Read Part 1 of Lecrae's Story
Sometimes, we as Christians fool ourselves into thinking that when we’re “born again,” we come out of the womb walking.
But spiritual infants are like physical infants. When a child begins to learn how to walk, they fall a lot.
As with children, there’s no time period for figuring out how to walk. Some kids are quick learners and others take their time. This is also true spiritually. Because God is a perfect parent, He’s patient with us. We need to have the same patience with one other and with ourselves as we make our way out of our deserts.
Many people don’t act like this.
Because we tend to only tell stories about the fast-learning ones who find walking easy, we don’t tell many stories about those of us who fall. We just ignore them or condemn them or shame them. And because we don’t know any stories of the many others who are falling, we assume that we’re the only ones who do.
Surrendering My Own Imperfections
Before rehab, I was trying to walk out of the desert by my own strength. That’s how I’d done everything my whole life, and no one told me that it should be any different after becoming a Christian. But I realized that I had someone to help me learn how to walk, a parent who was patient when I stumbled and who would help teach me to walk, if I’d let Him.
Falling wasn’t the end of the world as long as I got back up and kept walking. After all, repentance is a continual act—a lifestyle—rather than a single event.
By the time I left rehab, I’d begun to finally surrender to my own imperfections. I had been brought low by the embarrassment of being there and my crying mother’s visit. My mother was sad because I’d stumbled, but she was cheering me on to get back up. In the same way, God refused to give up on me. He was still showing up, still waiting and still wanting to help me start again.
I was able to discharge myself from rehab a week after arriving, and I couldn’t sign those papers fast enough. My mom picked me up and immediately started planning the way forward with me. She was still blaming herself a little bit, and wondering if this was all connected to my childhood traumas.
More than anything, she was trying to figure out how to help me get my life back on track. I let her talk it out, but I already knew what I needed to do.
Life After Rehab
Since I no longer believed the lie that I could walk on my own, I knew I needed help. I moved in with my friend, James. I was still paying rent at my current apartment, but I couldn’t afford not to make the move. James would sit with me and talk to me and encourage me. When I stumbled, I could be honest with him about it and he wouldn’t bash me like some other Christians would have. Each morning, we would read the Bible together and just talk real with each other.
In addition to James, there were others. I spent more time with my friend, Joe, who was also willing to get into my business and tell me the truth. “I always got your back, bro, but you need to know that you struggle with acceptance,” he told me.
By telling me the truth without condemning me, Joe was helping me understand how I’d been finding my identity in women, social worth and other substitutes. Joe had been going to seminary, and he started to introduce me to great Christian thinkers like C. S. Lewis who, in some way, also joined the community that was supporting me.
Suddenly, I had a group of people who were pushing me forward with encouragement and honesty and grace and truth. Nothing in my life had ever humbled me like being in rehab, and nothing in my life had ever renewed me like being in true Christian community. I was learning to walk on my own as I learned to walk alongside others.
For the First Time in My Life, I Was Free
In the front of my mind was a verse from Romans that God gave me in solitary confinement while reading that little Gideon Bible:
“For I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is God’s power for salvation to everyone who believes”.
Romans 1:16
A lot of people puff up when they recite this verse like it’s some sort of Christian bragging right. They think this verse is a way to declare how strong you are, how tough you are, how brave you are. But that’s the opposite of what this verse means. Instead, it’s a manifesto for the broken. For the needy. For the helpless. For the ones who are stumbling more than they’re stepping. For the ones who are willing to admit that they aren’t brave enough, tough enough or strong enough.
I can’t save myself through my own strength, through pretending. By working harder or pulling myself up by my boot straps. There’s no woman that can save me. No drug that can save me. No program or clinic that can save me.
I no longer thought I was a Christian because I was strong and had it all together. I now knew I was a Christian because I’m weak and admitted I need a savior. There was no other power that could save me outside of the power of God.
All my life, I’d been hiding pieces of myself and putting up a front. I’d been hiding my weakness so everyone would think I was hard. So that people would like me. I finally let go of all that and surrendered. Now I refused to hide my struggles and imperfections, my temptations and my problems. I refused to exhaust myself trying to conform to others’ expectations or fit in their boxes. For the first time in my life, I was free to live.
I was unashamed.
Continue Reading: From Rehab to Redemption (Part 1)
Excerpt taken from Unashamed by Lecrae Moore. Copyright B&H Publishing Group. May 2016.
Learn More About Unashamed by Lecrae
If you live by people's acceptance, you'll die by their rejection. Two-time Grammy winning rap artist, Lecrae, learned this lesson through more than his share of adversity—childhood abuse, drugs and alcoholism, a stint in rehab, an abortion, and an unsuccessful suicide attempt. Along the way, he attained an unwavering faith in Jesus.