Many years ago when I was involved in a home Bible study, one of the attendees had a past that I had only ever encountered on the written page. Let it suffice to say that she had an immeasurably challenging childhood that resulted in an immeasurably damaged and dysfunctional marriage. She appeared to be a “tough customer,” caustic and hostile. Most folks were a little afraid of her; even our own pastor’s wife handed her off to me. Everyone saw the rough exterior, but I saw a needy child who knew where her help came from. Always at Bible studies and worship on Sundays, she knew the church was her family. She was also the boldest sharer of Jesus I’d ever met.
As time went on, she and I were spending more time together in faith-bolstering conversations, Bible study, prayer, and long phone conversations. I frequently bailed her out when her husband mistreated her. I was the first person she’d ever told about her past sexual abuse. I was her best friend, the one and only that she confided in. Little did I know I was on a perilous path.
At some point (and I don’t know when), I’d become her savior. I loved being admired, valued, and needed. She loved having “Jesus with skin on.” That year when I left for vacation, she was distressed, and I departed fearing she might do something drastic without me around.
I had entered into this relationship with the best intentions and ended up ensnared in something far beyond my ability to fix. I praise God that he saw the mess, got out his trusty shepherd’s hook, and dragged me back to his path of righteousness. He knows how I like to haunt bookstores, so the rescue started there with a random book pulled off a random shelf and opened to a random page. What I saw there made my stomach drop: an eerily accurate description of this relationship, hell-bent for destruction. What in the world had gone wrong? Although I didn’t know what to do, God did.
While reading Ephesians 6 about the armor of God, I began to see what vulnerable spot the enemy pounced on. Instead of putting on the body armor of Christ’s righteousness, I was blindly and proudly intent on building a righteousness of my own. Rather than be an integrated part of Christ’s body, I set out to be the part: the part who wasn’t afraid to befriend the scary lady. The part who’d made a difference when no one else dared. The part who pulled off a major rescue mission. While believing I was pointing her to Jesus, in reality I was drawing her attention to me.
I thank God for getting my attention with that random book and random page, which in hindsight were providential. I thank God for prayer-warring sisters. I thank God for the sister who saw the panic and terror in me and said, “Relax, Aleta, God has this.”
After sending my friend a note asking for her understanding about why we couldn’t keep on, I endured weeks of angry responses, stalking, and relational stress. But I inexplicably woke up one sunny morning and all the angst, stress, and fear were gone. Peace was palpable. Poof! I was free. She was okay. Jesus had won it.
It was one of the scariest episodes of my Christian life, yet I experienced God in fresh ways. I learned that our dear Father is always attentive to his sheep, even when they are clueless (Psalm 86:6). I began to love the shepherd’s hook (Psalm 23). Pride became a terror to me, and I pray to recognize it as enemy number one (Psalm 36:11). God showed me the wisdom and protection of community (Galatians 6:2). And I committed to guard against the deception of self-righteousness (Galatians 6:3).
I thank God for this painful lesson. He pursued me to love me then, and will do so in the future. He is a prayer-answering, rescuing, enemy-thwarting Savior and Lover of my Soul, so worthy of all praise.
