Memoirs - 28/4/21

I am here, laying down as I pen these words on a quiet evening. The skies are cloudy and a soft light is resting itself upon my face through my window. The soft light has created in my heart a deep feeling of melancholy. Solemn thoughts of my father are beginning to penetrate me; solemn thoughts of myself are beginning to penetrate me.

I have been laying here for some time in deep contemplation. I am thinking about my father, I am thinking about myself, I am thinking about us.

The thoughts of my father inspire a feeling of profound gratitude, so much so that I find it hard not to feel indebted to him. Sometimes I really wonder if i'm truly passionate about him or if I am a man who is trying to pay off a debt.

Grace..

How can the carnal mind understand it? What does a man like me know about love without strings? If I told you I was not terrified of my father's love I would be lying. It terrifies me not because there is anything to be scared of, it terrifies me because my idea of love is warped and broken and I sometimes project my own brokenness on my father.

Some days I roll in my bed and search deeply in my soul for his presence. "My father, are you still here? Are you still here with me?". Almost as though a part of me is expecting him to up and leave. It is hard to believe one is loved after one has seen the contents of their own heart.

When we look deep into our souls and discover the areas we are unlovable, we find it very difficult to love ourselves; we find it very difficult to believe another can love us.

Hmmm.. little do we know that the places we begin to understand how unlovable we are, are the very places we can begin to understand the value of the father's love.

The lover of the 'unlovables'. Love only has value in the presence of something not easily loved.

The thoughts of my father inspire a feeling of profound courage and peace but the thoughts of myself inspire fear and worry. I have seen myself without my father, I have seen my miserable self when I have forgotten my father. There is plenty to be afraid of, there is plenty to worry about.

So I am laying here in deep contemplation. My father is ministering to me as I write, my soul is being nourished and he is reminding me of his presence; he is reminding me of how we began. We began in love, deep love, burning love.

A love that penetrated me so deeply that it confused me how someone could love a faulty fellow like me. It confused me, but I think I am beginning to understand. I get glimpses of understanding when I am able to find something to love in something unlovable.

For a moment I pause and ask myself "Is this how my father feels when he is loving me?".

Love is something that I have come to understand can only be known in the process of giving it. It is only what one has that one can give. Love is not known in receiving it, it is known in giving it.

Sometimes the last person we give this love to is ourselves; sometimes the last person we give this grace to is ourselves; sometimes the last person we give this mercy to is ourselves.

When we extend no grace to ourselves, when we extend no mercy to ourselves, sooner or later we cease to extend it to others. You are your neighbor and your neighbor is you. How we treat our neighbor is an extension of how we treat ourselves.

My father is ministering to me as I am laying here in contemplation. He is reminding me that I am enough for him. I ask him why and he says "because...". I think I understand what he means.

Every man is a blank cheque and we limit ourselves when we put a number on it. I, who am enough, is not the 'I' that believes himself to be kind or cruel, not the 'I' that believes himself to be selfish or benevolent. All these are limitations, temporary identities. There is an 'I' in us that is far older, there is an I in us that in longer lasting, there is an 'I' in us that is eternal.

This 'I' is God himself and this is what the father looks for when he looks at me. It is what he looks for when he looks at you. Beneath all the chaos in my soul, beneath all the dirt and all the noise, there still is something pure and pristine; something untainted; something virginal.

It is a light, it is a beauty, it is worth fighting for.

The father sees it, my father sees it. He sees his reflection in me. He loves me until I start to see it too. No one fights when there is no hope. For there to be hope, there must be sight of some victory in the horizon. We give up on ourselves when we lose sight of this victory, this glory, this spark of the divine within us.

God loves us, fights for us, until we begin to fight for ourselves; he believes in us until we begin to believe in ourselves. A belief in ourself that is inclusive of him. As beautiful as a car might be, without fuel, it goes nowhere. He fights for us until we begin to believe in ourselves in him; until we begin to see that he wasn't just gambling by loving us but it was a sure bet.

There is something the father sees in us that makes him willing to risk it all. There is something my father sees in me. As flawed as I am he believes in me, he has hope in me. So much hope that I am starting to believe in myself. I am starting to believe in myself in him, with him and through him.

"It has always been 'you & I'" he says. "You are me and I am you, for WE ARE" he says. There were always two, two that are really one. I have never been alone, you have never been alone.

There are two. Two that are one.

Do you feel the faith rising? It is the voice of the eternal father now speaking to you and I. He is giving us both strength and courage. He is giving us both zeal and audacity, an audacity of hope. He believes in you, he believes in us. So now, we will dare to believe in ourselves with him. I will dare to believe in myself with him.

Say it to yourself: "I will dare to believe in myself with him".

Say it once more...

The lover of the unlovables. He loves us from fear into boldness; from shame into confidence; from ugliness into beauty. Do you already feel his love changing you? It is happening right now. Believe it, embrace it, hold onto it.

Your brother and friend, El Shakar.