The Wrestle

Today is Yom Kippur.

The Day of Atonement.

It is the culmination of the Ten Days of Awe, which began with Rosh Hashanah—also known as Yom Teruah, the Feast of Trumpets. If you remember last year’s blog, What Kind of Person?, you know that repentance is the centerpiece of these feasts.

I love when the Lord leads me down rabbit trails. It keeps things interesting. And, well, if you’ve never been on a wild goose chase with Him, I personally think you’re missing out. But good news—I’m gonna take you along for one of mine.

I have been in church my entire life. Most of it, I would say, was really just me trying to learn how to appease The Bully. (AKA: Religion)

Yes, we are continuing The Question conversation. Buckle up, buttercup.

I actually remember the first time I felt like I truly met the different Person. The Person of Jesus.

I was honestly a little caught off guard by Him. The truth is, it wasn’t that I had never had an encounter with Him. It was more so that the Bully seemed to stand in between Him and me most of the time. The Bully was louder and a whole lot more demanding. So it was hard to make out what the real Jesus was actually saying when the Bully, in his overbearing, booming voice, was also pretending to be His interpreter to me.

I was a “good” girl growing up. I never did drugs. I literally didn’t drink until I was 21. I didn’t sleep around, or honestly, really date at all. I had my own struggles, but fear was what really stole the show in my inner world.

I was terrified of missing out on what God had for me. My thoughts constantly surrounded the idea that if I messed up too many times, God was going to be done with me forever. So when I “sinned,” the guilt and shame were so heavy that I felt almost spiritually paralyzed for at least a full 24 hours.

But this was my punishment, I thought. This was the consequence of my mistakes.

I would rationalize it by echoing the words I heard over and over: Sin separates me from God. Therefore, because I sinned I deserved to feel far away from God. Then I would sit myself down, journal my heart out, and do every spiritual discipline I could think of to “make it right” and “get back to God.”

And youth conferences? Yeah, I was always the girl rededicating her life to Jesus for the umpteenth time.

All of this to say, The Bully had personally seen to it that fear was my closest companion.

So what finally shut him up?

What finally loosened his hold and brought down the altars of shame he had built up within my heart?

I… tragically… and epically… failed.

I’m not afraid to share this part of my story. But I will say that the details of it are irrelevant now. I used to sit for hours with people, feeling the need to prove or explain myself. But over time, walking with the right Person, none of that mattered anymore. I only share so I can share Who I learned Him to be.

I found myself lost in an inappropriate relationship. Very stuck, and I knew it. I will be the first to admit there was a hint of rebellion underneath my actions. I was struggling with singleness. No shocker there. And the enemy knew just how to get to both of us.

In one horrific night, I lost so much.

Here I was, now labeled with a tainted term. My sin and shame exposed. And The Bully? That “smooth-talking gentleman” who kept telling me he only “punished me because he cared”? He was suddenly nowhere to be found. Except, of course, behind the rumors and lies that were suddenly going around.

Interesting.

However, I noticed there was Someone Who didn’t leave.

Regardless of my rebellion and anger towards Him. Regardless of the epic mess that was trailing behind the life of one of His supposed Daughters.

He was still there.

Actually, in so many ways, it felt like He was the only One there.

Interesting.

There was one night, I let Him have it. I yelled and said every cuss word I wanted. And I will never forget the moment He said, “Keep going. It’s ok. I can take it.”

Wait.

What?

He didn’t seem at all put off by me. He didn’t even seem angry. So in the weeks that followed I started just sitting with Him. With The Bully out of the way (for now), I could hear Him more clearly. I could actually get to know Him.

He wasn’t at all what I thought.

Interesting.

He was kinder and more gentle. His voice always seemed to carry a hint of laughter. Not in the same way The Bully sarcastically made fun of me. More so like… He wasn’t worried for my future. He wasn’t trying to control me. He was steady and sure.

It was hard to let Him love me fully. I fought it, because honestly, I just didn’t know how. But even that didn’t seem to offend Him.

He just stayed.

Interesting.

Unfortunately, The Bully didn’t stay away forever. But when he came back his old ways and tactics didn’t quite hit the same. However, that didn’t stop him from coming up with new ones.

He, in his patronizing way, congratulated me on the repentance I seemed to have “figured out.” Yes, I clearly had changed my mind about God and I was doing whatever it took to get back in right standing with Him. He gave me a bruising pat on the back that was accompanied by one of his gracious lists that subtly threw in what I needed to do to “make it up to God,” not to mention the people I had hurt.

Did I believe him?

Yes. But only because he had used one of those church words so deeply ingrained in my mind—and everything I understood the word to mean seemed to agree with him.

Repentance. Yes. This must be what repentance looks like.

However, the Jesus I had encountered had now also made a pretty big impression upon my heart. And my curiosity was now sparked to want to know Him more.

That was 13 years ago…

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June 28, 2026. 4am.

I couldn’t sleep—again. I was in yet another wrestle and I was losing. Terribly.

I was way past the point of weary.

The voice of The Peddler was becoming more convincing, not to mention more frequent.

His voice was different than The Bully’s, have I not told you?

He was a master of disguise. Constantly convincing you he was giving you something of value, something true, something you wanted. It was costly. But he made it seem worth it. Only when you received it fully did you realize how empty, fake and unsatisfying it actually was.

He and The Bully were in cahoots. Though The Bully would never admit to it.

I had also learned over the years they had a “silent” third partner. “Silent” being the joke between the three of them, because this guy had a whole ensemble at his disposal.

The Producer.

Oh, yes, he wasn’t just working the cultural circuit. He ran it. He bribed, bartered and wasn’t even against begging as long as it meant his ideas were being sold. What were his ideas, you ask? Honestly, whatever he was feeling in the moment. It didn’t have to be true or honest or even real. It just had to be noticed. His goal was always to distract, entertain and create illusions.

The Peddler and The Bully loved him. He was always willing to help them get ahead in whatever venture they put their minds to.

These three were relentless.

I had changed strategies a bazillion times, every single time believing in the resolve of my own conviction.

This is it. I’m over this. I’m done.

But when the boundaries didn’t hold, The Bully just got louder and more conceited, The Peddler’s offers became more alluring and his footholds more secure, and The Producer’s distractions more appealing and disorienting.

I had gotten to know each of them quite personally over the years, and this particular night I felt like they had all surrounded me at once.

A clip from a podcast had recently found its way through the numbing chatter and theatrical distortions The Producer had been serving up.

That wasn’t what surprised me.

What surprised me was I had remembered it.

Somehow, it had stayed with me. It kept coming back—including now.

Here.

In this moment.

”A legalistic posture is to say, ‘Okay, I’m going to do better. I’m going to read my Bible. I’m going to go to church. I’m going to keep the Sabbath.’ But notice: you’re leaning on you. You’re trusting in your strength. You’re even trusting in your self-determination to keep you.

Rather than saying, ‘Let me get on my face. Lord, I’m sorry. I actually cannot be strong. I actually am very weak… Can you please change my heart? Can you please help me? Can you please give me the grace to love you and to love my neighbor? And as I read your Word, please open up my understanding so I can see beauty in Your Word and beauty in your Son.’

All of the thoughts and all of the work is a work of faith. All of it is depending on Him to produce in you what you cannot produce in yourself.”

—Jackie Hill Perry

At 4am, I got up with the words echoing in my heart, “Let me get on my face.” And I did just that.

I got on my face before God.

“Jesus, I have literally tried everything. For years, I have struggled with these things. For years, I have tried to break these habits. Lord, I can’t do it. I have asked again and again for Your help. I have set boundaries for myself, I have confessed, I have asked for accountability, I have read books, I have listened to teachings and I have done what they’ve said, but nothing has worked. Nothing has lasted. I have done these things out of my own strength and tried to fix myself. But I can’t do it, Lord. Only You can do it. I literally can’t. LITERALLY CAN’T!“

This is the CliffsNotes version. There were lots of tears and lots more words.

I got no answer that night. But I was given enough peace to finally calm down and go to bed. 

Later that morning, after such a heavy night, I rolled out of bed, poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down on the couch with Jesus. I opened my journal and wrote a small entry:

“Papa, I know we’ve already been talking this morning and last night. I’m sorry again, Jesus. Like I told you last night I can’t do this. I can’t even do this a little bit on my own… Help me, Lord.”

His response echoed and embraced me with the kindness and compassion I had experienced and come to know thirteen years ago:

“Daughter, I’m here. I’m not gonna let you go. I see your weakness and desperation. I feel your fear. Breathe, Daughter. You’re gonna make it. You’re gonna be ok. I will love you out of this… I will walk you out of this, Daughter. I know exactly where you are even if you don’t. I’m not afraid. I’ve got you and I love you more than you could imagine… Don’t worry, Daughter. I’ll help you with all this. I am The Provider and The Sustainer. I am also your Defender. I am with you. Love, Papa”

As I closed my eyes and listened, He gave me invitations. These were not the same as the lists The Bully loved to assign. These were not to fix, make up for, or even to provide any kind of relief at all.

No, these invitations were simply space providers. Things to do with Him that gave me the room to see how close He really was.

Not only that, but these invitations gave me the space to hear Him speak, teach, heal, move and invite me deeper—whatever He wanted, whatever He saw fit to do.

He didn’t need my checked boxes. He didn’t need me to feel shame long enough to prove I was sorry. Nor did He need the weight of guilt to hang around my neck until I could come up with a better solution.

He just wanted me to rest.

To know He was close.

To let Him love me.

One invitation in particular was a teaching series He reminded me about and encouraged me to watch with Him. I had bought it at least 4 years ago and had never gone through it.

The Running Father.

Kristi McLelland gave seven teachings, each about an hour to an hour and a half long, just on Luke 15.

One night, at one dinner in Jesus’s life.

As I turned on the first teaching, I was completely undone in realizing what Jesus had invited me into.

“Open your mouth wide and I will fill it.” —Psalm 81:10

“When we approach the Biblical table, we do not approach it as orphans who have to dig and beg for scraps.” Kristi explains. “When we come to the Biblical Table, God feeds us. Therefore, this is not a Bible study.”

”This is a Feast.”

And the centerpiece of this feast?

Repentance.

To be continued…