There used to be so much open chastisement from some really questionable sources about "lone-wolf" Christians.
My dad used to say that was me--the lone wolf.
When I was a kid, he told me I was the lone wolf in our family. He compared my siblings to other animals. Powerful eagle, soaring above. Noble horse, pressing through. Indomitable bear, overcoming. But he told me I was the lone wolf. Whatever that means. But I felt sure it was true.
And I carried it into adulthood. That designation. Not as though it wasn't rightful, I thought. Though I never talked about it, at length. Still haven't, actually, because this isn't talking. And it's not at length--still somewhat in passing. And this is writing in comparative isolation--a place where few tread. Although I keep praying about creating an entirely, entirely anonymous blog somewhere else, again. As to benefit from the ability to publicly process the things going on--an acknowledged possibility: the benefits gained per writing "publicly" still present, but undeterred ability to discuss all the matters pressing by potential for being scrutinized by anyone known utterly deflected...so able to write even more freely, gain more benefit. So, perhaps. May do. But not right now. This place, particular, would more rather be kept toward matters which specifically glorify the works of God, in some fashion and provide testament to His ongoing faithfulness. Even when in the midst of darkness, then still to speak of light.
My dad used to say that was me--the lone wolf.
When I was a kid, he told me I was the lone wolf in our family. He compared my siblings to other animals. Powerful eagle, soaring above. Noble horse, pressing through. Indomitable bear, overcoming. But he told me I was the lone wolf. Whatever that means. But I felt sure it was true.
And I carried it into adulthood. That designation. Not as though it wasn't rightful, I thought. Though I never talked about it, at length. Still haven't, actually, because this isn't talking. And it's not at length--still somewhat in passing. And this is writing in comparative isolation--a place where few tread. Although I keep praying about creating an entirely, entirely anonymous blog somewhere else, again. As to benefit from the ability to publicly process the things going on--an acknowledged possibility: the benefits gained per writing "publicly" still present, but undeterred ability to discuss all the matters pressing by potential for being scrutinized by anyone known utterly deflected...so able to write even more freely, gain more benefit. So, perhaps. May do. But not right now. This place, particular, would more rather be kept toward matters which specifically glorify the works of God, in some fashion and provide testament to His ongoing faithfulness. Even when in the midst of darkness, then still to speak of light.
The lone wolf-thing, though. Again and again, that's surfaced as an accusation since coming to the church. And even more so since submitting to Christ, receiving salvation.
It hurts, now. I don't feel like a lone wolf, anymore. But I don't quite feel like I fit in with the other sheep, either. Like a sickly sheep that doesn't quite keep up...a straggler, abandoned. An orphaned sheep, thus sickly from birth, as without nurse, protector, or instructor.
The other part of prior considerations, opposite feeling the lone wolf was seeming like the "black sheep" of my own family--having refused to give in to all the pressures and striking out into the world on my own to gain freedom from the emotional manipulations and the lingering pains of abandonment. Yet even becoming one of Christ's fold, now, I still don't feel as though I fit in well or have much a place with the other sheep.
Like I really am an ungainly, sickly creature that needs to be kept just far enough from the rest that disorder doesn't spread. Like He found me orphaned in the wild--somehow surviving yet unsocialized, unwell, and become unruly per bad habits developed in isolation and under dire stress. That would make for greater requirement of the shepherd's attentions, as being so unwell, unlearned, unprotected, unsocialized. All that much less acceptable to the flock because of the inability to maintain normal step alongside. Needing much rehabilitation.
And so many coyotes and wolves have nipped my heels I don't at all respond well to the best intentions of sheepdogs, or even other sheep, now.
The shepherd I trust--given years of patient, attentive, intensive, private care--but he's having to train me in being able to interact at all, otherwise. As not to injure myself or others, having developed some really nasty habits and tendencies in relative isolation. Which is not even to mention otherwise endangerment of myself, per the all of tendency to be oblivious to surroundings (no small miracle I survived prior to the shepherd's adoption).
I'm like an utterly oblivious, foolish sheep forever mindlessly nibbling nightshade and walking heedless off cliffs and running happily into flood waters and becoming mired in alligator bogs and cornered by ravening coyotes and ensnared in brambles which conceal copperheads. Constantly sick and injured and endangered and in peril...regardless of attempts to follow along with the rest, still it happens again and again. While it seems as though others tend to periodic amass burrs in their wool or rocks in their hooves, I become partially distracted for a split second only to discover my life is imperiled, yet again.
Perspective is so weird, though. Probably everyone feels this way, realistically.
The other part of prior considerations, opposite feeling the lone wolf was seeming like the "black sheep" of my own family--having refused to give in to all the pressures and striking out into the world on my own to gain freedom from the emotional manipulations and the lingering pains of abandonment. Yet even becoming one of Christ's fold, now, I still don't feel as though I fit in well or have much a place with the other sheep.
Like I really am an ungainly, sickly creature that needs to be kept just far enough from the rest that disorder doesn't spread. Like He found me orphaned in the wild--somehow surviving yet unsocialized, unwell, and become unruly per bad habits developed in isolation and under dire stress. That would make for greater requirement of the shepherd's attentions, as being so unwell, unlearned, unprotected, unsocialized. All that much less acceptable to the flock because of the inability to maintain normal step alongside. Needing much rehabilitation.
And so many coyotes and wolves have nipped my heels I don't at all respond well to the best intentions of sheepdogs, or even other sheep, now.
The shepherd I trust--given years of patient, attentive, intensive, private care--but he's having to train me in being able to interact at all, otherwise. As not to injure myself or others, having developed some really nasty habits and tendencies in relative isolation. Which is not even to mention otherwise endangerment of myself, per the all of tendency to be oblivious to surroundings (no small miracle I survived prior to the shepherd's adoption).
I'm like an utterly oblivious, foolish sheep forever mindlessly nibbling nightshade and walking heedless off cliffs and running happily into flood waters and becoming mired in alligator bogs and cornered by ravening coyotes and ensnared in brambles which conceal copperheads. Constantly sick and injured and endangered and in peril...regardless of attempts to follow along with the rest, still it happens again and again. While it seems as though others tend to periodic amass burrs in their wool or rocks in their hooves, I become partially distracted for a split second only to discover my life is imperiled, yet again.
Perspective is so weird, though. Probably everyone feels this way, realistically.
But there's such a sense of being unable to be alongside. And I despair of it, regularly. But unless the Lord makes a way, any attempt to walk alongside someone...anyone else...continually and in a way which constitutes intimate fellowship, as not being "alone" anymore...is continually destructive. Doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying. I haven't ever stopped trying. All my life.
Having efforts blow up in my face, again and again, certainly doesn't help. Regardless, the Lord doesn't call us to walk alone. So, I won't stop pursuing intimate fellowship.
Though the further along I go with hope and with effort--especially as each successive hope for intimate fellowship is more hopeful and thus more grievously dashed--the more painful and difficult it is to try.
I will trust the Lord, though. He'll continue to lead. And if that only ever means brief periods of consistent close fellowship before being shut out and cut off and rejected...again and again. And again. Then I'll accept the grief of the loss, each time, and continue to entrust my heart to Him, let Him help me bear the pain, and keep trying.
Same as ever. Only now, at least, with Christ as my shepherd...being alone isn't being alone.
When I'm too wounded to walk, He carries me through. So even through pain, I'll still rejoice to be nearer Him, evermore.
Having efforts blow up in my face, again and again, certainly doesn't help. Regardless, the Lord doesn't call us to walk alone. So, I won't stop pursuing intimate fellowship.
Though the further along I go with hope and with effort--especially as each successive hope for intimate fellowship is more hopeful and thus more grievously dashed--the more painful and difficult it is to try.
I will trust the Lord, though. He'll continue to lead. And if that only ever means brief periods of consistent close fellowship before being shut out and cut off and rejected...again and again. And again. Then I'll accept the grief of the loss, each time, and continue to entrust my heart to Him, let Him help me bear the pain, and keep trying.
Same as ever. Only now, at least, with Christ as my shepherd...being alone isn't being alone.
When I'm too wounded to walk, He carries me through. So even through pain, I'll still rejoice to be nearer Him, evermore.
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