A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

“Even when I’m walking straight, I always end up in a perfect circle.”

Katie Melua’s song “Perfect Circle” was supposedly written about addiction, vaguely enough that anyone with any addiction is meant to be able to think it was written about them, whether their habit is that relationship that’s just not good for them, or alcohol, or gambling, or self harm.  You get my drift.  I, however, think it is more universal than even that.  I think it is a song about the human condition. 

Right now, I feel it describes my relationship with God.  I go around in circles.  I’ll be at a stage where I’m sort of ignoring him.  I still pray, the bare minimum, still go to Mass, still believe, certainly, but I’m not truly present in the relationship.  Then something happens, whether I read or hear something that jogs my conscience, or someone tells me something that turns out to be more of a message than they expected, or I just finally find enough alone time to pray properly, and suddenly realise I’ve been so very neglectful.  So then things change.  I start to pray more, start to think more about honestly trying to be a better person.  Things start to look up.  Even on the bad days, I remember the reasons to maintain hope, I remember that I have a God who loves me, who wants only my happiness.  It’s a pretty awe-inspiring thing, knowing for sure you are loved.  The beginning of the fall is insidious.  I think, like the old proverb, it begins with pride.  At the start, when you’re first reawakening faith, you pray constantly lest you fall into some kind of temptation, you rely on Him utterly, just like He asked.  Then one day, a voice in your head says “Wow, I’m good.  It’s been x number of days or weeks now and I’ve gotten into a really good habit of praying, and I’m not so depressed, and I’m keeping up hope, and I’ve done some nice things for other people, and avoided some of the not-so-nice things I sort of wanted to do.  I was tempted to sin the other day, but hey, I’ve been praying so much I just walked away.  I’m feeling good.”

And therein lies the problem: I.  I start to forget that without Him, I am nothing.  I start to forget that, if I have conquered, if I have had the strength to do the right not the wrong, it is because of HIS GRACE, not through any merit of my own.  I am human.  I am fallen.  I am frail.  I am sinful.  He alone can lift me above this.  But the pride slowly creeps in, and the first casualty is prayer.  I start to pray less.  At first, I don’t even notice.  I think I was so busy yesterday, I got home so late, I just didn’t have time, but today will be different.  It’s not, I stop praying constantly.  Without even realising it, I close the door in His face.  So the Grace stops flowing.  It’s not that He doesn’t want me to have it, it’s just that the terms and conditions are clear: I have to want it, I have to ask for it.  He’s not going to force a gift on an ungrateful recipient.  And so the spiral downwards begins.  I pray less, so then I pray less.  I start to do things I regret.  I start to miss opportunities to make a difference.  My mood becomes blacker, even on a good day, partly because there is a voice in my mind telling me it’s my own fault for walking away.  

At some point (last night, this time), I hit rock bottom for this current cycle.  I am depressed, I am disgusted with myself so much that I finally stop looking at me, and look instead towards Him.  And He is always there, ready to comfort the second I allow it.  The upwards climb begins again, slowly but surely.  It starts with an attitude change, that could only be due to grace.  I realise all is not lost.  I remember that there is hope.  I make resolutions.  This time will be different.  I won’t make the same mistakes.  I won’t stop praying.  I won’t forget that it is You, not me, making this possible.

And yet, we both know it is just a matter of time.  I am human.  I will fall.  Like a child falling of a bicycle, my Father will pick me up, kiss me better where I skinned my knee, help me back on whilst wiping away my tears, steady the handle bars for the first couple of metres, then follow closely as I try on my own again.  He only took the training wheels off because I asked, because I insisted I was old enough not to need them.  And the beauty is that He doesn’t love me the less for my failures, He doesn’t tire of taking me back again.  And while it would be better if I didn’t fall at all, every time I do, I learn more about myself and about Him, and our relationship grows deeper.

“Everything that happens is a blessing that is a lesson, or a lesson that is a blessing – so let nothing disturb you, let nothing frighten you – everything passes away except God. GOD ALONE SUFFICES.” ~ St Teresa of Avila