The “Un-me” Verb
Then Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. Genesis 32:24 NASB
Left alone – I just can’t get past Jacob. Maybe it’s because years ago when the financial collapse happened that started this written journey of recovery, I was tempted to think I was kind of like Job. You know, innocent. Not deserving the fraud perpetrated upon me and my wife. Feeling as if God hadn’t really taken care of me. Victimized. Of course, I got over that as soon as I noticed that I wasn’t the righteous man of the Job story. I was much more like Jacob—a self-made manipulator ready to take advantage of circumstances, always looking for the best way to get more out of the deal. Successfully, I might add—until God stepped in and, whoosh, it was all gone. Then I realized I was standing on the wrong side of the Jabbok, wrestling with “the man.”
So I keep coming back to this story, partly because it’s a story I identify with and partly because I’m guessing it’s a story you identify with. Here’s why:
lĕbādādo is the Hebrew term translated “left alone.” It’s not about being by myself. It’s about abandonment. It’s described as the feeling of “loneliness of a mother deprived of her children.”[1] It’s being cut off from human contact. It’s the true, emotional trauma of isolation. It’s Adam without the woman, and Man without the bread from God. Brené Brown tells us something incredibly important about this very human experience:
“ . . . the most terrifying and destructive feeling that a person can experience is psychological isolation. This is not the same as being alone. It is a feeling that one is locked out of the possibility of human connection and of being powerless to change the situation. In the extreme, psychological isolation can lead to a sense of hopelessness and desperation. People will do almost anything to escape this combination of condemned isolation and powerlessness.”[2]
“Almost anything,” she says. I know what she means. Addictions, denials, diversions, career obsession, pointless affluence, pretending, keeping the TV on—anything but standing at the edge of the brook in the dark, feeling the presence of “the man.” Jacob came to edge with a whole load of past behaviors, most of them not very upright. Successful, but slippery. And that’s the other problem with lĕbādādo. Once you reach this stage, your basic evaluation of who you are is probably riddled with who you didn’t want to be.
“We cannot survive when our identity is defined by or limited to our worst behavior. Every human must be able to view the self as complex and multidimensional. When this fact is obscured, people will trap themselves in layers of denial in order to survive. How can we apologize for something we are, rather than something we did?”[3]
“The man” is the un-me, the person I was when I arrived at the edge of God’s promise. It’s me, no doubt, but it isn’t the me I wanted to be. If I let that “me” define who I am, then I can never cross the brook to God’s side because there is no place in the Promise for the me I was. So I have to fight—fight to determine if I am able to not be defined by what I have been, by my worst behavior and my horrible acts. I have to fight the very “me” that holds me back from becoming someone else. The comfortable me of my past desires that desperately wants to stay away from the light, stay hidden in the dark. And it’s the fight of my life—literally. “We cannot survive,” writes Brown. “I cannot survive” if I am only the person I have made of myself with all those choices I didn’t want to make but did anyway (or maybe I really did want to make those choices and didn’t care what happened to me).
What’s the answer? Well, I need to be healed—of myself. Jacob is given a new name, a name that means constant struggle but with perseverance. The un-me isn’t going away anytime soon, but he doesn’t have to determine who I will be. However, he got me here, by hook or by crook, and without him I wouldn’t be at the brook. So something besides annihilation is in order. I need compassion for this unfortunate un-me, because he is equally desperate.
“Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.”[4]
Recognizing my shared humanity with the “me” who got me here is knowing my own darkness, not as something to be exterminated but as a reason to be kind, gentle, and understanding. Then I can take him by the hand and change direction, wading into the water of relief.
Topical Index: isolation, Jacob, lĕbādādo, alone, compassion, Genesis 32:24
[1]Goldberg, L. (1999). 201 בָּדַד. R. L. Harris, G. L. Archer Jr., & B. K. Waltke (Eds.), Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament(electronic ed., p. 90). Chicago: Moody Press.
[2]Miller, J. B. and Stiver, I. P. The healing connection: How women form relationships in both therapy and in life (Beacon Press, 1997).
[3]H. Lerner, The dance connection: How to talk to someone when you’re mad, hurt, sacred, frustrated, insulted, betrayed or desperate, Harper Collins, 2001.
[4]Brené Brown,I Thought It Was Just Me (But It Isn’t), p. 45.
TODAY I am flying to Italy, at last, after nearly 3 months on the road. I will soon be HOME with my lovely wife who has been doing all the hard work of moving without me. She is terrific and I can’t wait to see her. The Italy tour starts in two days, so at least we will have one day together before the next push. Thanks to all of you who hosted me over the last few months. It was great to see you before jumping across the pond.
