Disqualified
A post on choices when you feel disqualified.
I went through something this past year. Scratch that. I've been going through something for a few years that has been so excruciatingly painful that it has rocked me to brokenness. It has undone me. And along with the shame, sadness, and hurt that was born out of this experience, it also made me feel thrown away. The past few months have been about fighting against a few lies that have come from the trauma of loss:
“I don't matter. I'm not good enough. I don't get good things. God doesn't care about what matters to me. I should resolve to be sad. I shouldn't have any expectations. Good isn't for me. I am not lovable. No one cares about me.”
You saw one of these lies written twice. The lies we tell ourselves can be said in different ways. Beware, as these lies can become core messages that shape and inform our future choices. And the enemy is banking on this, as the Word says that he comes to “steal, kill, and destroy” us (John 10:10). One of the ways he does this is by getting us to believe the lie. The theme of all the lies I've told myself is “You're disqualified.” I dared to hope, and I was made a fool. I dared to believe, and I was betrayed. I must not be deserving of good things.
These are all lies, but they have been circling in my mind like vultures waiting for me to die. Many nights have been spent sobbing, and many days have been lived in a zombie state. I've been trying to reconcile my pain. I've been trying to understand why I had to endure something so soul-crushing. What did I do to deserve this? What is my responsibility in this hurt? Even as I write this, I'm not on the other side of this season of questioning, and indeed, I'm not yet healed from the pain. But I write to share what the Holy Spirit is saying within my spirit —that is, we don't “begin” renewal at the end of our pain. God calls the process of maturing in Him a “refining fire” for a reason (Zechariah 13:9). In the burning of the dead, fire purifies what doesn't burn up— the gold within.
That part may not come as a surprise to you as a believer. That “working things together for our good…” implies that He weaves something from the good and bad of your life into His plan (Romans 8:28). What amazes me, however, is that I still have a choice in all of it. I can choose to believe the lie, or I can work out my faith.
The concept of working out my faith is akin to working out at the gym. One does cardio or lifts weights to strengthen their muscles and heart. For athletes, this discipline prepares the body to perform in the arena, so it's not shocked and has the endurance to push harder when the muscles and heart are taxed. Our faith is the same.
In the gym of life, it would be easier to think there isn't anything good for me after being crushed by disappointment. And frankly, there have been moments and dark days when this has been the place where I wallowed. But His mercies are new every morning, and the choice is still available to rebuke the lie ( Lamentations 3:22-23). So, I pump iron through the choice to pray. I run towards the choice to worship. I squat in the choice to read my Bible. And I recover from the stretching choice to call my friends and family with vulnerability about how well I am not doing, for encouragement.
I could choose to believe the lie that God doesn't care. I could believe the lie that no one loves me. I could allow myself to spiral into the darkness of “Well if all of this is true…then what purpose or meaning does my life have?” But then there's a still, small voice, something in me that even among the noise knows this isn't true. So I've called a friend. I've been going to therapy. I've screamed some of my prayers. I drag myself to church. It's been a season filled with evidence of God's mercy, and candidly, I haven't walked it out gracefully. I've been in the fire. My absolute worst nightmare came true. And yet, the lies remain untrue.
Through the powerlessness that betrayal, rejection, and abandonment have led me to feel, I am reminded that I still have a choice. I could believe the lie. Or, I can write. I can love. I can do my job well. I can serve at my church joyfully. I can encourage my friends sacrificially. For me, this excruciatingly painful season in my life made me want to hide away and threatened to stop me from being who I am in Christ. God has gifted me to encourage others with words. It just seeps out even when I'm not trying. He has gifted you, too. And however your giftings show up, they are there to bless and encourage someone else.
Whatever has happened, God wants you to choose his best and trust him even when everything is going wrong. He wants you to work out your faith. Have doubt. Cry. Scream. Sometimes, even wallow. But don't live there. Call your friend when you need help to hear the truth. Turn on some music to worship. Whether you're whispering or screaming to God, pray.
God's gifts and His call are irrevocable (Romans 11:29). Who we are to Him doesn't change, no matter what we've done or what was done to us. There's nothing that can disqualify us from who God has made us to be. Don't let your faith extinguish; instead, choose to let the fire refine you. It's not a graceful process. It's certainly not easy. But when it's all said and done, I want the blessings that come from seeking God's face, not His hand (Psalms 105:4). I want an unshakable faith and a relationship with Him so intimate that the disappointment and fallenness of this world cannot undo me. I can choose this or disqualify myself from what God has for me by believing a lie. You have the same choice. Choose well.
In this harrowing season of upending, two scriptures have been an anchor for me:
Psalms 34:18 – The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
Lamentations 3:19 - God is not human, that he should lie, not a human being, that he should change his mind. Does he speak and then not act? Does he promise and not fulfill?
I love you. Most importantly, God loves you. Be encouraged.