Powerless

I’m discovering freedom from a truth I once feared. That truth is that we are all imperfect. Powerless to our own imperfections. No matter how hard I try I cannot give love perfectly to myself or others. Neither could my parents or anyone else. No one will ever be able to give my heart all that it needs and deserves. This isn’t a truth that sounds life giving. I imagine it doesn’t seem like one that would offer freedom. It didn’t feel completely like freedom when I began unravelling it. However, that’s exactly what this truth is.

 At first realizing this it pierced my heart like a knife and opened up major grief. My heart wanted perfect love. In fact it needed perfect love. Yet, this world can never offer that. With that understanding I’ve grieved. I’ve grieved for all the times I needed to be seen and held and was overlooked and set aside. I’ve grieved for all the times I offered my heart and it was returned with betrayal and rejection. I’ve grieved for all the times my heart was given less than what it was made to receive.

                While holding to the belief that people could offer perfection my heart was left susceptible to the lies this world has to offer. I began to believe that when I was given less than the love I needed it was because I was deserving of that. I would look to my parents for perfection. When their hands grew weak I would attempt to grip my world around me tightly. My shaking hands clenched around what felt like sand that helplessly trickled through the cracks between my fingers.  As I attempted to hold my broken world together, I was fueled with anxiety. I was constantly afraid of the let down and failures that would inevitably occur.

                That fact is, I am created powerless. We were all created powerless. Powerless to our imperfections. Powerless to this fallen world. This realization opens my eyes to the only one who was made to be perfection. It was never my hands that were made to be in control. God gave me a heart to crave and need perfect. Yet, everyone and everything around me falls short. This isn’t a failure; this is freedom. He gave me a heart to crave and need Him.  For so long I was expecting life to give me what it wasn’t capable of fully giving. Yet, I was made to fully need. Freedom comes as I finally allow myself room to break. I am free to allow those around me room to fall short. We can break because we were never meant to be the hands that held it all together.

                In one of my favorite stories in the bible I find another moment where the world displays its brokenness. This story takes place in John 11. In this story, Christ is called to the death of His friend Lazarus. When Lazarus died Christ knew days before hand that Lazarus was dying. Even with this knowledge the death of his friend broke his heart and He wept. This world again offering brokenness our hearts weren’t made for. Yet, Lazarus death was not the end. Christ rose Lazarus from the grave. He breathed new life into what was dead.

                The same truths parallel my life today. Christ knew this world I would enter into and the story I would walk through would bring death. He knew my heart would be shattered long before the shattering ever occurred. However, like the news of Lazarus death, He aches with me. His heart breaks with mine. Grief comes as my heart collides with what it was never made for. Our hearts were made for nothing less than heaven’s hand.  Even in the breaking He knew He would be the remaking. This world shatters my heart and Christ comes to restore it. Life will wound me. It will fall short. I will be weak and those around me will let me down. Knowing full well all of this Christ comes as the restorer who will create life where there once was death.

                The freedom here is I can stop demanding people and this life to be all that I need. I can stop demanding perfection. I can release them. I can finally forgive them. I can release me. This doesn’t mean I settle for my needs to go unmet or unfair behavior. It means I can offer grace knowing we’re fallen. Not expecting them to be perfect means that I can allow them to be who they are and witness them in reality. Nothing more. Nothing less. With eyes wide open I can love all that they are and what they can offer. Because I no longer need to force them to be who they aren’t.  I know who I am. Even more I know whose I am. I am powerless to the powerful.