In April of 2008, it was all I could do to shower, drive to work, assume the work facade in order to strain out interactions with customers, and drive home. Once home, I would eat, sleep, and repeat the next morning. Before the years of pain began, it had been my habit to catch up on phone calls on the drive home from work. As the disease progressed, however, this became more and more untenable. It wasn't just that I was physically exhausted. I had nothing to say. I didn't want to talk about my own pain, and I couldn't fake light topics of conversation to save my life. When it came to that portion of the conversation where my input was expected, I was at a loss.
So it was that I found myself driving home, sitting in traffic, and looking at a long list of unreturned phone calls. At the top of the list were some of my best friends. Friends that did not live in Austin, could not see the change that had engulfed my personality in despair, were not aware of how bad things had become. I felt as though I owed them explanations, and that maybe if I could just get through the description of my present state, encouragement would be on the other side. As I picked up my phone to dial the first number, I knew I couldn't do it. It felt like I was attempting to claw through a brick wall with my fingernails. In sheer despair, I said aloud, "Jesus, I can't."
To be honest with you, I did keep up a running dialogue with God even in the worst of those days. But don't be impressed. The entire context of those discussions might be typified by "Okay, just help me through this shower." And then, "Thanks, now can you just get me through the next hour." This time, though, my anguish fully expressed, I felt Him respond very clearly: "You don't have to."
My external response was religious - "God, if I don't call these people I'm ruining relationships, missing divine appointments, making a bigger mess!" My internal response, the one He knew immediately, was doubt. If I didn't do what I was supposed to do, would God still come through for me? If I didn't toe the line, hold up my end of this nebulous bargain, would He stop helping me?
The answer fell deep in my malnourished, legalistic soul. You cannot make me love you more with righteousness that is as filthy rags, and you cannot lose my love with unreturned phone calls.
