Like a dog that returns to his vomit is a fool who repeats his folly. – Proverbs 26:11
Vomit… what a title, yeah? This word has been churning around in my head for the past several days, and much like vomit, something’s gotta come out. If you’re squeamish, this might be a rough read for you. But it might be worth it. Only one way to find out…
This word “vomit” first came to me during one of my evening walks in the woods last week. As I walked, I didn’t like me very much. It wasn’t because of insecurities, and it wasn’t because I lost sight of my worth… I just felt so very human. The sickness of sin inside me made me nauseous, and I felt the bile of regret and shame rising in my throat, burning and stinging. When I finally reached a place to be alone, I cried out to God, full of repentance and grief over the state of my heart. I wretched all the gross and disgusting things inside me, and then felt immediate peace and forgiveness.
And that’s when the proverb above came to me… a dog returning to its vomit.
Was I, like a dog, going to return to the thing that brought me only misery and separated me from the Lover of my soul?
Most likely, yes. Yes I would. And that reality hurt beyond expression.
No matter how good my intentions were in that moment with the Lord; no matter how much I wretched my honest struggles and habits of brokenness; no matter how deeply I wanted to leave the vomit of sin behind, there was something inevitable about my return to it.
“Jesus,” I wept, “Don’t you tire of me? Don’t you tire of my repenting? Don’t you tire of my sickness?”
I closed my eyes and saw myself. I was doubled over a toilet, loudly expelling my insides. I rested my head against my forearm and gasped for breath. I felt Jesus there. His hand gently rubbed my back, like a comforting friend or mother, and the other hand held back my hair.
“I came for the sick,” He said, simply and gently.
We claim Christ’s heart of forgiveness and patience so often that I think we’ve lost its truth in the rhetoric that often masks our unbelief. We say it loud and proud, but what happens when we return to our vomit after promising Him we wouldn’t? Surely, as anyone would, He rolls His eyes, sighs a sad sigh, and looks away.
The story of Peter’s restoration tells us something else entirely. Three times Peter returned to his vomit when he betrayed Jesus. He didn’t just sin – He personally rebuked his relationship with our God incarnate. He actually rejected Christ, his intimate friend and teacher – the One whom he pledged his allegiant love to. Not once. Not twice. Three times.
And when Jesus came back, He asked Peter, with deep compassion spilling over and the kindest conviction in His eyes, “Do you love me?” He opened the door of love and restoration. Not once. Not twice. Three times. Peter was not rejected as a consequence of his own rejection of Christ. He was invited again to follow Jesus.
So it is with us. The strongholds, the habits, and thought patterns that lead us to reject the One in whom our souls long for, will continue to plague us. We will often walk our walks nauseated. And yes, we will oftentimes return to the things that sickened us in the first place. That is the reality, not the comfort. The comfort is that He is with us, hand gently resting on our backs as we agonizingly release all that doesn’t belong inside us. And when we have released it all, He wipes our perspiring faces with a cold rag and holds us, inviting us again to Himself.
What precious mercy.