Deep Down We All Believe a Lie

What the lie is, necessarily depends on who we are.

There must be all varieties of lies built into our bone structure, our soft tissues, our vital organs. They are false things that we’ve always believed, even when they are the exact opposite of true.

A wise friend of mine who is a therapist told me that from her 30-year-perspective of helping people overcome their neuroses, almost everyone believes they aren’t good enough.

Or smart enough, or successful enough, or capable enough, or loved enough. The manner of being not enough depends on the individual.

My lie was peripherally like everyone else’s. I exposed it during that spiritual journey I’ve mentioned obliquely.

It was a lie I believed for so long, I’m not even sure when it started, but it certainly became more pronounced when I began raising children who have special needs.

This was my lie:

God is real and knows me, but He isn’t actually going to help me, because He is disappointed in my weakness. Essentially, God is distant.

Never mind how I uncovered my deep-seated belief which straight up wasn’t true. It surfaced independent of me, and I looked at it. Looking at it made it small and untrue.

I had for years pictured God shaking His head at my failed efforts. I thought of Him listening to my prayers and literally responding with an annoyed, “If you want it fixed, YOU figure it out.” Only I couldn’t, because my problems aren’t fixable, which created a self-perpetuating cycle of me feeling not smart enough and not strong enough—feeling I was outside God’s care. That He wouldn’t help me, and that He was disgusted with my inability to help myself.

That was my lie.

My wise friend also said, “If we could save ourselves, we wouldn’t need a Savior.”

I knew God loved me, but I didn’t believe He would help me.

But the layers of silt and bracken under which the lie was buried couldn’t protect it forever. The sadness and stupidness of my lie made it fester.

Ironically, it was God’s help that drew the lie about God refusing to help right out of me.

I began having dreams about the parts of my life which confound me. My dream life is vibrant now, with regular, visionary insights into a) what matters to God, and b) what He thinks I should know to face my life another day.

Dreams, people. They are washing my sleeping self with calm and understanding.

My daytime self is better, too, because my dreams exposed the cracks in the lie.

I don’t believe it anymore.



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