There came the day when I understood that my sacrifices were nothing compared to that of Jesus.  My sacrifices had become my sin.  And in the space between grace and deeper grace, my journey with Jesus entered into my own jubilee season as I rediscovered rinnah.

Rinnah is my given middle name, a beauteous Hebrew word describing, in simple terms, a song — or shout — of joy.  It is a noisy, consuming, radiant word used to give full expression to emotion, especially in the Psalms.  The journey I am now sharing is not a painful one to me — not now — but it is a vulnerable one.  The more years I spend with Jesus, the more I realize that vulnerability is the tool of a powerful person.  At least, that is the example Jesus gives.  There is no amount of glamorizing that can make sin less destructive or less like the sting of death.  This is a story of recovering what I had sacrificed in error.  This is my journey of redemption, and I pray that it may encourage you in yours.

I must begin in this way: if you are not the happiest person you know, you have misunderstood the nature of God and of your design.  That is blunt.  You may wrestle internally with that statement.  You may wish to rant at me about that statement.  I am simply sharing what the Word of God says.

“Rejoice in the Lord always.  Again I will say, rejoice!….
Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, 
whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report,
if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy — meditate on these things. “
~ Philippians 4:4, 8, NKJV

Rejoice, and do not stop.  Ever.  If it is good, fixate on that.  Always.

‘”Happy are you, O Israel!
Who is like you, a people saved by the Lord,
The shield of your help
And the sword of your majesty!
Your enemies shall submit to you,
And you shall tread down their high places.”‘
~ Deuteronomy 33:26-9, NKJV

Happy in salvation?  So happy we are unrivaled in our joy?  Yes, He really is THAT good.

Blessed are the people who know the joyful sound!
They walk, O Lord, in the light of Your countenance.
In Your name they rejoice all day long,
And in Your righteousness they are exalted.
~ Psalm 89:15-16, NKJV

Those are the barest snippets of the endless Goodness in which we can rejoice.  “I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of” (John 10:10, MSG) — that is the Gospel message, the Good News of Jesus Christ.  He did not come merely to comfort us in our sorrow and make our suffering bearable.  His yoke is easy and his burden is light (Matt. 11:30), and we are free in Him to “rejoice always.”  Scripture is relentless on this topic.  Try the book of Job if you feel uncertain.

Now I shall tell you why Rinnah became a recovered name for me.  For four and a half years I sacrificed myself, piece by piece, thinking I was loving well and honoring the commitments I had made, the marriage covenant made in such precious hope.  The first things I sacrificed felt small and justified — surely those joys were selfish if they caused discomfort to another.  The sacrifices required more with each demand: my time, my energy, my focus.  Then came the demand for my joy, which I sacrificed on the altar of another’s convenience, to make that person’s misery a more comfortable situation.

Misery is best coddled by the addition of sympathy.
It is most deeply affronted by the ministering work of joy. 

I released hopes and dreams, while still claiming Jesus as my true Hope — I needed nothing else, surely.  The demands became more pressing yet were wrapped in all the “right” words to move my heart.  Thus I chose to continue giving, to cover with my “love” the weak and ugly places of pain, the destructive choices that were made — love covers a multitude of sins, does it not?  And I can do hard things — I can get through anything, through any season.  If I can simply hold out long enough….

This is my sin: my pride of willing my sacrifices to be meaningful enough to change a life.  It does not matter that it did not start that way.  It does not matter that I did not intend it.  It was my sin.  Jesus, forgive me — and He already has, because HIS Sacrifice is perfect like that.  Unlike mine.  You see, Jesus is a truly powerful person, not only all-powerful in a sense of might and dominion but also perfectly powerful in the capacity for relationship.  He was, in fact, so powerful, that He agreed to the Father’s plan to willingly die without demanding a response to His death.  “For God so loved the world, that He gave…that whosever believes in Him would not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16) — so loved, but did not force.  I continuously gave of myself in the hope that, one day, my sacrifices would mean something.  What those meant for the person to whom I had covenanted my life, I cannot say.  What I can say is that, for me, they meant I became a shadow of my design.  I sacrificed my rinnah for silent weeping, desperate pleading, and anxious anticipation for the better “someday” that I could so clearly envision.

The pressured demands developed into abuse.  Into aggression I could never have anticipated.  No matter my sacrifices, choices continued to be made that broke our covenant — and mostly in private.  No one knew.  To be entirely honest, even as a lover of Jesus for more than two decades and a licensed mental health professional, I did not know.  I continued to cover: because surely one day all the goodness of God would become real again to the person I married.  Depression, suicide, anxiety, paranoia, and rage were constants I battled — but I battled them for a spouse, because love stands firm.  The isolation pressed until I was, even together with others — even together with this person to whom I was helpmeet — utterly alone.  Only Jesus remained — and He is enough, always.

I am not saying I invited the abuse.  I am not responsible for my spouse’s mental health crises or violence or unfaithful addiction.  Yet in that lies my wrong: no one can be responsible for the choices of another.  My prideful sin sacrificed who and how God made me.  I sacrificed my rinnah so another could worship their misery without hinderance.  I am tempted to shame upon sharing that, but shame is not part of who I am, so I refuse it — and refuse it again if necessary.  You see, when I say I sacrificed my joy, I mean that I gave up my extravagant worship, my exuberance, my spontaneous singing and relentless optimism.  I gave those up because they made my spouse uncomfortable, and while I can give it those words now, I could initially only have told you that I was empathizing and meeting the needs of one beloved to me.  But as I pried away guns and withered before horrific words, the sacrifice of my joy became desperate, because there is only one thing that can exist in the absence of light: darkness.  I became miserable with one who was miserable, when I was designed to be holy as One is Holy.

I begged for Jesus to reveal the fatal flaws that I was being assigned — because then I could fix them.  Jesus and I could work on what I knew about!  And I continued in this way until I was beginning to become only exhausted, sick, hurting, and riddled with anxiety about when and where the next pain would appear.  I was physically and mentally deteriorating to the point that I barely knew myself — because I had come to the end of myself.  Aside from Jesus, there was no more I could sacrifice except the final scraps of my wellbeing.  And that is where Jesus found me again, because He is my constant who never left my side.

Jesus saw.  He saw it all.  He knows.  Each memory He tenderly takes me into and says, “That was not how it was meant to be.”  Then I smile tenderly for the girl who didn’t know, and I say, “Okay, Jesus.  I forgive that.  You can have that too.”  My hands release all the pain in order to receive joy again.  What need have I to remain in darkness when the Light is warm and full of healing?  I had lived a life that was never without joy, never unaware of grace — and after experiencing the stark absence I now rise in fierce joy, unwilling to relinquish wholeness under any circumstances.  Because I know what it is to be without, now I can guard all the more furiously the gift of grace, of life, of rinnah.  It feels like I have appeared to life fully for the first time, and it is radiant.

It is important to note that I am safe now.  I had to make hard choices and listen closely for the Holy Spirit’s guidance for each literal and figurative step, for each word and each action.  Divorce was never God’s idea, but healing and wholeness is ALWAYS His best idea.  So I press on, past the lies of shame and should-have-beens into the kindness of His mercy.  Keep your rock and your hard place if you choose.  I choose to press into the place between grace and deeper grace. 

The only advisement I can offer is to take up joy as your garment — not fleeting happiness of circumstances but the joy of the Lord that is your strength, as Nehemiah offered to his grieving and aggrieved kinsmen (Neh. 8:10).  Wrap yourself in praise, walk each step in gratitude, and be at peace, for only in Jesus can you access life as it was meant to be.

Welcome to rinnah, dear heart.