The truth shall set you free

Woke up to a Monday drenched by rain, sounds, volume and all. The road was already saturated with pools of water while the sky continued to weep for a beginning of another week. Driving was treacherous despite of the extra effort from both driver and my less than 6-month old cross-over. The 2-block walk to the office, however, proved to be even more perilous. No rain gear could have saved me as the road sat lost from the overnight downpour. By the time I treaded to the office, I was helplessly soaked. While I tried to dry myself under the blanket in my wet jeans and socks, my colleagues came in later, all mysteriously dry and unharmed – their umbrellas worked fine and the water obviously had been parted for their sake.

The weather forecast had warned us of the rain after a cooler yet dry weekend. There was no hint of rain Sunday evening as I lingered outside, seduced by the sweet breeze moving across the greening lawn, the golden daffodils and the pale sky. I was almost in a state of contentment, had I not been preoccupied somewhat. A day later, I found myself struggling still, not with the raining irony but with the Saturday’s conversation with my good friend.

It had been a few months since we talked. I decided to call her while I was doing my weekly shopping. Conversation with my sweet friend is always comforting as if the 600+ miles of distance and 2+ years of separation never exist. We happily exchanged updates on family, church and life. Like all girl-talks, this one took its random course and somehow landed on some soul-bearing topic as I shared with her my struggle between the roles of a mother and child of God. Waging between the carnal and spiritual natures, I am no exception from this predicament keeping my faith in the war zone. My turmoil, however, is not only in its secrecy but also in shame and guilt. The Calvinistic belief teaches me to submit to whatever outcomes, agreeable or not, that my Maker permits. The knowledge is there, and yet we all know that the heart tarries to follow suit. When it comes to the conflict of interests between that belief and the welfare of her children, such wrestle is double or triple folds in every aspect. The same preaching on “trusting God” becomes irrelevant and painstaking if it involves her children, in my case, her lesser children. What’s worse is that my heart comdemns as much as it pains.

So there I was, disclosing to my good friend of this inner-most ferment, hoping to find some solace from outside of my secret world of disgrace. Nearly 10 years of my junior, she is probably 10 times more mature in her faith, love and grace. I had not planned on communion on this topic, knowing already what my friend in her candid and motherly nature would say or lecture. Somehow the confession went forth regardless of my better judgment. Yet, how many times do we share for the sake of guidance instead of a sympathetic ear? Unfortunately as any godly friend would do, she immediately pointed out my sins embedded underneath my self-pity: my pride, the lack of forgiveness and communion with God. Every single word proved to be true and justified, but none that I wanted – how surprising – or needed right then. I had no case but could not withstand it either. I finally stopped her. A kind and forgiving friend, she let me have it about my excuses, but whether I convinced her or not I would not know. When our phone call ended, the questions popped up and lingered on: Did my sin more there for not wanting the truth? As necessary as it is, is there timing and room of grace for truth? I know well that my prideful nature abhors truth when it convicts, but I also remember the liberation it brings when I am ready for it. There have been plenty of times when truth was disclosed by many others and brought its intended healing to my lost vision and soul. Somehow, it does not necessarily depend on the deliverers’ words but rather the receivers’ hearts, which must be pre-conditioned by a Supreme power that has waited, pursued and reclaimed. It was so with the very first conviction, and every time after that. The difference lies in that the confrontation has always been paired with perfect timing and perfect love.

Rain continues to fall. There hang the windows was a pane of gloom and pitch darkness. It is not going to clear up any time soon. I am, however, dry and warm now. Contrary to the storm outside, the light seems to be shining through the clouds within me. Yes, the truth has come. In fact, it has always been there inside of my wounded heart. Regardless of how it was redelivered, I doubt not its full capacity to once again reveal, settle and, in due time, set me free.