It was dark. I remember that much. Beyond that, I can’t recall the specifics of my surroundings. I was driving home from work. Tears were streaming down my face. Broken dreams and losses of things closest to my heart piled up. I felt homeless, helpless and hopeless. That’s when I heard it.

A whisper. Jesus. "This isn’t about you. Its about Me. He doesn’t want us to be this close, this intimate. He wants Me to hurt and grieve over you, over your withdrawal from Me, your distrust of Me, your denial of Me. Its not about what you can or cannot do, or will or won’t do…."

I had been asking God why in the world Satan would care about me now, at this point. I wasn’t a missionary anymore. I wasn’t anything. Except broke. And unemployed. And broken. Very, very broken. All to pieces.

I’d always believed — I think I heard it in Sunday School somewhere — that Satan only attacks when you’re doing what God wants you to do. Its usually said to "comfort" those of us struggling under some sort of "persecution" — or what feels like persecution. Or some struggle we’re going through. Somehow, somewhere, the Church got this idea that it was all about us, all about what we can do for Jesus; and all about what will happen to us when we do.

But that night I saw the Truth. I saw it more clearly than I’d ever seen it before.

"It’s not about you, or what you can or will do." He repeated. "Its about Me. He wants to hurt Me. And he knows he can if he can get to you. If he blind you to the truth of who you are to Me, to My love for you and to My presence with you always. Its about Me. He wants to hurt Me. It’s not about you…."

For the first time in my life those words brought comfort rather than the sting of humiliation.

I’ve hated that phrase since I first heard it. No, not when I read "The Purpose Driven Life". I first heard that phrase when I was a kid (too many years ago to speak of). Every little sister has heard her older sister spew these words with venom, while striking a diva pose at the same time. "Its not about you. The whole universe does not revolve around you, you know."

And I especially came to hate the phrase since coming home, broken and lost, after resigning from the mission field. I felt like a such a failure. And I felt overwhelmed by the loss of my parents, whose deaths were the last straws that brought about my breakdown and resignation, the loss of my home and job — and most of all the loss of my dream. Even more devastating, I’d lost the ability to dream. In all that darkness, God found me and scooped me into His arms. He held me tight and constantly whispered His love and adoration of me. He daily insisted the universe did indeed revolve around me. At least His did.

I had never heard anyone tell me about this kind of love. The kind that just loved. Didn’t expect anything in return. Didn’t belittle, or remind you of your "place at the table" or nag you to stop crying, get up and get back to work. Nor had I ever experienced it. My parents were wonderful people, but they were broken too. And part of their brokenness was revealed in the way they saw love; and in how they expressed love. So you can imagine how shocked and unbelieving I was in God’s constant expressions of His love and of His gregarious actions towards me. A failed missionary — can you get any worse of a failure in the Kingdom?

But He insisted. And persisted. And finally I began to believe. And accept. Even depend on it. The more I tested His wild love, the more it held my weight. So the more weight I put on it. Till eventually I was completely standing on it, and nothing else.

Of course, that’s when I started hearing that blasted phrase everywhere. And from the most frustrating place of all: my own brothers and sisters in Christ.

I know they meant well. They thought what I needed was a good "encouraging" rebuke; the kind that says, "I know you’re hurting but, really, Lu, it’s not about you. Others are hurting too and you should be out there bringing them comfort…" Well meaning. Served with a pinch of truth.

But I didn’t believe the rest of it anymore. I don’t believe "its not about me." It is. God proved that. Over and over. God said it, too. "You are the apple of My eye." "I did this just for you." "Its you that I want. Its you I want, not your deeds (or your money)." So I knew it was about me.

Now here’s God saying, in essence, no its not. Not this time. And in that moment I finally understood what its all about. God is all about me. He’s all about being intimate with me. That’s what real love looks like, being all about the one you love. And that’s why I can forget myself and be all about Him. Because He’s got my back. But Satan, well, he’s all about God. He wants to be me; wants to be in my place, as the apple of God’s eye. But he’s not, and that pisses him off. So he’s all about hurting God, any way he can. And especially the best way he can. Me.
What better way to hurt someone, to cause them immense pain and grief, than to turn the one they adore against them. It’s even better than killing the loved one. Especially in this case. Killing me would just bring me that much closer to God. No, the best way to hurt God is to turn me against Him; to convince me that He doesn’t really love me. Or, better yet, that He’s "testing me" and finding me wanting; that I’ve failed Him and will never be able to get back to where I "should" be; that I’m not doing enough, not trying hard enough, not serving enough…. the lies goes on. And I bought them all.

I wish I could say I don’t anymore, but I still do. I still get caught up in the lies and deceptions and intrigues laid out by the enemy to keep me from being intimate with God. But I’m working on it, and I’m not nearly as blind and gullible as I was before that moment.
In the dark.
Driving home from work.
When God told me, "its not about you…"
And I found comfort in it, not humiliation.
For the first time.