At first I tried to turn his frown upside down with sweet talk and syrupy reinforcement. What do you mean? You're doing great! Don't give up, you're almost done! Rah! Rah! Rah!
When that didn't work I tried to ignore the phrase entirely and keep positive momentum. I explained how we all make mistakes but it's getting back up that matters. Cool, calm, rational.
But when "I can't do good" moved from quiet heartbreak to pounding fists and stomping feet, I decided to meet it head-on. That phrase is not allowed anymore, I said. Do not let it come out of your mouth again. I didn't know what this was, but I knew it was not going to win.
Driving home that night I thought about my life. About writing and working, about failures and unmet expectations. I felt antsy and angsty, shaking my head at myself, cowering in the face of others popping in and out of my mind. "You'll never be good enough, you're no expert," I heard them say. "You can't finish anything," "You stay in your box; this is my turf," "Ohhh, I'm sorry it's so hard for you." They glared at me, smug, condescending. I hated them. I hated myself. And then I heard my own heart say it: I can't do good.
"You see?" His voice, clear and gentle, brought me back to the present. "You say it too, and it sounds terrible."
I did hear and I did see. With my heart sinking down to my toes I thought back to Thomas and, for the first time, started to discern the toxicity of our negative statements. Coming from him--precious, hard-working, autism-challenged him, "I can't do good" made me want to cry and wash his mouth out with soap. Not as punishment, but because those words were like poison, eating away at his mind and stealing away his hope; I wanted it away from him.
Who told you that? I wanted to scream. Who would tell him such a thing? I puzzled. And then I remembered who. The one with no boundaries when it comes to stealing, killing, and destroying. The enemy, the father of lies.
My mind revisited the unpleasant faces and voices from earlier, from my own life, and started talking each thing through with God.
I feel like she hates me; like she loves to see me fail. We can't be friends.
I feel like I really can't do well at that. I've tried and it doesn't last.
I feel overwhelmed by this. It's too stressful and too tough.
I feel like a nobody. I can't do good.
Coming from me--messy, had-my-chance, not-sure-what's-coming-next me, "I/he/she/we can't do good" made me want to cry and marinate in the tears.
Then I heard Him ask, "What's the truth behind those feelings?" After a blank moment I shrugged the question back His way, What is the truth behind my feelings? As if I'd asked for the secret behind a magic trick, step by step He flipped on the lights, exposing what was real and what was not.
The heart is deceitful above all things,
and it is exceedingly perverse and corrupt and severely, mortally sick!
Who can know it [perceive, understand, be acquainted with his own heart and mind]?
Jeremiah 17:9 (AMP)
Our hearts, our feelings, unchecked by Truth, are not trustworthy. From some little suggestion I start to believe lies about myself and others. Based on these lies I begin to feel things--inappropriate things created by smoke and mirrors. Out of misplaced feelings I act (or failed to act).
Thinking back to Thomas, I realized he, too, was believing a lie, feeling the effects, and acting out. I was fighting something when I'd said, "no more," and I knew I needed to start battling for my own heart as well. Why? Because when we allow lies to run laps from our minds to our hearts, out of our mouths, and back to our minds, we stop growing. Period. When we allow lies to dictate our attitudes and actions, we fall right into the "kill, steal & destroy" plan; we render ourselves useless, lifeless, paralyzed by figments of our imagination, we hold tightly to smeared images of others and let relationships fall to ruins. We need to do the hard work, not only of identifying our feelings but, of tracking down the truth and adjusting our responses, emotional and physical. You were freed from a life of slavery. It is worth the battle to claim your freedom.
In [this] freedom Christ has made us free [and completely liberated us];
stand fast then, and do not be hampered and held ensnared and submit again to a yoke of slavery [which you have once put off].
Galatians 5:1 (AMP)
In the past two weeks I've maintained my rule about not uttering the phrase. Thomas and I have worked out a list of things he can say instead, things like, "I'm having a hard time," "I'm going to keep trying," "Oops, I messed up; now I know what to do." I remind him how smart and able and hardworking and brave he is. We have to repeat these things every day, but little by little the darkness is pushed back by truth's light.
In my own quiet time I've started keeping a close eye on the frolicking of my mind, sometimes saying out loud, "that's not real" or "that's not true" when old feelings resurface (completely normal, right?). And I pray: Lord, would you please quiet my mind and fill it with your truth? Would you please flood my heart with your love for me and for others? May your love cover over a multitude of sins and heal all of my wounds. Would you show me in real life the truth I need to see? On more than one occasion, after praying something like this, I've received an email, call or text relieving my fears, releasing me (and others) from the lies.
What feelings are consuming you lately? What statements frequent your speech?
What lie set those feelings ablaze and is burning down your life, relationships, health, spiritual walk, dreams, maturity/personal growth?
What phrase(s) do you need to remove from your vocabulary right now? What truth can you replace it with?
I don't know if this is the same with you, but in studying my go-to statements I've learned that hurt and disappointment are the most common breeding grounds for lies and misguided feelings. Sometimes I build a case against people based on circumstantial evidence following a direct hit. Self-defense. Everything he says or doesn't say "supports" my case and shapes my heart. It's not good. But sometimes, sometimes, the injury is real--by no means alleged, suspected, or assumed. Sometimes there is no opportunity to look her in the eyes and say, "that really hurt," and so I bury it and mark it with stones that inevitably grow moldy. Sometimes my feelings are based on real events, but it's still our responsibility to work through forgiveness, seek understanding, remember compassion, and let God's love be the perfect salve.
I know you wouldn't allow your best friend or child to poison himself; decide to stop taking it down and spewing it out, yourself. Maybe you need to call someone and ask, "Is everything okay with us?"; squash those lies that have walled you in. Maybe you need to say "no" to that negative voice that talks you out of pursuing anything good or healthy. Maybe you need to know how wide and deep, how unconditional and unfailing is your Father's love for you. He would love to show you; He waits to arm you with truth.
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