In some ways, I don’t want God to love me. That sounds crazy, but it’s true.
I complain He doesn’t want all of me, but I won’t let Him past the hallway into the dark bits – where I need Him most. I keep Him on the outskirts, because if He comes in He’ll see me and I can’t have that.
I’m frightened of God’s love because it opens me up to hope. That hope will break me if it’s disappointed – but it breaks me anyway. What is this grace? I don’t want charity. Give me what I’m owed. Let me do it myself. Stop interfering in my life. It’s mine and you won’t take it from me.
If God doesn’t love me, I can justify turning my back on Him. I do this all the time but it’s okay now because He turned away first. I know the Bible says He loves everyone, but that doesn’t mean me. I’m different.
And my difference means I can keep doing the things that harm me and harm others but make me feel better.
If God loves me then I feel vulnerable and weak. Exposed. Needy. This cannot happen. I’m proud, self-sufficient, private. I’m frightened of Him: coming into my space, leaving footprints on the carpet, opening the cupboards and making a mess. What if I get used to Him and He leaves? What if he stays? I don’t want His eyes on me: but I don’t want to be alone.I want a smaller version of Him, just on Sundays and just so far.
I’ll set my love on this God – but He cannot love me. That’s okay.
It’s safer this way.