w.O.r.D.s

Courtesy of Toothpaste for Dinner

Words. I love 'em. So much, that I'm going to spend the better part of a Thursday evening discussing the power of our vernacular with my Red Tent homies.

You see, dear reader, I'm a PR lady who spends all day poking, prodding, crafting, erasing, cradling, caressing, and sometimes perverting the English language. I enjoy me some scrabble. I've been known to substitute dirty words to win. I'm ruthless.

I guess you could see where I'd be a little frustrated when I find some sort of content I can't grasp.

I have a (slightly embarrassing) confession to make. For most of my life, I haven't been able to break through the superfluous wall of Eastern logic and verbiage that encapsulates the Bible. Gasp. I know it's shocking. Especially for someone as perfect as me.

I'd pick up the heavy, King Jamesy book, and WTF? Nothin.

For example:

1. What the heck was the importance of Old Testament geneology? (Read Genesis 5 and tell me you don’t get a headache.)
2. What was up with Jesus and the parables, yo? (Didn’t he spit on some guy’s eyes in Mark?!?!?)
3. Don't even get me started on circumcision.

When I was struggling with the content, I was hungry to have the abstract stuff relate to me. While I read, I’d pray, “Explain to me why I’m like Moses with the burning bush?!?” “What the heck is the point of this BORING book called Proverbs?”

I was like a two-year old trying to read Chaucer. It wouldn’t sink in because my life couldn’t identify with the darkest of experiences (like the cross), just the “lighter stuff” like loving your neighbor (because that’s easy to do).

That’s why the book didn’t make sense to me. I always used to skip over the wordy parts that were particularly strong-tempered, unfair, or legalistic. It was just confusing because there were so many things in there that DIDN'T, WOULDN'T and COULDN'T apply to me. Ever.
Funny how God proves us wrong.

Last week, I slept with my Bible next to me. I carried it in my purse. It was like a magic lamp or an oracle or something. Multiple times a day, I turned its loved pages in hopeful desperation. I was looking for answers. For solace. For affirmation.

The first place that leapt out to comfort was one of the darkest passages within it.

In Matthew 26:36-46, Jesus cries out to be relieved of his burden that will await him at the cross. BUT, he says, 'not my will, but yours be done.'

While I don’t claim to be heading to the cross…nor to have the strength of Christ, these words treated my upset stomach like Pepto-Bismol. Whoever thought of the Lord as an antacid?

In that moment, the words became bigger. I could comprehend them, because my soul was ready to identify with it. Maybe that's the secret. Not education, not scriptural diligence or memorization, but just a genuinely changed heart ready to receive the Word's mystery with desperation.

Since then, I've been able to stop crying like the previously mentioned two year-old that I was, but instead embrace the fact that I was walking through a situation (or a group of them) that had been repeated in the Bible throughout the centuries.

Today, I have a new confession. This careful little wordsmith understands His darkest words, identifies with them, finds content and comfort in them, and it’s divine.

As one of my favorite songs goes -"these are words to build a life on..."