why eating crackers and drinking grape juice made me cry

Before I can properly tell a quite simple story, I have to tell a more complicated one. A very, very long one. I apologize ahead of time, BUT this is how stories work: They begin very much complicated and tangled, like a necklace that has stayed in a jewelry box for too long; yet, with enough attention and time, a story begins to unfold...just like tangled knots in a forgotten necklace are loosened. It is really only a matter of time and fumbling enough with the thing to watch it unfold.What's funny about this story, however, is that it isn't just mine. I have a feeling that it might be yours too. Maybe this is my memoir? Maybe this is our memoir?

 I bet you think in this story that I'm the one fumbling with a necklace, story. But in truth, I am the necklace, the very "what tangled webs we've weave" necklace. I am the necklace, and the fumbler is my relentlessly loving Father.

***

When I was 22, I began to struggle with going to the church I had been attending in Auburn since I was 18. I didn't struggle with believing in a Savior, I struggled with getting to that Savior. I had a terrible habit of never reading my bible, not devoting time to memorizing scripture, falling asleep at 2 in the morning praying before bed after studying all day, neglecting going to small groups, very much disliking round tables at Sunday School, and questioning a lot of the things people were saying. I got flustered with posted bible verses on Facebook, and theological conversations/arguments, and always feeling that I needed to do more or be more because my relationship with Jesus was way behind.

I was tired of trying all of the time, because I knew that it didn't matter how much I tried, I would keep neglecting the things I was being taught would bring me closer to the Lord, and into relationship or communion with Him. In my heart there was a war of wanting to know Him, but at the same time, apparently not wanting to know Him, because I didn't want to read a bible, memorize scripture, or lock myself in a prayer room. I just wanted to talk to Jesus under a tree somewhere, and be with Him.

But I heard what it took to love the Lord, to have a relationship with the Lord, and to be accepted into His Kingdome, and I found myself wanting. I was very angry about this realization, because I was convinced that my merciful and loving father was more of a rule maker, dictator, and manipulator. I was angry with Him, but I still wanted to love Him. But I "knew" this relationship just wasn't going to work because I wasn't going to work. I knew who the Father was, but I just couldn't love Him for it, and I knew He couldn't love me for it.

So I lived on the outskirts of His kingdom. Far away enough that I couldn't hear His reprimanding or feel his disappointment or experience being pushed out by the things I couldn't accomplish, but close enough that I knew there was a Maker holding everything together. I was close enough to feel the ache of what I knew I was missing, and the anger against all of the things that kept me from having it. I longed to know Him, and hated all of the things that wouldn't let me.

And in August of that year, I stopped going to church. I stopped reading my bible, I stopped praying, I stopped thinking about the Rapture, or his coming back, or predestination, or what I should wear at church, or drink, or eat, or what the other church members would think of me for my departure and avoidance.

I wasn't alone, though. There were others I met. I wrote them, talked to them in hammocks, or over a beer. We were confused and angry prodigal sons who wanted to go home, but didn't have the means, nature, or the right road to go about getting there.

***

 

In August of 2012, I was 24 and in graduate school taking statistics in an icebox, and I sat behind a cute boy who wore what looked like a 1950's jacket. It was the first day when I realized the cute boy was married to the cute girl next to him.

 

 BUT, I wasn't disturbed. It didn't matter in the least. It had been 3 years, and I knew who I was. I had found myself in the confusion of living on the outskirts of church, and I was...happy. Joyful, even. And while I still lived there on the outskirts, I still longed to know Jesus and to love Him. I was single, I was independent, I was wearing what I wanted, saying what I meant, and spending wonderful night around pit fires or tables with close friends who I loved, and who loved me.

 

And then, one day, the cute boy turned and commented on how cold the icebox classroom was, and I talked back. And he spoke to me the next day, and the next day, and after a week or two, he introduced himself as Monte Baugh. And I introduced myself as Martha Lee Anne. And I knew he loved plants, and he knew I loved writing, and we both knew we loved music and Nashville. It was maybe a month or so later when I realized the cute girl was his co-worker and he wasn't married. And it was maybe a week later, on the last day class, that he chased (literally) me down afterwards and asked if he could take me to get coffee.

 

Fast forward three days later, the weekend before Thanksgiving:  I had locked myself out of my apartment (usual), Monte had been kind and picked me up, and we sat for 4 or 5 hours talking at The Overall Company. I'll never forget when he asked something like, "So Martha Lee Anne, how do you feel about church." and I said something like, "....Well, I stopped going to church because I went through this strange angry phase with God, and I didn't really know how to go back, and I don't know anything about anything, but I think I love Him a lot"

 

"Well, Martha Lee Anne, you're not alone."

 

***

 



I was in Auburn in January, and I had just licked the envelope with Monte's Cincinnati internship address on it. The letter carried a lot of weight, and disappointment, and honesty, and I knew he would be hurt, but I knew it was better to be honest. He'd love me, and I wouldn't love him, and that was that. I couldn't make myself. It felt wrong, but I "knew" it was right, so I did it. And that was the end of the boy with dimples and a kind face.

 

That is, until I was 25 and he came back in March. And he smiled warmly, and spoke more warmly. He forgot and forgave my transgressions against him, and what's more, he became my friend. He told me about his heart, he asked me to walk and talk with him. He listened to my terribly messy and sad stories, and teared up when I didn't, or couldn't... And he pursued my heart relentlessly.

 

He loved me in January when I said goodbye. He loved me in the summer when I was crazy writing my thesis/non-thesis paper. He loved me when I was really very confused about parts of my story. He loved me when I hated it, and I didn't want him to. He loved me when I was annoyed and wanted him to go away...He loved me relentlessly, and it was overwhelming.

 

And in the beginning of July, I wanted to learn the way he loved me because he asked me to. And he asked me to think it over until I went to Birmingham in August. And I just knew nothing in my heart could change, that I'd break his, and that it was sad that he wasted what he though was loving me...on me.

 

A month later, he read a letter to me, and I wanted to cry. Because I knew he loved me, and I believed it but couldn't believe it at the same time. And that was that. but even so, I kept praying for the Lord to teach me about Love because it was very apparent to me that there was so much I had to learn. I watched Monte live, and love, and pray, and cry, and I wanted to love the way he loved. I wanted to love him the way he loved me, and I wanted to love and know Jesus the way he loved and knew Jesus.

 

***

That was a little over six months ago. Last night, I went to church, and I was hit with it again.

 

To love Jesus and to be in communion with Jesus, I needed to study His word ("but what about the illiterate!" my rebellious self was screaming silently), and I needed to memorize scripture, ("I always forget memorized scripture," I said to myself.), and I needed to be more prayerful (......).

 

After that introduction, we practiced examining, applying, and praying over scripture so we could have a hunger for God's word...but I was hungry to just know Jesus. 

 

We read Genesis 22, the story of Abraham being asked to sacrifice his son Isaac, and then we were asked to spend 5 minutes answering the questions on our handout. Monte's answers were good, really good. He looked over, and in a quite defeated voice I said, "I'd get in a lot of trouble with my answers," and he smiled down at me.

 

I know the story of Abraham and Isaac  because I have heard it so many times. I know, I know, I know...Abraham is told to sacrifice his only son Isaac, and just as he is about to do so, the Lord provides a ram that is stuck in a thicket as an offering, and Isaac calls the mountain, "the Lord will provide." I know that Isaac is representative of us, and that the ram is representative of Jesus, and that the point of the story is to show that Jesus will be given as a sacrifice to save us, which is wonderful, but God still looks sketchy asking Abraham to sacrifice his son for the sake of foreshadowing Christ.

 

And this is where I got stuck and frustrated...again.

 

I was so disheartened trying to answer these questions, and I was frustrated with the verse because I couldn't understand God and Abraham's relationship and why God would ask Abraham what he did, and why Abraham did what he did...

 

And then, I considered this: Abraham knew God wouldn't ask him to slaughter his own son because He believed God was good, but I would've been horrified and believed God was not good, or that he was terrible, or merciless...

 

I felt locked out because I know myself. I know I'm messy, I know I'm hard headed, I know I shove my heels in the ground, and I know that when I don't achieve the things I set out to achieve, I beat myself up for it. I feel guilty, I feel I should've done or been more. I take the weight of what I know must be God's disappointment in me, and I carry it to prove that I'm sorry and that I won't do it again.

 

But, I don't and didn't want to live like that, or know Jesus like that. I want to love and know Jesus in the way I love and know Monte, and Monte is so kind, and warm, and generous, and forgiving. He asks so very little of me, and he gives so much. But he's a man, and I know Jesus is more, so I know there is so much more to loving him than reading and memorizing scripture, and doing and being good.

 

I kept thinking it over again and again. Abraham was going to sacrifice his son because he believed God was good, and that what God asked of him was good, and God is good...and he provided the ram for Abraham and spared his son...because that is the good thing to do.

 

And the music began to play, and the crackers and grape juice for communion were set out on a table a few rows ahead of us. And my feet and soul felt so very heavy seeing those crackers and grape juice. It has become more and more and more difficult for me to take communion because I feel farther and farther each time from what I should be when I take it. I don't want to take it, because I never feel deserving of taking it.

 

Read scripture, study scripture, memorize scripture, go to small group, go to church, do this, do that, be this, be that, go without this, go without that.....

 

And I fail. I fail over and over and over. I tried very long to do and be and do and be, and it never worked. I prayed to change, and I never changed. I stayed human, how ordinary...

 

I reluctantly followed behind Monte to get the cracker and juice, and I was angry that I felt no closer than I did before I came...

 

And I stood in place, and I wanted to cry. I wanted to leave the room before he instructed us to eat and drink. I wanted to escape because it was a lie for me to eat the cracker and drink the juice because I couldn't answer the questions on the handout, and the ones I answered were all wrong, and angry, and annoyed sounding, and that was very unchristian of me...

 

I closed my eyes. I shut out everyone. I had some things to say to God.

 

"Why in the world would you ask Abraham to do that? Why? Are you mean or kind? Are you a manipulator? Abraham believed you were good, he did the right thing, he had the right answer, but what about me? What do you do with people like me?! I never would have done it. I wouldn't have trusted you, I wouldn't have slaughtered my son or even attempted to, I would've hidden from you, because I don't know you. I don't know the kindness or goodness of you....but I want to.  What do you do with the people who don't know you are good and who don't have the faith to be in a relationship with you?"

 

And I thought of the fisherman that day who went and went and did as good of a job of fishing as I do. He caught nothing, all day long. And Jesus went to him and asked him to throw his net on the other side. And the man, just like I would've, laughed in his face, and was faithless, and didn't want to because he knew there were no fish to be caught. But Jesus asked him again. And with no faith and no relationship with Jesus, he did it, and despite all he lacked, when he pulled the net up, it was full of fish.

 

And as quickly as the thought hit me, so did the tears.

 

Like when Monte read me that letter at the end of the summer even though I had denied him, and asked him to guard his heart, and was messy, and told him stories and truths about myself, I teared up, eyes closed, holding a stupid plastic cup of grape juice and a stale cracker....because the Love of Jesus was more than I could bear, it was more than I could stand. It was relentless and persuasive. He was that heavy, fullness spreading into my fingers and toes, and leaving no space unfilled.

 

I was exhausted by it, because again, it was contradictory to everything I believe and think about being a Christian and having a relationship with Him.

 

Because I don't have to do or be anything. I don't have to be sinless, or know theology, or memorize scripture, or read through my bible this year, or be in a small group, or do x,y,z. I don't have to carry the weight of my mistakes to prove to him that I love him by being better and trying harder.

 

I don't have to earn it, prove it, or understand it because He gave us the gift of just being in it.

 

I don't have to do it right, I don't have to have faith to move mountains, I literally don't have to do anything.

All I have to do is get my human legalistic minded self out of the way, and just accept and be at peace, AND FREE, in the very simple truth that is this:

Jesus loves me because He loves me and He'll pursue a relationship with me no matter what I do and say or don't do and don't say, and He'll keep at it until He gets it through my thick, hard-headed skull that there is nothing I can do about it...but let Him.

End.