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One of the funniest 3 minutes of cinema, in my humble opinion, is a dinner scene in The Nutty Professor, where the grandma of the family challenges her son, Cletus, to come around to her side of the table to settle an argument. She tells him with extreme confidence that “you walk over, but you’re limping back.”
It’s pretty scary, entering into a fight against an opponent you know you can’t beat. They will impose their will on you. They will defeat you. There’s no way to escape affliction. Cletus knew what his mom said was the truth. If he walked over, he’d be limping back!” He talked a good game, but in the end, he let that fear nail him to his seat. He was not about to get within arms reach of that feisty old lady.
I can identify with Cletus. With the fear he felt. It’s the same fear I felt when God was summoning me to engage with Him. To come around the table and wrestle with Him.
Jacob famously wrestled with God and forever walked with a limp afterward, a continual reminder of the wisdom he received during that encounter. No doubt, if you come around the table to wrestle with God, you will limp back. It’s a fact. I knew this was the truth. Like Cletus, I sat in my chair and refused to move closer to God. Not wanting to be afflicted with a limp.
This is where the comparison with Cletus ends. It was probably a smart move for him to stay seated. But when it’s God and not Grandma issuing the challenge, not answering the call is short sighted at best. The alternative, if we refuse to wrestle, is to be caged by sin. Paralyzed by fear, shame, guilt, resentment and a host of other negative emotions. Enslaved by our past, taken out by our wounds.
It’s okay to be afraid. But here’s what you have to do about it:
It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God…do not cast away your confidence…you have need of endurance, so that after you have done the will of God, you may receive the promise. – Hebrews 10: 31-36
It is an illusion to believe that we are walking just fine without God. If we try to just go along with our life, just push down the darkness, just shove those painful memories in a corner, just minimize and rationalize our behavior, just ignore the hurt, we in essence will be rendered unable to walk at all. Emotionally crippled. Paralyzed. Because we didn’t want to endure the pain of walking with a limp. Of engaging in our own work, dealing with our own stuff, and allowing God to touch us in a way that marks His purpose in our lives.
I currently walk with a very noticeable limp. I’ve had to face fears, insecurities, wounds, trauma, abuse and a rash of poor decisions and regrettable actions on my part. I have wrestled with God, continue to do so. And my flesh is losing the fight. That’s a good thing. It hurts. I’ll never walk the same when I’m done. But that’s a good thing. A really, really good thing. Sure beats not walking at all.
I posted this picture on my Facebook page earlier this week. Here’s the story behind it and what it means to me.
Several months ago, I attended a weekend retreat with a group of men. We processed a lot of emotions, feelings, past traumas and basically just worked really hard to get a better handle on our fears, wounds, resentments and character defects. It was a pretty intense two days, and there were many deep conversations, inward reflections and buckets of tears.
I left that weekend with a better appreciation for who I am as a man, a clearer view of how my past has shaped me (for better and for worse) and what I need to specifically work on as I stepped forward with my life. I also brought home a souvenir from all my tears. A stye in my right eye.
At first, I just ignored it and assumed it would subside over time. It did not. I went to a couple of eye doctors, who gave me instructions for healing it, including taking medications and applying a warm compress. I tried both, but neither made a difference. So, I ignored it some more. Then, I went to an ophthalmologist for a closer look. He advised me to follow up with their surgical specialist to see about removing it. I scheduled an appointment. Rescheduled it. Cancelled it again. Scheduled it a third time. Finally, I went.
After a long wait, the doctor finally called me back and explained the procedure. They would deaden the eyelid with a cream and then a big needle. Then they would pry it open with a clamp, lacerate it, scrape out all the stuff inside the stye and then cauterize it back together. And I’d be as good as new. Risks would include infection or possibly damaged vision (although that was very rare). She asked me if I wanted to continue with the procedure.
I paused and seriously contemplated saying no thanks, I’m good, have a nice day. But I proceeded. I sat in the room forever waiting on the doctor to come back and actually perform the surgery. I almost left the room twice. I was filled with dread. I hate things near my eyes. I hate needles. I hate any kind of medical procedure. I hated everything about this. But I stayed. And waited. And finally, the doctor was working on me.
At the end of the visit, I was in pain, bandaged up, looking like I lost a fight in a big way. But the stye was removed. And in a few days, I’ll be, hopefully, good as new.
This is so symbolic of my journey in recent months. There have been many moments where I had to choose to subject myself to extreme discomfort and pain to make positive steps in my life and to care for myself. I’ve had to do many challenging and hard things that previously I avoided at all costs. I had to purge myself of fears and hurts that I had resigned to live with and deal with forever. Things that, like my stye, weren’t incredibly easy to notice, at least not if you weren’t looking closely. But they were there nonetheless, having an impact.
If you’re trying to decide whether to deal with a problem in your life, whether it’s a stye, a sin or a sickness, let me share these 4 truths with you:
- It won’t go away. You aren’t going to wake up one day and be rid of it. You aren’t going to wait it out. It’s not going to just give up and leave you alone.
- It will only get worse. Sure, there’s a minimal chance that my stye would have shrunk over time, but it was far more likely to get bigger. Most of our problems are like that. They only get stronger and more hellish the longer we let them fester.
- It will hurt. When you decide to deal with it, you can bank on the fact that it won’t be pleasant. There will be pain and suffering. It will sting. You will ache.
- It will be worth it. When my eye is fully healed, I’ll be glad to no longer have the stye. It will be a relief. The temporary pain I endured will be a steep discount compared to the price I would have paid to avoid it and keep that puss pocket under my eyelid for the rest of my life.
If you made it this far in the post, you likely have a specific problem that has risen to the top of your mind. A problem you don’t want to deal with. A problem that might even seem like an annoyance at the moment, versus something that is an urgent need. But it’s there, and it’s been there. And it’s been nagging you, gnawing at you, getting bigger. Maybe it’s a tough decision you have to make. A wrong you need to make right. A confession that needs to take place. An act of forgiveness that is extra difficult. A sin you need to surrender. A wound you need to heal. A commitment you should make. Whatever it is, I urge you to take action. Take a step. Lean in! No matter how painful it might be. How scary it might seem. How overwhelmed you might feel. Take action. Take a step. Lean in!
As for me, I can see clearly now; my stye is gone! I hope you can say the same soon.
“You are so much more than the worst thing you’ve ever done.”
— Father Gregory Boyles, Founder of Homeboy Industries
I think we all need to hear that every once in a while. When we fail, when we screw up, when we step out of bounds, outside of God’s will, it can feel as if we’re so dirty we can never be clean again. Most of us have mistakes in our lives that we repeat over and over. So, forget feeling bad about a one time offense. We’re constantly in repentance mode. This time it’s for real!
But no matter what you’ve done, where you are, or how you got there, this is true. In God’s eyes, you (and me) are so much more.
There’s a fascinating medical reality facing many of us today called TOFI. Thin on the outside, fat on the inside. Scans have revealed that many people who have normal body weight are “carrying around hidden layers of fat. Stored up around vital organs, they can put outwardly healthy people at risk.” If that isn’t the perfect metaphor for many modern day Christians, I don’t know what is!
How many of us are walking around, looking all thin and healthy, while harboring affliction?
It reminds me of the passage from Matthew 23:25-26 – “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you cleanse the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of extortion and self-indulgence. Blind Pharisee, first cleanse the inside of the cup and dish, that the outside of them may be clean also.”
Continuing in verse 27, Jesus describes them as whitewashed tombs. Beautiful on the outside but housing dead men’s bones and all uncleanliness.
The most obvious truth here is that in our hypocrisy we create stumbling blocks for others who are outwardly in pain. We create and maintain the illusion that we are a-ok, that we’ve got our stuff together. This creates a horribly unsafe and unwelcoming environment.
But our hypocrisy also damages us as well. We walk around in denial. We look fine. Others tell us we’re “righteous” or that we’ve got it all together. While on the inside, we are full of dead men’s bones and all uncleanliness.” We’re obese in our own sin, placing our spiritual health in jeopardy.
I encourage you, as I’m encouraging myself. Stop the hypocrisy and step into the light. Let people in. Be transparent. Be real. Be healed.
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