the pathway to eternal life. on the other hand, i know it’s all in my head. literally.

so whether or not my mental disorder is truly the cause, God and i have been on shaky, intellectual soil for a really long time. operative word: intellectual.

i am getting old past my twenties finally (we will discuss honesty tomorrow) and just now… truly, just NOW… learning that it’s not a brain thing. knowledge is important, but it doesn’t build a bridge to heaven. it can’t save me.

it. can’t. save. me.

but it’s all i have. sword-drill champion, multiple years in elementary school. a wicked ability to quote proof texts regarding the state of the dead, the biblical day of worship, etc… timelines. prophecies. theories. names. dates. blah, blah, blah.

enter: mask removal. painful open-soul surgery. discovery that any good in me was just part of pretending there was good in me.

where does one go when one needs a Savior — not a God-of-the-brain but a Holder-of-the-broken-heart?

there was a cross on a hill, quite some time ago. it bore the weight of a man. not a myth, but a man. could it be that he felt? that he dreamed? that he lost? could it be that in the 33 years he spent on this planet he knew love? pain? difficult choices? what it meant to feel alone?

could it be that he knows me?

a loved one suggested a book to me that has forever changed my perspective on Jesus: Beautiful Outlawit introduced me to the man destined for that hilltop cross. and… wow. just, wow.

no more watered-down, simplified Jesus. not for me. he is radical. he is way too honest sometimes. he is humorous — beautifully and intentionally so. he is complicated… layered. he is interesting. he is intense. he is utterly dissatisfied with the status quo.

he is someone i am actually falling in love with.

and that… well, that’s the truth.


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