My Shame and God’s Love

Deep down I believe that nobody should be nice to me, and that includes God. I don’t deserve it.

Sitting in my chair, staring, and utterly upset with everything in my life, an inner voice echoes in the recess of my soul, as Job’s wife did, “Curse God and die!”

Oh, how I wish I could, inner voice echoing in the recess of my soul, I wish I could die.

This is one of those days where I want to give up, to let go and give in to the pain, hurt, frustration, and envy of eternal life. Letting this broken world go and ushering to a new place with no tears and glorious presence. I desperately want to not be alive here in this world, where all my own trying does no good. If I can’t make it better, I might as well die.

But I can’t die. If the decision was made with wants I’d been dead a long time past, and there have been times I’ve been far closer to physically committing myself to suicide, but not tonight. I don’t want to take my life, simply to not have it. I hate it, but I don’t hate me. It’s an interesting dichotomy.

Thinking further about my life, I just get upset. I thought that becoming a Christian would solve my problems, but all it really did was reveal how broken I am, how utterly hopeless I am, and how lost I am. And, somehow, as I feel I am making my way towards greater health, God does not help me up to the summit but pull me back towards the valley. Beginning to realize something about myself, I proceed to try conquering it and find God showing me another stone I am carrying that I do not need. I think to myself, “Can’t you just let it be for one day? Lord, let it be and let me be for one day!”

He is not content to let us be. Love loves unto perfection.

I severely dislike God for it. I’m sure some evangelicals aren’t comfortable with negative feelings towards God, but they happen. We aren’t perfect, and He isn’t expecting us to not get upset with Him, he knows our frames, knows we are made of dust, it could be understood that he expects us to get mad at him. Job, though upset, did not sin because while He wanted to know, “Why, God?” He did not say, “You are at fault,” he simply asked, “Why?” And wished he hadn’t been born.

I relate to that.

In the depth of my soul there is a brokenness so debilitating and heart breaking that I wish it didn’t even exist. I wish it wasn’t an aspect of who I am, and I honestly can’t believe that I actually think this way! I became a Christian and Christ became my mentor, my friend, my confidant, my Lord, and my God, but deep down, I really don’t want his salvation.

When I pray, I don’t want to admit that I can’t do what I need to do. I don’t want God’s help getting me out of my mess of a life, and I certainly don’t want another person to help! Just considering a person helping me with something puts my back straight and makes me want to punch something. “How dare you HELP me? Who told you to BE NICE?!?!” It’s infuriating. Deep down I believe that nobody should be nice to me, and that includes God. I don’t deserve it.

An utterly false claim, sure, but completely true for me. In my heart I believe that I am not worthy to be assisted, helped, saved, redeemed, made whole or well, or healed in any way. I don’t prefer to stay this way, but I refuse to allow another to assist me, definitely God and especially humans.

I work with a campus ministry, and as a funded missionary who fundraises support I am obviously face-to-face with a huge fear. Even looking back at my first push towards funding and the support I received, while I was happy to get it and thankful for it, receiving support shamed me greatly. In some way I feel that I should not receive those gifts. It does not surprise me when people say no, and I have gotten to the point that I hardly ask for new support (though greatly needed) because I don’t feel myself as worthy, and I am sure that whoever I ask will say “no” anyway.

Ten minutes ago I broke down crying just imagining a fellow staff helping me, taking their time and resources to benefit me. In my heart I can’t take it and don’t want it, but in my head I can take it and do want it. I’m not sure how, but I feel so surely that I need the help, and equally as sure that it would be the end of me if I received that help.

Somehow, I also feel that I need to come across to those I ask to support me as confident and sure, and that if I show my fears and insecurities they will not support me. I’ve adopted this super business-like way of asking for support and it’s not me at all. It is unthinkable to me to let people know of my need. I cannot even consider saying, “my ministry is in need of another 15,000-20,000 to be completely funded and for me to be supported at the level I should be.”

And the crux of it is, I’m being paid the least I possibly could be paid because of my support situation and I like it because I don’t feel I deserve any more.

Isn’t that terrible?

I don’t want to ask for any more money because in my mind this confirms the worth that I feel I have. It’s become so twisted that I am doing something terrible to myself to confirm to myself what I believe about myself, and feeling that way I do something terrible to myself. Terrible.

But it isn’t just that I don’t feel I deserve any more pay, but actually feel so strongly that I don’t deserve anything, and that I need to contribute somehow or get out, that I want to leave society. My dream is to live on my own in the middle of nowhere, doing my own thing and being self-sufficient. It isn’t actually my dream, it’s just what I think I’d like because I can’t stand the shame of being so terrible, so worthless, bringing so little to society, producing so little, and being so terrible at so many things. None of those things are true, but I deal with all of those thoughts every day and I’ve convinced myself the only way to escape that is to run away from everything and everyone.

But it won’t get any better, and Love loves unto perfection.

I can’t get away from God and it upsets me so very much. I truly wish He would leave me to rot as the slimy, smelly garbage the I think I am, instead of wrapping me in white and calling me a new creation. New creation, Lord? Not if my broken brain can help it! My brain will convince me I’m the same kid who was told that if he didn’t do it right he shouldn’t even try. Still living that truth 20 years later. What a mess?

So I just cried over how much I don’t want help. I told God to go away, and he nudged me and let me know he isn’t going anywhere.

How desperately I wish He would leave me alone, the shame of it all is overwhelming.

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