Thank you for your sincere honesty and the love encased in your words.

Isn't it strange how the mind and the viscera can make war with each other, contending within us for the right to govern. My former roommate in college, who went on to earn his doctorate in philosophy and became a college president, told me once that our viscera is where life is lived, to the subjugation of reasoning and evidence, and I have found that he was right. Your letter confirms what I've seen so many times in others: the heart rules the head. It's ironic, isn't it, that stark truths, logic, and sensibility get stopped by the traffic controller of the heart, which has the capacity to open all flow or close everything down.

Jesus spoke often of the heart (the viscera). He acknowledged that the heart was where dominion lay and from where both decisions and desires emanate. He talked about callous hearts and pure hearts. Love and hate for God both reside in the heart, not in the head.

Having said all that, though, we get overwhelmed to the point of laughter by the complexity of the human essence. We have these thoughts of logic and sense, but they get stonewalled by our visceral impediments, and yet at the same time we know we are not slaves to our feelings, but can override them with some force inside of us called "will". It's like a tennis match with more than two players! We have a right to ask, "Who's in charge here, anyway?" (No wonder Freud made a lot of money!)

Ah, therein lies the question of the eons: Are we driven, or do we drive? If we're driven, are we just lackeys, subject to the erratic vagaries of fate? But if we drive, who or what is it that drives? We all know the answer, though it goes by various names: SELF. The self has ultimate power, but the Bible tells us it isn't to be trusted. That creates a conflict all by itself, because for many of us the self, we feel, is the only thing we can trust. It is, frankly, the only thing we know or have by direct experience.

So it's enough to get our head and our heart all churned up again. Is the self pure, or is it corrupt? You admitted in your letter that the failures of self are pitiful and unattractive, but your letter also tells me you see no truly viable alternative. Your background in the church makes it unnecessary for me to tell you what the Bible says: The self doesn't have enough of what is necessary for true peace, and has to be released from its own delusions. Jesus is the one who does that.

For now, forget the church. Forget Godspeak. Forget religion. Forget complexity. It's Jesus that you want, not the package. I hear it in your writing. You want peace. You want freedom. Jesus said it when he said, "Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly."

What does reading that affect in you? What does it make you think and feel? To me it glistens with both truth and hope. Life is more than I can handle. So many times I find my self to be inadequate for what I need to face. I find the strength of will too scant, the rewards of routine too few, the dreams of fancy too shattered, and the joys of life too meager, all the while life bleeds by at a quickening pace. I find, when I dare to glance, that it's all built on a teetering melange of stuff that could all be gone in the snap of a finger: health, safety, finances, and even existence itself—one shadow away from being snuffed.

But the self is a bulldog, belligerently confident, closing its insecurity in the closet to deny its potential. The self swaggers with hauteur, exaggerating autonomy and creating an imaginary world of sufficiency, all the while turning a blind eye to the omnipresent muggers in the alleys—the forces of our own frailty—who could snuff it all out in a heartbeat. It's a life of make-believe: I can do this; I have it within myself; I can guard myself against all comers. I can only get from today to tomorrow by living a life of denial and dissimulation.

But then there's Jesus. He invites with hope and light that evokes the deepest yearnings of my heart. Wearied by my own contrivances, I feel an indomitable sense of relief and release that I no longer have to play the game, pretending the world isn't what it is, and living the sham of my invincibility and strength. I'm weary of it and burdened by it, and Jesus promises rest. Of all things, how did he know that's what I needed the most? How did he know that I need someone both strong and gentle, both competent and humble? How did he know that if I take off my own encumbered self, I need to replace it with something beautiful, not something just as burdensome? Where can I find the life of beauty and grace for which I so deeply hunger? It's Jesus. Not religious oppression, not rules, not playing the God game, but just Jesus. He calls himself the Light of the world, and I know why. He calls himself the Prince of Peace, and I know why. He calls himself Emmanuel, and I know why. The Bread of Life, the Gate, The Way, Abundant Life, Truth Itself, The Rose of Sharon, the Balm of Gilead, and the Great Healer. I need ALL of those things, and they're all in one place. It's Jesus.

I don't know what else to tell you. My heart is free, my mind has new worlds opening every day, my SELF is new. It's Jesus.

I've read many of your Bible studies and the things you have posted here on your site. I have to tell you how much I appreciate your faithfulness, persistence and love in what you do, and the precious gift of your amazing insights.

I still just can't bring myself to believe it. I know if I had the time to sit down right now and re-read everything you've written, I might be overwhelmed by the stark pure truths in my face. You definitely turned the religion on its head for me as far as understanding the logic of it, how in many ways it really does "make sense." For years I thought it was my head and logic that allowed me to separate myself from it all, but more and more I have to admit it's my heart. Faith—the lack of it.

I'm just so impossibly overwhelmed by trying to think of God at all. I get dizzy and sick to my stomach with the briefest meditations on the complexity of the world. Nature. People. Any of it. And for me to try to fathom that there is a God behind it all that would want or could have a "relationship" with me really makes me want to throw up. I just don't get it. I don't buy it. I can't even begin to imagine how I would be supposed to feel, act, "communicate" with this God. And the biggest problem is that I really believe that it's impossible for me to think about these things with any raw honesty, reality, or understanding because the "religion language" is already a permanent part of my mouth and my brain, having been raised in the church, and even after ignoring all things related for a good decade, I still can't approach the subject without drowning in the cliches that make me gag. I recently went to church for the first time in years, and I was amazed (even though it was a decent message) how ridiculously similar the "Godspeak" was to the stuff of my upbringing, and I hated it! UGH, the music, the testimonials, the prayers, they all use the same format, the same language, and it just seems so weird, and so formulaic, I just... I don't know! I don't know why I have such an intense visceral reaction to it all. I guess I just don't want to give up my autonomy to enter an imaginary world of heart-wrenching, guilt-ridden, never-good-enough, grovelling to Silence, surrounded by nice, creepy people and their eternal droning Godspeak.

That said, I have an exponentially-increasing respect for the basic morals of the Bible, etc., as I have had to admit the various pathetic to catastrophic results my nihilistic-hedonistic times afforded me. In other words, doing as I pleased never got me very far. Also, in motherhood, I continually have had to eat humble pie and gain new appreciation for why and how my parents raised me, etc. In other words, one could have the perspective that "God" or "karma" have slapped me with some very harsh empathy-teachers in my role as mother, by ripping away the power, strength and beauty of my physical body and leaving me frumpy, libidoless and exhausted all the time, by showing me how incapable and easily overwhelmed I am, by introducing the beast of my temper flare-ups, etc., etc. In other words, my pitiful attempts at autonomy should make it less attractive to me, but it still doesn't.