Don't Believe the Belief Thieves

My father died 23 years ago at the age of 60 on a day I did not notice, busy with my own life, far removed from his. It shouldn't have been that kind of day. There was no late night bedside call for a last-gasp farewell. I did not even know he was so close to death, and, I fear, had he lived another decade, I would have known no more in 1998 than I did in 1988. At some point, I became so focused on him not being a good father that I completely neglected being a good son.

I believed I had done what was best, surrendering to his belligerent determination to live life on his own terms, which turned out to be short-term. I'm not sure what he believed because I had long since quit asking or wondering or wanting to know.

That was wrong.

So many things we do or accept are wrong, based on something we have been told we should believe, or on something we have been told we should not. Or just some inner feeling. Or perhaps the babble of someone who will feel no loss from our bad-belief-based decisions. For instance, my children never met my father because I "believed" it was best. Now that I myself know what it feels like to have grandchildren withheld, I understand the impact of my self-righteous decision to "protect" them from exposure to a broken down alcoholic who would never so much as buy them a dollar toy, but would have perhaps seen hope within them that he could not find on the cold dark streets of Fort Worth, Texas . . . or in me and my self-righteousness.

Oh what dangers lurk in what we think is best for others.

I'm not saying we necessarily have to walk a mile in a man's shoes to have any say about the direction in which he is traveling. If so, we'd all be so deep in sin, trying to gain relevant experience, we would be collectively immobile and life would end. My father was uneducated, fought in World War II, endured a divorce and lost his wife and kids to a more promising man who dealt promises out like a worn deck of cards and never followed through on a one that I know of. My father spent a bit of time in jail on occasion and considered himself meaner than hell, despite an overall gentle nature of which others took advantage. He began drinking in his early years and likely died with a finished bottle at his side. I don't want to walk in those shoes; it was better he be buried in them.

I believed he would never recover. I believed he did not care about me. I believed it was best to cut ties. I believed that if he really wanted a life, he would get after it, get over it, get on with it. That's past tense. I believe now that he came to believe he could not recover because no one believed he could. I believe he decided to stop expressing care for me because he believed I wanted nothing to do with him. I believe he just . . . died, and that he probably wondered what took so long.

I believe that sometimes what we believe about others robs them of any hope of believing in themselves.

My father never knew I struggled with unwanted same-sex attraction, but I believe he would have understood, and, in his own addiction, would have seen my struggle and, I believe, he would have encouraged me to not give in or give up. He would not have been dismissive either, just saying "get over it."  I don't think he would have labored with his own beliefs over the issue, but would have instead focused on me.

Of course, I can believe these things because he is not here. One of the most difficult things anyone with sexual brokenness has to deal with is the constantly trumpeted and trumping beliefs of those who are here, whittling away at the struggler's belief that God can heal and change and is patient and loving. The God who saw the first flicker of skewed sexuality which grew into a flaming and consuming inner fire of control in you . . . is the same God who will snuff out the last ember as freedom comes. I believe that and no one is taking that belief from me.

If you struggle, and yet you still believe that God can and will set you free in His time and in His way if you are faithful to follow Him, confess your failings, seek forgiveness, repent and keep walking, then you need to watch out for the people who can take this belief from you and leave you hopelessly clinging to a diminished God. Can we not just believe together that without God, we're toast? Sexual brokenness does not mend at our own demand.

The motives differ, but truth suffers when you deal with any of these "belief thieves."

Recruiters.  These people will do anything to tempt you into acting out on your sexual temptations, especially if you are porn-addicted. To them, you are only as valuable as the next click. Under the mask of "meeting your natural need," they are trading you around like a fading baseball card. You mean less to them than even the people they manipulate into "entertaining" you. Whatever your sexual problem is, someone out there knows how to make you feel better, as long as you make them feel better. These recruiters are users producing losers.

Refuters. These are the people who refuse to believe you have any problem at all. "Don't worry; be happy." "Smile and the world smiles with you." "Accept yourself." They revise the truth of the Bible in pursuit of that all-important happiness and really don't want to be pulled down by you, plodding along your path to wholeness. You know how it is . . . people who are dissatisfied with themselves can be so dreary. You pour out your soul and they respond with a queasy "don't do that." The tempting thing about refuters and their redefining of God's Word is that it can be tempting to believe what masquerades as relieving reassurance.

Recusers. These are the people who approach you with a "get thee behind me" look. They work through washing their hands of you and shaking the dust off their feet fairly quickly and then pledge to pray but also say "people like you don't ever change." This proclamation says more about their faith than yours, as they have somehow divinely reckoned that God is not . . . divine. He can create a universe, but he cannot change you? That's definitely a get-thee-behind-me thought.

Reminders. These are the people who like to remind you that not only have you been bad, you redefined it and made your way into the dictionary. They remember every slip, every dip, every lie and every try that did not work, and, lest you get giddy about shaking off a bit of the slime of the past, they've got barrels of it stored in the garage. They use that to dash your hopes, lest your forget how much you hurt them. You can confess; you can repent; they'll not relent.

The one thing all of these people have in common is the belief that they have it right. Forgive them for that, but realize that their beliefs are not rooted so much in love the need for self-assurance about their rightness. What we need are people who are Christ-like, sacrificial, not seeking anything in return. That's a lot to ask for from people, but there are some who love you enough to take up that task. Look for them.

Be one of them.

We move beyond the shame and the guilt of being sexually-broken when we move into the reality that Christ -- who hates sin and clearly knows the cost because He paid the price -- is not surprised by our brokenness, devastated by our stubbornness, disturbed by our sinfulness, or deaf to our cries for restoration. The One who is all and knows all, loves all and died for all, does not recuse Himself from our case, refuse our pleas, remind us of our confessed sins or seek to justify them for the sake of happiness and inner peace. You and I are the all.

Yes, we do need people. The days of our lives should not play out unnoticed. But it is okay, even for the broken, to be discerning, building relationships with people who will look you in the eye and nod in agreement with you when you tell them that you believe you can be free. Later, when you believe that you are, you can work on those recruiters, refuters, recusers and reminders. They need your help.

God Bless,

Thom

(Want to know more about sexual brokenness, either for yourself or to help someone you care about? My book, Surviving Sexual Brokenness: What Grace Can Do is available through Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Westbow Press or your local bookstore.)

Reclaiming Tattered Integrity

(Note: During the last two weeks, I've been privileged to attend the Exodus Freedom Conference in Asheville, North Carolina and the Southern Baptist Convention in Phoenix, Arizona. During this time, Rep. Anthony Weiner's story unfolded on the national scene. It prompted me to share this excerpt from my book Surviving Sexual Brokenness: What Grace Can Do.)

Not what my hands have done can save my guilty soul;

Not what my toiling flesh has borne can make my spirit whole.

Not what I feel or do can give me peace with God;

Not all my prayers and sighs and tears can bear my awful load.

Your voice alone, O Lord, can speak to me of grace;

Your power alone, O Son of God, can all my sin erase.

No other work but Yours, no other blood will do;

No strength but that which is divine can bear me safely through.

-- Horatius Bonar, 1808-1889 

I attended last weekend a birthday celebration for a 90-year-old man, my stepfather.  Surrounded by his family and basking in their love, he was eventually reduced to tears of joy.  Clear in his own remarks was the comfort of his awareness that he had generally lived life well and upright, as much as a man can in this fallen world.  Not perfect, but comfortable in his knowledge of forgiveness and in his gratitude for grace.  He felt the love and knew it was real.  

The word "integrity" was spoken in reference to him and I found myself envying that, amazed that he had traversed nine decades and maintained his integrity in the minds of those who had seen him travel through.

On the drive back home, through a gentle rain and a descending darkness, I pondered my fewer decades and the truth of integrity-lost. In my life, I had not taken the road less-traveled.  I had not even taken the more familiar path of the many.  Wielding my self-made machete, I thrashed my way right through the middle of the overgrown thorny wilderness, and in the weariness of wandering through the tangled vines and thistles, I had tossed aside the good things that can weigh us down when we seek our own way.  Including integrity.  I made my own way, fashioning a route that reflected some unfortunate influences that came upon me, yet . . . I made my own choices.


Those of us who stray can certainly point to the occasional forced detour, but, ultimately we bear the responsibility for where we have been and where we are and where we will yet go.  A light was always available on the darkened path; I often turned away from it as if it were a glare and not a guide.

Man seems so often to want the garden on his own terms.  A little tending here and there to be rewarded by pleasures not planted for our benefit, but which entice us to lay aside the tools a bit and seek desperate respite.  In creep the weeds, choking away what once nourished, until there is a barrenness that becomes a depleted and depressing landscape on poisoned soil.  Integrity traded for skewed gratification or to fill a gnawing and misunderstood emptiness.

It is not for man to direct his steps. -- Jeremiah 10:23

That would be "any man."  It was not right for me to direct my steps . . . or to choose steps in reflection of others' direction.  I did both.  I made choices to please myself on occasion and I made choices -- good and bad -- to please others.  When I tried to emerge from the darkness, it was often because I was yearning for the good light of others, for approval.  I would follow the direction of perhaps well-intentioned men -- ministers -- rather than pursuing only God.  The two could certainly align, but often do not.  I would find myself so wanting to be seen as repentant and restored that I would agree to any plan set forth . . . just to have everything look right again . . . in the eyes of men.

"I promise," I would say.  "I'll do whatever you say."

But I tell you, Do not swear at all: either by heaven, for it is God's throne; or by the earth, for it is his footstool; or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the Great King. And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make even one hair white or black. Simply let your 'Yes' be 'Yes,' and your 'No,' 'No'; anything beyond this comes from the evil one. -- Matthew 5:34-37

I must be honest and say that I did not respect the men who established the plan, but I pledged to fulfill it anyway.  I went from one long search for approval from men -- grappling with my broken sexual identity -- to another search -- thirsting for spiritual approval.  From men.  The evil one worked in both situations.  The result?  A doubling-down in my slipping search for integrity.

For am I now seeking the favor of men, or of God? Or am I striving to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a bond-servant of Christ. -- Galatians 9:10

I wish I were more of a sponge when it comes to the Word of God.  I would have done more than just heard that you cannot please God and man.  I would have lived it.

I know many men and women are precariously picking their way through life among the sharp shards of a shredded and tattered integrity.  This is not where we wanted to be.  We find ourselves here because there were a lot of places we should never have been.  The question is:  can integrity be reclaimed?

Indeed, it can.  The pieces can be re-fitted and re-arranged and sewn together to create a tapestry of integrity that reflects past struggles in the brilliance of blinding restoration.  The broken can shine.  God does bless the broken road.  Pull to the side and wave the white flag.

We re-establish our integrity by re-tracing the steps of its loss.

1.  Depend on God. -- A man or woman of integrity is someone who depends on God.  I lost my integrity when I saw God as only a rescuer and not a rest.  I did not rest in Him and wait on Him.  I ran in front and called on Him when I fell in exhaustion.  He was, of course, always there and I stood again because of His love, but I often left my integrity behind and ran on again. 

2.  Practice humility. -- This does not mean to perfect a persona of humility.  It means "be humble."  And, practice means just that:  do it over and over until it becomes who you are.  A man who seeks to satisfy himself without clarifying that satisfaction to be the will of God is not a humble man.  I thought of myself as downtrodden at times because of a hunger; I sought to satisfy that hunger by whatever means pleased me.  That is pride, not integrity.

3.  Take responsibility for your actions. -- As I said earlier, many of us who have struggled with sexual issues were exposed to harmful circumstances or were not exposed to good teaching and direction.  We need to deal with those realities through the process of forgiveness of whoever harmed us or neglected us . . . and then allow the grace of God to heal us.  Thus healed, we are responsible for our own actions.  The blaming of others only creates a greater circle of blame; it doesn't water down our own culpability.  I've also discovered through time that most people don't really care that much what caused me to stumble.  They just want me to walk upright. In integrity.

4.  Be diligent in good things. -- Even the slightest amount of personal objectivity can lead us to a fairly accurate list of good and bad . . . if we are Christians.  It's not hard to know when we are doing bad things.  We feel convicted.  We suffocate in guilt.  We fall beneath the weight of shame.  We retreat to blame. We shy away from God because we are embarrassed to be called a son of God.   Each breath is labored; we deny ourselves access to the Breath of Heaven.  A person of integrity breathes freely.

5.  Be obedient to God. -- Often we confuse obedience to men -- even church leaders -- with obedience to God.  If we are obedient to God, we won't have to worry about being obedient to church leaders.  God will provide the grace we need to do so and the place we need to be in to make their yoke as light a burden as is His.  I think when we refuse to be obedient to God, He allows us to be broken down through the heavy burdens of enforced obedience, inflicted by men confused by our brokenness.  Please God.  The rest will take care of itself.

6.  Be honest . . . good-hearted . . . faithful . . . kind . . . gracious . . . gentle in spirit. -- Hiding in the swamp of sin is not honest.  Being consumed with terror that others will see into the blackness of our heart is not being good-hearted.  A double-life is not a reflection of being faithful; it is a sign of distrust in God.  Being self-consumed makes us unkind.  Pleasing ourselves above God and others is not gracious.  Protecting ourselves and defending our impure ways detours a gentleness of spirit.

Does this seem like a difficult list?  It's not.  It is relief and rest.  Can you imagine what it would be like to live a life dependent on an all-powerful God . . . to be humble and not worry about impressing others  . . . to willingly accept responsibility for our actions and stand corrected and strong  . . . to welcome accountability . . . to be diligent in doing good . . . to be obedient to God and guilt-free . . . to be honest and transparent . . . to love others and be called upon by them for help because of our open graciousness and gentle spirit?

Does it sound hard?  Are you worn out by all the flailing about that is a part of our instinct for survival in this world?  Do you feel alone in your struggle?

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. -- Matthew 11:28

We can walk in integrity.  We are not bound by our past sins; we are not forced to move into a forced labor camp of legalism.  We are invited to be partakers of grace.  If someone is telling you that you can't reclaim your integrity, then pray for their faith, for it is lacking.  They're telling you that God is not capable of restoring you.  My fate rests in the hands of an almighty God, not an arbitrary one; a God who is more than capable of restoring me.  A God who loves me and wants me back.  There is no "worst sinner."  No matter what the weight is when we step out of the boat, the Hand extended bears us up.

At the end of the party, the 90-year-old man expressed his one wish. That everyone present live to be 90.  I want to. 

In integrity. 


God Bless,


Thom


(Surviving Sexual Brokenness is available at the following links:  Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble, ThomHunter.com or through your local bookstore. It is available on Kindle and Nook.)

The Proper Care and Feeding of a Why

(Note: I am attending the Exodus Freedom Conference this week. The following post is an excerpt from my book, Surviving Sexual Brokenness: What Grace Can Do.  If you buy the book, please friend me on Facebook so we can support each other through this journey.)

It’s okay to question why.

It’s okay to even cry.

Don’t ever hesitate to try.

God will answer; He won’t lie.

There’s no answer He won’t know.

There’s no place He will not go.

There’s no path He will not show.

God will answer; He loves you so.

No question lies within your mind.

That God cannot in love unwind.

That’s how we’ve all been so designed.

To seek from Him what we can’t find.

In His answers lies our peace.

In His words, we find release.

Our search can end, our troubles cease.

It all begins with show me . . . please.

It’s okay to question why.

It’s okay to even cry.

Don’t ever hesitate to try,

God will answer every sigh.         -- Thom Hunter

I remembered a "why" the other day that I wanted once to ask my Dad when I was just a little boy.  It had to do with frogs, and it remains unanswered.  Curious, like all children, I was filled with "why" questions.  In this particular instance, it had to do with frogs because we had been out gigging frogs on a Texas pond in the dark mosquito-clouded night.  The frogs were croaking like crazy and easy to trace down and stab to provide for tomorrow's fried frog leg breakfast. 

I wanted to know why they were croaking so loud when they knew we were coming after them in the boat.  And I wanted to know why there was no-where for them to go but this pond . . . or the frying pan.  Why didn't they climb up the banks and go over the hill and hop along to a different pond, a safer place?

I think instead I asked Daddy why there were more stars in the country sky than in the city . . . and I'm pretty sure he answered that one.  But the frogs remained a mystery, drifting into the memory of a million "why’s" I never got to ask.  I probably yawned and scratched a bite or two and we went to shore and left the why of the frog behind on a crowded lily pad.

If I had a million for my dad . . . can you imagine the gazillions that drift heavenward?  How many times must God have heard "Why, God?"

Why me?
Why this?
Why not?
Why won't they?
Why confess?
Why change?
Why repent?
Why is it still here?
Why again?
Why haven't you?
Why haven't they?
Why haven't I?
Why try?
Why resist?
Why flee?
Why . . . why?
Why, God?

I had five children.  They wanted to know why about everything.  Why can't we go there?  Why do we have to go here?  Why can't I have this?  Why do I have to have that?  Why doesn't it work?  Why can't we afford it?  Why do the leaves fall? 

Why did you?  Fall.

Sometimes when they were little, after an exhausting round of explaining why this and why that, the eventual bottom-line would be reached:  "Because I said so."

God does the same thing sometimes.  He says "Be still . . . and know that I am God."  I think that's a lot like "Because I said so."

Sometimes we take really good care of our "why’s."  We build fences and haul in feed and water and brush the coats and protect them like our favorite pets.  "This one is not getting loose.  I kinda' like 'why me?'  My favorite."

And God says, "Be still."

But what about this why and that why? 

"Be still."

Obviously God has always known of our propensity to find the nearest slippery slope and try it out like some new ride at Six Flags, ready to give it a rating at the end of the track.  Man . . . that was fast, that was bumpy, that was quite a ride . . . awesome experience . . . freaky . . . deadly.

"Be still."

But God . . . when I am still, my mind is filled to overflowing with "why’s."  I need to keep moving.  At least when I'm on the slope I don't have to figure out all those answers to all those "why’s."

"And know that I am God."

When my children would not give up on asking all their "whys" to wear me down, I usually responded with a distracting promise:  "Want a cookie?"  I think today's parents probably pop in a video.  Same thing. Distract. Deflect.  Divide and conquer.

God says, "Know that I am God."  He doesn't deflect or distract; He draws us right in to Him and reminds us He knows the answer to every why.  And every "why me?"  He knows me better than I know myself so when it comes to trusting and obeying, it really makes no sense to ask "why?"  But, I do.

There's really only one answer.  For God's glory.  Why me?  For God's glory.  Why now?  For God's glory.  Why not?  For God's glory.  Why confess?  For God's glory.  Why repent? For God's Glory. 

But there's a few nagging "why’s" that surely tempt God to want to just lean across the seat and say "Want a cookie?"

Not God. 

What about the "why again?"  Answer:  because you haven't transformed your mind.

Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is -- His good, pleasing and perfect will. -- Romans 12:2

What about the "why won't they forgive?"  Answer:  "Forgive them.  And wait."

Then Peter came and said to Him, "Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me and I forgive him? Up to seven times?"  Jesus said to him, "I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven.  -- Matthew 18:21-22

What about "why is 'it' still here?" or "why haven't You taken this from me?"  Answer:  "My grace is sufficient."

Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. -- 2 Corinthians 12:8-9

I guess we could even ask "why so many why’s?"   Why does God put up with all this? 

I remember when I was in various art classes in my early years.  I tried leather and bought a wallet kit.  Every time I would strike the tool with the mallet that was supposed to impress a neat capital "T" and "H" on my western wallet, the mallet would bounce and the lettering would look  like stuttering. Very unintentionally artistic.  I just wanted to toss the wallet in the scrap heap.  I tried to make a bowl once out of clay and I was inclined to curse all potters as instruments of the devil.  I saw two choices with my bowl:  toss it back into the mud while it was still wet or toss it onto the floor after it dried.  There's clearly a reason I was not called to be the creator of the universe.

And here we look at a world wrapped in ungrateful "why’s" with the scary knowledge that He created everything that is by just speaking it into existence.  "Be" and it was.  "Be not" and it could be like a mis-shaped brittle bowl tossed onto a concrete floor, pieces flying to the four walls.

Why not?

Because He loves me.  And He loves you.  And he would rather answer the "why’s" by slowly unwrapping the chains and setting us free a heartbeat at a time through His unending love and amazing grace until we see ourselves unencumbered and standing free . . . and asking "why?"

Because He loves.  In all the good things He gives me and for all the bad things through which He sees me, He loves me.  And as much as I sometimes hate this world that seems determined to hunt me down and pierce my soul with "why’s," I have to remember . . .

"For God so loved the world that He gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life." -- John 3:16.

I ask why and instead of a cookie, He gives me His son.  Why would I ever think it was not enough?

Why?

God Bless,

Thom -- thomhunter.com

Building Bridges on a Lonely Trail

"It is finished."

Can there be more satisfying words?  Said in quiet resolve as a father steps back from a swing set in the yard, an artist scoots back from a painting, a writer pushes away from a keyboard, a seamstress sews the final seam, a final test is taken, or a silent prayer is lifted. When we sense completion, we spread our arms like a blessing, then rest our hands on our hips to take the moment in before life moves on.

Life moves on? I thought we were finished.

I thought about these things as I chopped and sawed my way through thick brush and dead trees, spiders scattering and unseen creatures of the woods keeping their distance in the shadows of the thick trees around me. My arms were scratched, my clothes drenched in sweat, my back itching from mosquito bites, my mind tired of the question: "why am I doing this?"

I had started this trail through the woods more than 10 years ago. I renewed my commitment about five years ago.  This trail had always had a beginning, a couple of twists and turns and an abrupt ending at a small creek, beyond which the daunting cluttered undergrowth grew stronger and thicker year after year.

And then I finally crossed the creek.  With better tools and a clearer mind, I hacked and sawed and pulled and raked and the crackling of old dead branches piled on top of each other from the tossing of storms and the passing of years eventually gave way to a soft padding beneath my feet, rich dirt and decaying leaves. A little sun sifting through the trees lighted the path and highlighted the green around me.

My path twisted around the more formidable trees and found its way . . . back to the creek at a wider spot, a path of water trickling slowly down the middle of the muddy banks pocked with deer tracks and home to turtles. Now, with just a couple of bridges, the trail will be done.

Empty.
Out of sight.
Invisible to almost everyone.
But done.

I know for sure that I did not know where my trail in life would lead two years ago when I left my job at AT&T, retreated back into the darkness of shame, emerged into the light of transparency, began writing this blog, wrote a book and trusted God to somehow do what I had never trusted him to do before. Build the bridge. Get me to the end of this trail.

In my life, like in the woods, I had long had a trail and had worn it deep from pacing back and forth upon it, committing and retreating. The beginning of the trail was as familiar as the back of my hand. The point at which I would always stop was worn deep from my screeching halts at the banks of the creek -- not a mighty river -- but just a stream that turned me back to try again another day. I think I always thought that as long as I could keep the creek in sight, I would someday have the resolve to cross it. I could see the other side, but it seemed a jump too far. It was too thick. I needed tools. I needed help. I needed a bridge.

I spent a lot of time trying to think of who might help me build that bridge and I got angry, longing for volunteers, but I also got honest and realized I'd worn that pool of people thin. Too many times I had trekked to the creek and turned back, and the hope of the trail's completion had faded for them. I thought also that there were some who should just be obligated to help:  ministers and family members, sons and daughters not allowed to just give up . . . but I realized they had come to a conclusion, with reason, that I had given up, so why not they? And I got angry at myself because I had no list to work through; the names were all scratched off. Of course, my wife's name was still there . . . but I wanted to clear this trail and build this bridge and then walk it with her . . . not ask her to bear the machete, which she was always ready to do.

Since I didn't know, really, what to expect out of these two years, I'm a bit surprised to feel I have not met my expectations. Like the trail in the woods, the one in life takes constant maintenance, a clearing of the weeds and a chopping back of the vines which like to slyly creep in from the sides. And, like the trail in the woods, it is not widely traveled by companions of the past. I thought some who had seen it lay unfinished might have come back to see the progress and walk the path to see its end. It's a peaceful trail, but a bit more quiet than I might have presumed it would be.

Some Christians will see some day that their stone-throwing has driven countless souls back from the creekside. Other Christians will have much to answer for when their eyes are someday opened and they realize that their pride at not throwing stones was only a partial following of Jesus. Jesus' willingness to stretch a hand out to the one who would have been stoned to help her stand again, taking her out of the dust, looking her in the eyes, offering forgiveness and hope.

I think those of us who strive to overcome sexual brokenness have to realize at some point that not every bridge we build replaces ones we burned.

The question then, is what to do with loneliness so that it becomes not a trigger for sexual backtracking, but a beckoning to spiritual backpacking.

When I forget who said He will never leave me, I dwell on those who said they would and did.  When I wonder where everyone else is, I forget that He is with me always. When I get lonely, I forget I am never only.

So two years into this blog journey seems like a good time for me to remind you that I walk with you, and to thank you that you have walked with me. But . . . nice as it is to know, you and I both know that even together we are no match for the darkest part of the path.

Not you. Not me. Only He. He who gives us strength. He who takes away fear.

Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. -- Deuteronomy 31:6.

The trail looks a lot better now, doesn't it?

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. -- Romans 8:38-40

Nor anything else in all creation? Not judgmental words, not harsh rejections, not bewilderment, not shame, not guilt, not misunderstandings, not temptations, not failings, not loneliness.

If you are out there wandering along on an all-too-familiar path, wishing you could jump the creek or cut a new route that did not circle back to no-where, or your mind tires of the question: "Why am I doing this?," remember that God's Word is infallible and His grace is beyond exhausting. If you're walking alone, it's because you are denying His presence.

I don't like being lonely. In my own estimation of restoration, everyone would be back by now and we'd be having picnics by the side of the creek, while the grandchildren scurried up and down the trail discovering all of creation.

In trust, though, I can keep walking this trail for what it is. It has a beginning; it has an end. And there are bridges now.

God Bless,

Thom

(If you need encouragement as you walk, I hope you will read my book: Surviving Sexual Brokenness: What Grace Can Do.)