Anxiety, depression, a sense of doom.

G opened in prayer for any identities, inner conflicts, lie messages to be exposed and come to the front. "I bless you with a sense of joy and peace of the living God," he ended.

"I am surrounded with joy," I said dismally, "and can't take it in. I am in prison, I am shackled. I am poison to other people. I destroy them. My life is filled with love and joy but I can't connect to it. I have to be sober, proper, serious, narrow--. I don't have a right to joy."

"Ask God what is blocking it."

"I'm getting words like 'proper,' 'critic,' 'black clothes,' 'Puritan,' 'bonnet,' and 'pinched nose.' It may be a religious or legalistic spirit. My ancestors on my mother's side were Puritans."

G quoted Scripture: "The letter of the law brings death."

"We think we are more righteous, more vigilant ferreting out moral error than Christ. In His name, I renounce that! I renounce self-flagellation and self-condemnation--the gloomy despair of my great-grandmother as a child, writing her journal confessing how evil (and how depressed) she always was.

"Lord, you hand me bread to give others," I continued, "and I don't keep any for myself, even though there is plenty. I want to come home. I want to find my way home."

I told G about the vision I had years ago of Jesus giving a party for me. There was a long table with chairs around it. I could sit anywhere I liked and I could choose anyone I wanted to sit in the chairs. I chose to sit at one end. I had Jesus sit at the other. I told Him, "I'd like DK to be there. Not right beside me. A few chairs down." All the other chairs remained empty.

And the food? He asked.

"Steak. No, spaghetti."

Both steak and spaghetti appeared on the table--then, in response to my indecision, every other kind of food I like, lots of it. The table was covered with steaming dishes.

And presents? 

Now there were packages of all shapes and sizes around the food, piled higher and higher until--

"NO!" I had cried out in my vision. I got out of my chair, ran to the other end of the table and in tears threw my arms around His neck. "I ONLY WANT YOU!"

After describing this to G, I asked him, "Why do I reject myself when He doesn't reject me? I've shoved that hungry part of myself away. Why do I do that? Where did I get that message? I know it's because I'm afraid. Even if He offers me bread, I see myself, head hanging down, shaking it and saying, 'I can't. I can't.' Others are hungrier. I already have so much. I don't have a right to eat when they're dying from hunger. The food won't get to them. It will block their getting it.

What is the lie? "It's something about His sovereignty. We give to organizations that feed them but it's never enough! It doesn't seem fair. My depriving myself doesn't help them and my having enough (plenty) doesn't help them either."

What is the truth? G nailed it: "The poor you will have with you always."

"That's right, isn't it? Jesus said so."

G: There are not enough good things to go around--good jobs, water, food, housing. That's the way the world is designed this side of heaven. It's idealistic to believe resources can be more equitable--because of greed and human sinfulness. Only in the fullness of the kingdom will there be enough for everyone.

"That's true. I can pray for them. I can give money. But I can never feed them all, right? I can't be God. . . I can't understand why He's allowed that. But He does all things well. My depriving myself only makes Him sad. He wants everyone happy. If I let myself be happy at least there will be one more person happy."

G: I can pray. I can't be God. He has allowed it. I must accept it. He knows what He's doing.

"If it's true that there are millions who have none of the good things we have--and they're still going to hell, that's not fair."

G: Does He say it's fair?

"No, but He says it will ultimately be fair."

G: Where are your feelings coming from?

"I was like that even before I was a Christian. I heard the gospel and I thought, I have to let everyone else go through the door, urge them to, before I can go in--before I will go in.

"I feel like I don't have a right to call out for my mother in the night. Daddy tells her to let me cry. She picked me up once as a baby and shook me hard, in anger. 'Be quiet! BE QUIET!' (Not 'Don't cry!" That would have programmed me differently.)

"I am distributing food. Jesus breaks the bread and hands me chunk after chunk and I pass it on. If I stopped long enough to stuff a little of it in my own mouth I would choke on it. Why? Because it's not meant for me.
Others are hungrier than I am. I can wait. I want my mother but she is helping all my 'little friends,' as my grandmother called them. They all need her. I have 'ticket #1' for her attention, I know that. I don't tell myself I can't have her attention, I tell myself I can wait. My neediness is not as great as theirs and I choose to let them go ahead of me. Someday it will be my turn.

"But it never is.

"On the boat [I grew up on] my mother gave any extra food, the leftovers, to the men: my dad, brother and the three crewmen. I remember her asking who wanted thirds of spaghetti. I was still hungry, I hadn't even had seconds, I would have said yes. But she wasn't asking me. I don't deserve things men have a right to. I say 'It's okay, it's okay' when it's really not. It's okay that I don't get enough. I'm sad, I'm hungry. I feel left out."

"Ask the Lord if it's okay."

I ask and report, "He says, It's not okay. He says It wasn't okay that 99 sheep were happy. I went after the one that was unhappy. So I'm the little lost lamb? Even if it's my fault I got lost? Can you reach down that far, Lord? I'd like You to come get me if You don't mind. I'd like to be rescued.Will the other sheep mind if You leave them? Will they resent me?" I wait, listening. Then, "He says I can be in both places at once.

"Wow."

G (our time is up): I bless you, every fiber of your being, with an acceptance of the truth. God says, I have chosen you. I have rescued you. I have bought you out of the slave market, out of the kingdom of darkness, I have given you My name and character, My family. You are co-heirs with My son. I bless you with a profound sense of your value. Not only do you not deserve punishment, He was punished for you. He became sin for us. He took on Himself the wrath of God. There is no condemnation, no shame, blame, or guilt.


(Session of October 11? My dates seem confused.)