All Scripture is inspired by God and is useful to teach us what is true and to make us realize what is wrong in our lives. It corrects us when we are wrong and teaches us to do what is right. God uses it to prepare and equip his people to do every good work.
2 Timothy 3:16–17 NLT
When I came to my senses, there were no physical arms to fall into. For the longest time I had pushed away all of the wisest and most loving voices in my life. Now, there was no one standing beneath me, waiting with open arms, on the day I fell violently away from the lies I had believed about love. My faith in Christ had been based on what I felt in my heart. But my life could no longer be built on my deceptive heart and fickle feelings that had almost killed me.
I felt fragile. Shaken. Small. Breakable. Unsafe with myself. Life itself felt fragile. I realized life was a gift from God, and I had been trying to live mine by making God into whatever I wanted him to be in the moment, whatever felt good to me at the time.
I have tears in my eyes as I write this because I realize this is what my orphan heart was like. I’d run ahead thinking I had to make it on my own, even with voices all around me yelling “Stop!” I wouldn’t trust any voice more than my own feelings and reasoning. I had lumped them into the same suspicious category as all the abusive authority I had seen in my lifetime. Orphan wisdom had made me my own final, rebellious authority.
It’s only after I had run ahead into the street, ignoring all the warnings, that the eighteen-wheeler came zooming by with a force that should have sucked me under its tires. Instead it threw me off the road with the loudness of danger still ringing in my ears. That’s where I was now—picking myself up off the side of the road after a brush with death, realizing I was safe. Fear of God and a revelation of the fragility of life washed over me like an electric shock, pulsing through my heart in waves.
This feeling reminded me of the first time I almost wrecked my car. I was wearing sandals and one slipped off. I tried to slip it back on and accidently jerked the wheel into oncoming traffic. When I tried to correct it, I almost ran into the guardrail on the other side. The oncoming traffic was stopping, but when I pushed the brake my shoe was in the way. I pressed the shoe down, thinking it would engage the brake, but it was sitting at an angle and hit the accelerator instead. Just as I was about to slam into the car in front of me, the shoe slipped free and I punched the brake.
I pulled over as soon as I could, trembling. I cried for a minute as I tried to gather myself, thanking God I wasn’t dead. Then I called a friend to pick me up. I didn’t want to drive anymore.
Deciding to Let the Bible Drive
That’s how I felt when I woke up that evening.
I didn’t want to drive anymore.
I had no one to hold me, no one to cry with me, no one to rejoice with me over the fact that I hadn’t been destroyed in the mess I made. I was tempted to ask God to speak to me again. But I was also scared to. I was nervous because I had such a deep fear of God that I didn’t want to hear him wrong again. I didn’t want to assume I had the right to approach God after I had run away from him so defiantly.
So I did the only thing I knew to do.
I decided to put my faith in the Bible again.
I went to a Christian bookstore to get a new Bible. I stood there staring at the rows of Bibles, searching for a title that sounded familiar. When I saw the Life Application Study Bible I remembered this was the one a friend had told me about. She loved it. I tucked it under my arm along with The Quest Bible I’d already found and was squeezing tightly to my chest. If I could have shoved those Bibles directly into my heart, I would have. I held on to them like they were the only things keeping me alive. After swiping my debit card, I calculated that I had less than ten dollars left in my bank account. This was it. I wasn’t sure where my next meal was coming from, but I knew I needed the Scripture’s refuge and nourishment for my soul more than anything else.
Diving back into the Bible was a choice. I chose to keep believing that God had written these words. Even though, in my deception, I had taken it all out of context, perverted its meaning to say what I wanted it to say. Even though, to my own detriment, I had taken some parts and rejected other parts. I never wanted to say, “I feel like God is speaking this to me,” because it was this feeling that had led to all my deception. Instead I would go straight to the Scriptures.
I studied different subjects using the concordances. Subjects like deception, false prophets, silence from God, hearing God wrong, adultery, coveting, and repentance.
It wasn’t easy. I was starting over in many ways. I dove into his Word like it was all that mattered. Because to me, it was.
They made fun of me at work because all I did was read the Bible on my breaks. I wasn’t interested in having friends or being nice to people. I didn’t trust myself or anyone else. I was locking up my heart in a protective way. I think during the healing process it is natural to be shut off and overly cautious. But when you break your leg and years later you’re still wearing your cast, you may need rehabilitation to help you understand you’ve healed and that it’s possible to walk without the confines that were necessary during the healing process. I didn’t understand that.
I remember reading a book called The Four Loves by C. S. Lewis. One quote, in particular, kept repeating in my head long after I read it.
To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, and irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.1
I realized this was the path I was on. But Lewis’s words told me how wrong it was to isolate my heart forever. It was like I was sitting alone in my house with the doors locked, reading about how to love my neighbor, and when my neighbor knocked on my door I’d yell out, “Go away, leave me alone! I’m learning how to love people in here.”
I had begun to grow cold toward others. I doubted my ability to show the hope I had found to those who needed it. I was like the prodigal son. When he returned to his father after hitting bottom, he pleaded with him to be treated like one of his father’s servants. That was his mentality. Just make me a servant. But his father would have none of that. He restored him to his status as son and heir.
Even though I had returned to God, I was stuck in the unhealthy mindset that I was not worthy to be his daughter. But God will have none of that.