The Double-Edged Sword

Remember the song "He's still workin' on me?"

Alva, Oklahoma, 1995. My very first duet. I was eight.

"He's still workin' on me. To make me what I ought to be. It took Him just a week to make the moon and stars, the sun and the earth and Jupiter and Mars. How loving and patient He must be. He's still workin' on me."

This song continues to run through my mind as God continues to cultivate my heart.

This post is a bit more raw and honest than our previous posts, but it's what has been on my mind lately.

There is a fist-full of names I'm convicted about. A fist-full of names God won't take off my heart. I'm an English teacher with a head full of words, and I know just how to string a sentence together so that it becomes a double edged sword.

There was this high school teacher. He and I didn't see eye-to-eye, and he was kind of a jerk. And so I was a jerk back. I walked out the high school's doors, victorious in that teacher-student battle, thinking I'd done Haven High School a favor.

There were these girls. I liked them at first, but then I got to see their hearts. I stepped back. They stepped forward. I pulled out my word sword, and slashed them. I won another battle. And I gained two more scars.

There was this boss. I didn't agree with her work ethic. She was flaky, and I was mad. And so I said my peace, quit my job, and moved on to bigger and better things. And yet my heart broke for her because I had a moment to say something inspirational, something constructive, and I said something mean, albeit honest. More blood on my sword.

There was this co-worker. We had a foundational friendship, but she wore a holier-than-thou tiara. Instead of loving her despite her accessory, I borrowed that tiara, and donned it for myself as I pulled my word sword from its sheath.

Relationships I thought meant nothing, relationships I thought wouldn't haunt this heart of mine, seem to keep popping up in the farthest corners of my thoughts. I weep over them. I have nightmares. I sit. I ponder.

What battle am I fighting exactly?

God has placed such enormous conviction on me in the last month I can barely get through a day without my mind somehow settling on these wounds. With each battle, I convinced myself the flaws in others justified my words, my actions. And so I've become a slave to bitterness.

But God is slowly taking my wounded heart, and healing it. I'm reconnecting. Apologizing. Mending relationships. I've thought "What a beautiful gift, Lord!"

I was excited over this new conviction, until I contacted that teacher a few days ago. The one I thought was a jerk. The one I started my practice of sword slashing on. That battle has been the most difficult to face. And it's been the most difficult to recover from. My first battle won was the last one I decided to tackle.

And he doesn't want a thing to with me, and he doesn't want to hear my words.

All these years, I've thought about the injustice he caused me. I made excuses for my bitterness because I decided a long time ago HE was the reason I had to speak out. Someone needed to put him in his place, so I did. My 18-year-old mouth shot daggers, and I thought I was a hero.

But I am no hero, as it turns out. I'm actually the cause for HIS bitterness. And he doesn't forgive me.

Regardless of conviction, I can't fix every relationship I've wounded. Because of my words---my mouth---I have to live the rest of my life knowing this teacher does not forgive me. I hurt him so deeply he can hardly acknowledge me.

And so I've misrepresented the Savior's face to one of His lost sheep.

I am ever grateful He's still working on me, because some days, it seems I'll never quite grasp what it truly means to be "what I ought to be." I feel as though almost any other woman should be blessed with being Josh's wife, because I am no pastor's wife. I make life messy, and I take these great gifts of passion and justice, these awesome traits God has instilled in me, and I muck life up. I turn passion into harshness, and justice into illegitimate action.

As a dear friend of mine says, "Every good trait has a shadow-side if used incorrectly."

And so these are mine, my shadow-sides, and I am painfully aware of their existence as I continue to patch wounds inflicted by my sword.