“Money is the root of all evil,” we heard someone, somewhere say. For years perhaps, we just assumed they were right and that must be what the Bible says cuz they said it so loud and authoritatively. But, as we began to curiously research the topic when we got mature enough to care, we found that so often is misquoted, bent, and reshaped the very Word we were warned against even attempting to change.

“For the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil. And some people, craving money, have wandered from the true faith and pierced themselves with many sorrows.” (1 Timothy 6:10 NLT) is what it actually says. BIG difference.

Now before you go clicking away to another post or site, this post is NOT about money. But I use this scriptural text to point out that the love of something, anything, that isn’t necessarily a sin, can become a sin when we love it so much that it causes us to wander away from true faith.

I read a quote that literally change my entire thought process and caused me to stop and think very hard…and then write my thoughts and the things I felt God was sharing with me.

“Every sin is an attempt to fly from emptiness.”

~ Simone Weil ~

I mean….WOW!! Read it again, and again, and again, until it sinks right into your spirit. Think of every sin you’ve ever committed and insert the name of that sin into that sentence. _________ was my attempt to fly from emptiness. See what I mean?

Now I am also a believer of a thought God dropped into my spirit some time ago. I believe that ingratitude is actually the root of all sin. And I believe that’s why God hates it so.

In life, we see and we experience earth-shattering trauma and devastating disaster and agonizing grief that leaves us with questions like: Can there be a God? If there is a Good God, then why do such bad things happen? And when these bad things happen, where is that Good God? Where is Good God when daddies die, and children hurt, and marriages fall apart, and hearts break? Where is Good God?

And amidst all that pain, all while reeling in angst, trying to catch our balance before we plummet right into that pit of depression that’s waiting for us like the bellman insisting to carry your luggage for tips, we hear the enemy’s eternal motto in our already fuzzy, dazed brain: “God is not good,” he suggests. This is the headline of all his articles, the punchline of all his jokes, the hookline of every song he’s ever written, the theme at all his conferences. And somehow, between grabbing our heart in deathly disbelief at the news, and looking in the rearview mirror for the last time leaving the graveyard…his words seem to maybe, possibly, perhaps make sense. And the death-defying dance to the tune of bitterness begins.

While trying to meditate on his goodness like a good girl, bad thoughts like: But if he did love me, why would he take stuff I love? And if he really was my Father, why does he withhold stuff I want?” begin to dart back and forth recklessly from left to right, across my exhausted cerebrum, and before I can collect my facts to debate them I feel the heavy weights begin to fall one by one. The assumption that: He’s probably good to others, just not bad people like me…and He loves others, just not unworthy people like me…takes the wheel and we begin the journey to Misery Land. (It’s kinda like Disney Land, except the rides have different names like: Bitter Tea Cup, Hate Mountain, It’s A Sad World Afterall, Matterhorn Mad Sleds)

Looking across that incredibly vast and perfect garden, she realized, This is just not nearly enough. The tree with the knowledge, that’s the one I want. That’s the one I crave. That’s the one I love. That’s the one I need. And she meandered just off True Faith Avenue far enough to grab it.

We look across the vast garden of a blessed life, and think, This is just not enough. I desire more. He has stolen what belonged to me: paradise, bliss, happiness, delight, perfect marriage, perfect kids, perfect health, a father, a mother, a child. Without so much as a struggle, discontentment enters the guest room we had prepared for peace. We don’t realize it, and even if we did, we’d never admit it, but the seed of ingratitude just broke ground.

The muddy tug-of-war, between feeling guilty for the thoughts and feeling slighted for the loss, is tumultuous to say the least. Drained and spent, we fall headlong into the dirty pit of shame. We don’t fully “backslide”, because that is socially unacceptable. Instead, we accept the notion that God loves…just not good girls with bad thoughts. We worship…we just don’t feel worthy. We pray…we just don’t feel heard. I mean, afterall….how could a Good God love such a bad girl.

And we repeat the Eve Broadway Production again and again.

Satan wanted more. Eve wanted more. It is ingratitude of the highest degree. We can see it so clearly. How ungrateful was Lucifer and Adam and Eve. After all God had blessed them with, they still wanted more. We are appalled at their lack of appreciation.

But wait…isn’t that the very root of all my sins? Surrounded by blessings and goodness, did I not allow myself to fully focus on the one thing He took? Am I too blinded by my painful self-absorption to recognize that I too thought God made mistakes? Did I not allow the demoralizing loss of one thing to rob me of my view of all the wonders He left me with? I did.

If we could amble out to the old rusty tin tool shed and find that shovel, the one we hardly ever use anymore, especially after all the raw, throbbing blisters it left last time. And use it to dig up the root of every sin we’ve ever committed in our lives, I think we would find displeasure, dissatisfaction, and discontentment with what God gives us versus what we think we deserve.

Shocked at how that truth just hit you? I know, so was I.

I don’t think it’s something we choose on purpose. Neither is low self-esteem, or rejection, feelings of unworthiness, shame, guilt, distrust, emptiness…and the list goes on. But these are simply products and by-products of believing that demonic aphorism, “God is not good. God can’t love me.”

Some try to drink the pain of an unjust God away, some use drugs to make them incoherent enough to not care, some use sex as a momentary escape from the torment, others buy stuff, some lie. All in an attempt to fly from that emptiness that He did not even create.

The false assumption that whatever He took, or whatever He withheld is the very thing that could fill that emptiness is just that…false. But we meander off True Faith Avenue just far enough to eat the fruit we think will fill us, only to find ourselves agonizingly famished again before it’s even digested. Empty. The poison can be subtle at first, but make no mistake, it is deadly.

We continue to attend church services. We continue to play our part. Lifting hands that were deemed holy, we only see the dried crusty mud left behind from the tug-of-war. We lift our voices to sing the songs of His goodness, we only hear the crackled hoarseness from the screaming throat of our tormented soul. But we continue nonetheless, because we still believe…He’s good to some…He loves some…just not me. But who could blame Him, we reason.

The altar call is given, and we stand and speak our “Yes, Lord”…but we walk out of the Holy Place and live our “no.”

The bare naked truth is, losses can do that to a person. Big huge open gaping wounds can do that. One loss can altar an entire life. One wound can altar an entire life of learning and knowing. Once infected, they can even cause one to feel justified in their meandering.

If only He had meant for all the stuff to fill us. If only He’d created us in such a fashion that empty soul holes could be filled with shiny new things purchased at high-end department stores. If only He had made our thirst quenchable with magical elixirs he had shipped to us on schedule from Amazon. If only our aching hunger could be appeased by pretty cupcakes.   And if only our pain…deep throbbing pernicious pain…could be erased by human encounter.

But He did not.

In the plan, the stuff was just a means to an end. It was to create in us a resounding “thank you”…a spirit of unrelenting gratitude that leads us directly into communion with Him.

On one grief-stricken day, I wrote in my journal: “If I were God, I would have done things differently.” As soon as I saw the words sullenly and ungraciously scrawled on the page, my true spirit gasped for a breath of true light. And as if He knew that one breath would be the very one I would need to survive another day, He indeed breathed it right into my soul’s lungs, and the revelation came instantaneously…”But if you were God, and you had done things differently, do you know for sure how it would have turned out in the end? Do you know for sure how the story would have ended in your version?” My nearly inaudible reply, “I do not.”

So my enlightened conclusion became: There are things that happen in life that I will never fully understand, and I don’t have to. Understanding why is not vital in my role as His child. Trusting, however, is. And when I trust Him…I trust His heart…I trust His intent.

Knowing He has my best interest at heart, I sift through the debris of shattered fragments of dreams and hearts for lessons I am to learn. I work to reposition the huge, heavy weights of the wreckage and uncover the fact that I am stronger now. I rummage amidst what’s left, to unearth His plan for what’s next. I rub the red hot tears from blurred, weary eyes only to discover a new revelation of who He really is.

It is here, I see God. Him…the love I craved. The acceptance that mattered. The presence that drives out loneliness and fills emptiness. Him. We commune at last.

The grand finale of it all…He wraps me in a soft blanket called mercy…He pours a warm oil upon me that heals…He kisses me on the forehead ever so gently and whispers, “Now, this is what grace feels like.”

I saw God through my tears. I found Him in my pain. In the open wounds of a broken heart, He revealed Himself to me. Would I change that? No. I would not.