Diary of a Broken Vessel

Sometimes at night, when I can’t sleep, after a long and trying day, I’ll sit back and listen to the silence. The silence, however, is never anywhere to be found. In its stead I hear the whir of overhead vents, doors slamming, muffled conversations of various volume, feet shifting, and loudest of all I hear my thoughts which run without end. The thoughts are rarely ever chosen; I just lay back and listen to what comes.

Tonight a strange question came to mind.

If my mother were alive today, would she be proud of what I’ve become?

This question strikes as strange because I never honestly cared -at least I’m certain I didn’t care- of what my mother thought of me growing up. We had always had a difficult relationship, and it had been my intent to take the hint she often dropped and move out and on with my life as soon as possible. More or less I didn’t care if she was or was not proud; whether she thought highly or lowly of me, so this question is not one I would expect to be numbered even among some of my strangest thoughts. However, I guess this does provide an opportunity to reflect on the past few years since her death.

The Bad

My biological family is in tatters. My father and I don’t talk. We want nothing to do with one another. My middle brother literally hates my youngest brother, my sister, and myself. My sister is…well only God knows where. Only my youngest brother and I share a healthy relationship.

I am -or so it feels- everything I was taught not to be spiritually. I’m a Calvinist, Southern Baptist, concerned theologian, and Reformed. Unafraid of the controversial and uncomfortable. Willing to be honest even when it hurts.

I am distanced from my old life, from old friends, and from the old voices. Some keep an acquaintance’s distance, and I’m not sure I blame them for wanting to keep space between us.

The Good

I’m a husband and a father who loves his wife and daughter to the uttermost. A husband and father who realizes his incredible shortcomings and is actively seeking to overcome himself, his hurt, his pride, his selfishness. But of course I realize that I can’t do this without first dying to myself, picking up my cross -daily-, and following fervently after Christ.

My youngest brother and I have a great relationship. We can talk about anything, and we have gone through a lot together. We have been there for one another when it seemed the our world stood against us.

I have a wonderful job that I do well. I have a good relationship with those I work with, and I have earned a positive reputation as being a hard and knowledgable worker.

I am -or so it feels- everything I was taught not to be spiritually. I’m a Calvinist, Southern Baptist, concerned theologian, and Reformed. Unafraid of the controversial and uncomfortable. Willing to be honest even when it hurts.

I have healthy relationships around me. I have become a happy person. I express myself without fear. I am myself, and I do the best I can. I recognize my insufficiency apart from Christ. I have faith that is not blind, eyes which see, hands which hold and feel and reach out, and a heart that loves not of its own but because of the Spirit within which permeates through this shell.

And all of this is to say that I don’t know if my mother would be proud of me. I went another way with my life than expected. I did -I believe- accomplish what she wanted most; to find my way without imposing or being a major disruption to her life. I can say I gave her that much.

Lord deliver me from this vanity!

But even so, I’m not sure that it even matters. The journey is not about the pat on the backs, the approval of those around us, the running fruitlessly to and fro to receive the right nods, but about giving up ourselves into the hands of God. To let go of ourselves that Christ may shine through, so that others may see Him.