So, it�s 1:30 in the morning and I�m laying in bed, praying � because God can hear you anywhere and the whole being-on-your-knees thing isn�t the reason prayer works � and I�m running through all the reasons I don�t want to have God in my life�

So, I have to write it.

You see, it�s not that I don�t want God in my life because I do. But I�m embarrassed to have a relationship with Jesus. Why? Because I�m filled with guilt and shame. It�s so damned hard for me to rely on the one I KNOW loves me no matter what because I know that 1) I�m not worthy of His love and 2) I�ll never, ever, ever be worthy of His love. Not ever.

There is nothing I can do to earn the love of God. There is nothing I can do to earn or be worthy, of His grace and His attention. And that makes me feel like shit. Why? Because there is something inside me that says I can�t be good unless I�m the one being good.

*shakes her head* Okay, so that�s not the way I meant to say that� let me try again. With the light off.

I believe that God loves me. I believe that Jesus loves me. I believe that God will extend (does and has) His forgiveness, mercy and grace to me at every opportunity. I believe that. With most of my heart.

But there�s a part of me that�s so scared of the possibility that He won�t love me, that I do what I can to sabotage any chance of forgiveness.

I have a problem with stealing. Didn�t know that did you? I don�t mean that I go out and consciously look for places to steal stuff. I don�t break into houses and I almost never take something from someone else without their knowledge or tacit permission. But, I have a problem with stealing.

You see, when life starts getting good for me� when I start going the way God wants me to and things start to pick up around me� I have courage and peace and joy and start moving, happily, toward whichever goal I�ve set, I have to do something to fuck that up.

There have been a couple times when I really fucked up bad. Not like stealing tons of money from a bank or something, but there was a time when�� well, let me use a few examples from my own life.

When I was on Capitol Hill in Seattle, for school, there was a time when my life really sucked. I mean, it was really, really bad. Then, I started turning around. I started, slowly, returning to the path I was supposed to be walking all along. Because of my previous fuck ups I had no spending money. The part-time job I had at the school supplied exactly enough money for my rent, but that didn�t leave anything for food or entertainments.

At the time, I had an ATM card for the checking/savings account I had. There was no money in it at all, but I had the card. This was in the time when you could �deposit� money into your account, through the ATM and withdraw it at the same time. I thought that I�d like a little money to spend, so I went to the bank machine to do an experiment. I punched in the numbers saying that I was depositing one hundred bucks, slipped the empty envelope into the deposit thingy and then requested that same non-existent hundred bucks in the same session. I really didn�t think it would work. I was pretty sure that the machine would be able to tell that there wasn�t money in the deposit envelope, but I wanted to try it anyway. (I wasn�t yet 19).

I got a hundred bucks from the ATM. I was psyched. Woohoo, money. And hey, who knows, maybe somehow my wishing there was really money to deposit made money show up in the envelope by magic.

*shakes her head*

Life kept on going for another month or so� perhaps a month and a half� and I was again tired of being so poor that ramen would have been a feast� (there was a period of three full months where I ate four real meals (sandwich) and drank water as my source of sustenance. I did lose more than 30 pounds, but that�s what happens when you don�t eat but once every two weeks or so.) Erm, anyway� I was at the end of my rope once again and decided to try my �trick� a second time. I �knew� it wouldn�t work a second time, but I tried it anyway cause I was hungry. And stupid.

It worked a second time.

I had another hundred bucks. Of course, I was ignoring the letters from the bank. I didn�t even bother to open them.

Later� about another month or so down the line, I tried the �trick� a third time. This time, though, my brother was with me. I was showing off my little free money gig. Instead of spitting out the money� it stole my card.

I knew then that life as I�d known it was over. And, I took a major nose dive. I wore my guilt terribly. I got extremely depressed. I continued ignoring the letters from the bank until I opened one by accident. It said that they were going to call it an �overdraft�.

The shorter(ish) story is that I finally told my Mother about it and the parental units helped me deal with the bank people. They weren�t going to prosecute me. But I did have to pay back the money plus interest and fees. Turned out to be almost three hundred bucks, I think.

That was back more than 13 years ago. And I still can�t get an ATM card. If I had the money, in one lump sum, I could open a checking account, but I don�t think I�d even be able to get an ATM card then. *shrugs* I haven�t tried. And, true to form for me, I haven�t wanted to try. I�d rather avoid the risk than find out the truth.

I suppose, that�s the real focus of this whole diatribe.

I�m in another situation where I�d rather avoid the risk� perhaps disappear never to be seen again� than face the truth of the matter.

Before I get to that, though, I want to describe another instance.

You see, before Duncan and I got married, I was really, really scared. I didn�t really want to be marrying him. I didn�t understand, at the time, that that�s why I was scared. I just knew I didn�t like the situation I was in.

My subconscious understood that the last thing I wanted was to get married to him.

I�d been smoking for about six months by then. Duncan and I were in a grocery store a little less than a week before the wedding. I grabbed two packs of cigarettes, stuck them in my purse and pretended that nothing was amiss. Yet, when we got to the car, three of the store personnel followed us and �caught� me.

I was humiliated. I was beset with guilt. I was beset with shame. And I sat in that office, waiting for the police to arrive, knowing that I was going to be arrested and taken to jail and fingerprinted and mug shot and stuff. And Duncan was standing there, shaking his head at me asking my why I�d taken them, that if I�d wanted them that badly� he would have bought them. (probably the way God told David that if he�d wanted another wife God would have given him one.)

They didn�t take me to jail and the store never prosecuted. I had to pay a fine to the court and attend a consumer awareness class thing� it was kind of rough but to be honest, I got off really, really easy.

Yeah, the physical punishment was light� just like the thing with the bank.

But� the guilt� that ripped me apart inside. And I can still feel it today.

I�ve often thought about why I stole those smokes. We had the money to pay for them. Hell, I had the money in my purse. Why did I steal them?

Personally, I think I stole them because I didn�t want to get married and I couldn�t handle taking responsibility for my choice. I wanted the choice to be taken out of my hands. I wanted someone else to choose for me. If I were in jail, we couldn�t get married, could we?

I received tremendous (in my opinion) mercy. And I still refused to admit the truth, least of all to myself. Duncan asked me many times why I�d stolen the smokes. I couldn�t ever tell him because I didn�t know. There was absolutely no legitimate reason.