I have a really hard time trusting men.
If you know me, you may have noticed this. If you know my story, this comes as no great surprise. If you don't, suffice it to say that I've got more than one good reason.
I am quick to doubt them, almost eager to think the worst of them. I am always suspicious of their motives, rarely giving them the benefit of the doubt. It is instinctively hard for me to be comfortable around them, let alone trust them enough to really, truly know me.
This is the part of me that I hate the most. But try as hard as I might, old habits, especially ones learned the way I learned these, die hard. Thanks to incredibly good (and persistent) friends, some counseling, and a lot of Jesus, I'm not nearly as bad as I used to be. But, though I have gotten better at loving the men around me well, that initial reaction of distrust and the desire to lie through my teeth until they leave me alone? That is ever-present. God has been working on all of this a lot over the last two years. I have noticed him overturning my heart in some amazing ways. But I had no idea just how radically he was changing it until last week.
I was walking home one afternoon last week when a man attacked me. By the grace of God, I made it away unhurt. I ran back to my apartment, locked the door, and (more or less) went on with my day. It wasn't until later that night that it really began to sink in, the reality of what had happened. The reality of what had almost happened. I felt heartbroken and shaken up and absolutely disgusted. But what I never felt was angry.
I kept waiting for it to come, expecting it to rise up and flare like my temper so often does. I almost wanted it to, the lack of anger leaving me feeling a bit surreal. But it never came. All I felt was sad.
Not sad for me, though. Sad for him.
I was heartbroken for this man that doesn't even know the magnitude of grace that he is throwing away. Because no matter what happens to me, I know that I have the love of a God who fights for me, hurts for me, died for me. And he does not. The core of who I am and what I am worth cannot be shaken. But he, he is so desperate for control that he is willing to steal it from those around him. He has no idea that the answer is right in front of him, and freely given.
This breaks my heart. The sin itself makes me angry: the grace he chose to throw back in God's face flares my temper. But the sinner? My heart aches for him. The sin and the sinner are not the same thing. He is no more defined by his sin than I am defined by mine. Even when that sin was against me. Because, in all honesty, his sin really wasn't against me. Because I am not my own.
His mother probably smiles when she thinks of him. He's probably got friends and loved ones who love his company. The God of the universe looks at him and smiles. That makes me want to know him, to see the part of him that I didn't see that afternoon.
I don't even feel like myself when things like that are going through my head. It doesn't make sense. It feels like the heart I'm feeling all these things with, seeing all these things with, doesn't belong to me.
Oh yeah. That's because it doesn't.
Because I'm an emotional person. My roommate can tell you that it takes me a long time to process anything major that happens. My emotion flares up like wildfire, and I have to let it burn itself down to a smolder before the logic, the reason, and Jesus can really set in. Basically, whatever the situation is, I have to let it be about me for a while before I can let it be about anything else.
Except this time around, that didn't happen. The emotion flared as intensely as always, but not for me. Not in defense of my worth, but in defense of his. It wasn't the post-emotion thought-process that changed. It was the instinct. Jesus didn't just change what I do with my heart, he changed the foundation of what it is.
"It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me." Galatians 2:20.
God is so, so good.
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