Furious Love: Get Real

The infamous, illustrious, unnamed “they” say that confession is good for the soul. I think that in this case, they know what they’re talking about.

Whether by accident or by design, I was raised with the belief that I should only let the world see me at my very best. So, for me, confession doesn’t come naturally. That may be a surprise to those of you who see me as a very transparent, confessional blogger. On some levels, I am. But really, I only let people see carefully selected bits of my life—the ones I’ve conquered or no longer feel ashamed about. And there are other carefully selected bits of my life that I hide deep and guard furiously. They are things that when I look at myself, I love myself less, and so I believe that if you saw them, you wouldn’t love me, either.

In those shame-filled moments, it’s really hard to remember that wounds kept in the dark fester, while only ones that are let out into the light can heal.

About a month or so ago, I was reading in my living room one night, when one of these secret, hidden, shame-filled wounds popped out of the dark and took me by surprise. It’s one of those things that I hadn’t thought about in years—not because it had been dealt with—but because I felt it never could be, and so I’d stuffed it away. But on this particular night, it burst out of its dark corner. And suddenly, I couldn’t get it stuffed away again. It was like opening Pandora’s Box. And it refused to go back in again. It stood toe-to-toe with me and made me face it.

Notice that I haven’t named it. I’ve given no details. And I’m not yet at the place that I can. But that night, I took a little risk. I said to it, “Okay, if you won’t go back into the dark, I’m going to shine some light on you and see if that helps.” I very selectively emailed three friends and said, “Listen, I’m not ready to give you details, but I’ve got this thing…” And slowly and quietly, for the last month or so, I’ve been pulling back the curtain more and more, shining more light on it, and finding healing for it.

James 5:16 says, “Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you can live together whole and healed.”

I want to be whole.

I want to be so healed that I can stand and look at my past, unflinching, and say, “I wasn’t perfect, but that’s okay. I love myself anyway.”

I want my life to be an open book that people can look at and say, “She screwed up, but she’s still loveable. So, maybe that means that even though I screw up, I’m still loveable, too.”

I want to stop hiding in the shadows, fearing rejection. I want to step out into the light and get real—even though that sometimes means getting ugly.

I would like that. I would like to get real. And I think God would like that, too.

“The Bible is a summons to be stripped of those fine pretenses by which we manage to paint a portrait of ourselves for the admiration of friends.” (Manning, 116)

This post is part of our weekly discussion of Brennan Manning’s “The Furious Longing of God.” I missed you guys last week, but I’m back this week! And if you’ve written a response on this week’s chapter, please link it up at the widget below! When you get done here, drop by my co-facilitator, Jason Stasyszen’s place, to see what he has to say.


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  1. Hugs (((((Sarah)))

  2. Sarah Salter says:

    Thank you, Nancy! {{{HUGS BACK!}}}

  3. Look at how many perfect examples we have in the Bible- one. God loves the imperfect. Jesus died for the imperfect. We should find comfort in that; and over time, healing.

  4. and in Him you are already healed, already whole, totally His not because of you, but because of Who He Is!

    find rest in that, sweet Sarah

  5. Sarah Salter says:

    Good points, Frank! Thank you!

  6. Sarah Salter says:

    Karin, there’s always so much grace in your words! Thank you!

  7. Believe me, I know exactly what you mean. The fear of telling someone and being rejected seems so painful that you think it’s better to hide it and not take the risk, but then it’s still there gnawing at you. I’ve had my share, but like you, I’m choosing freedom and trusting God with the process. He is the author of our healing! Thanks Sarah.

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