Part 0111/21/2008 10:28:32 AM As usual, resolution doesn’t mean arriving at the finish line, never to process an issue again. To me, resolution is one insight—large or small—in a long process of becoming. The darkness lifts for a moment in time and the journey to new understanding is one step further along the path. In the journal entry below, I talk about being ‘uncompleted.’ I’m realizing nothing in this physical world—relationships, vocation, country, home—can complete me. So at this point in the journey, I believe it isn’t possible to feel completed in this life because that’s the same as indentifying myself with human constructs. To feel completed—solid, real—through human constructs is to feel falsely solid. Journal Entry (I’m preparing a workshop presentation) Because I’m so passionate about what I’m doing and seeing and feeling, I’ll naturally want others to join me in that passion. Not for validation; I don’t need that anymore. But because there is so much freedom in seeing life in a different way. To emerge from a way of knowing is to let go of a set of chains. Our new way of understanding will also be limited, but we will be freer. But I can’t force the dance…only invite. And if anytime I see myself as complete (which also meant having a vast amount of knowledge about whatever completes me), I’ll feel like my completedness is butting up against theirs, and all those defensive ways of being will surface. I’ll feel the need to defend whatever completes me, make them see my point of view. I’m very uncompleted, and I feel vulnerable as I think of the journey ahead. Yet it is in this uncompleteness that my strength is born, because it’s the uncompleteness that allows room for God. Without God, my uncompleteness would damage me—it wouldn’t be survivable. With God, I can do all things. Just like for others, I can’t expect any more of myself than I’m able to give. Things are working out differently than I expected many years ago, but I have never been so content, so full of the joy and mystery of life. God’s gifts do indeed put our best dreams to shame. I believe that; I really do. In this entry, the concept of evolution (spiritual, psychological) is becoming more real to me and I’m beginning to accept the truth deeply within me that God loves us as we are. This has always been a struggle for me because I grew up feeling unlovable. The quandary such an insight raises is: if God loves me as I am, with all my flaws, what does this mean for how I see others? Can I ever judge another as unlovable or not worthy of compassion? Journal Entry I don’t think we fully understand how priceless we are—works of art in progress, made to reflect the Father’s glory. We are deeply sinful, yes, but I see it now not as separate parts of me or two ends of a pole. It exists together—paradox—saint and sinner. I’m a work of art in progress; it’s amazing to see what God is doing in me. Every other person is also a work of art in progress—all at different places. I cannot judge. Who knows—maybe for someone like ‘D’, where he is at present is more amazing than I know. Given his family background and view of life, maybe there’s more shape and substance there than I’m able to see. In any case, I’m called to treat each person with the dignity God gave them in creating them. ‘D’s’ colors may not be as clear and bright as I would have them be, but he is nonetheless a creature of God’s. And God will do everything in his power to redeem and recreate. I must always look at ‘D’ and see the possibility for new life. That’s the task: to love people as they are and yet invite them to see the possibilities. That means I must see the possibilities—I must believe in God’s never ending, creating, awesome saving power. Does God ever scrape the canvas clean? Is there a time when there are no more possibilities except death and hell? I don’t know. I certainly believe in evil—in Satan—and I believe in hell. And if ever I saw an example of someone living in hell here on earth, it would be ‘D’ and that’s indescribably sad. And yet, do Tim and I in any way bring God’s merciful presence to him? I hope so. It’s so hard.
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