the Good News for your psyche

Something we learned, that impacted me deeply is the essence of THE LIE  (that everyone believes to some degree) is this:

1. I am not good enough/I am defective (or some other "I am" message that is contrary to what God says about me)
2. Therefore, God messed up when he made me.  Thus, he is not really good, not trustworthy, etc.
3. I can be fixed (or, I can fix myself) apart from God.

Can you identify some form of this lie in yourself?  Our beliefs are the basis for our actions, which form habits, which make up part of our character.  So if my beliefs (about myself, about God, about how to be "fixed") aren't true, my life will be built on lies... and these lies ultimately lead to death and total separation from God.  The stakes are high.
We have to start from the foundation -- changing the lies for truths.  Truths like:  I AM good enough.  God didn't mess up, even though I'm not perfect.  I don't have to keep striving to be accepted and loved, because I already am... and anyways, I would never reach that goal of perfection, would never be "fixed."

Therapy and the Gospel -- an excerpt
This is from the IVCF blog... I really like the topic since we're taking a counseling school with YWAM.  You can read the full article here:
http://www.intervarsity.org/blog/therapy-and-gospel-declaring-good-enough-news

"In his book, Tattoos on the Heart, Jesuit priest Gregory Boyle tells the story of a gangbanger named Willy who, when forced to sit in a car in stillness, discovers the breathtaking grace of the Good-Enough News:

I look at Willy and say, “You prayed, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t look at me. He’s still and quiet. “Yeah, I did.”

I start the car.

“Well, what did God say to you?” I ask him.

“Well, first He said, ‘Shut up and listen.’”

“So what d’ya do?”

“Come on, G,” he says, “What am I sposed ta do? I shut up and listened.”

I begin to drive him home to the barrio. I’ve never seen Willy like this. He’s quiet and humble—no need to convince me of anything or talk me out of something else.

“So, son, tell me something,” I ask. “How do you see God?”

“God?” he says, “That’s my dog right there.”

“And God?” I ask, “How does God see you?”

Willy doesn’t answer at first. So I turn and watch as he rests his head on the recliner, staring at the ceiling of my car. A tear falls down his cheek. Heart full, eyes overflowing. “God . . . thinks . . . I’m . . . firme.”

To the homies, firme means, “could not be one bit better.”

Not only does God think we’re firme, it is God’s joy to have us marinate in that.

A therapy room is the place we bring all of our pretending and sadness and fear and frustration. And, ultimately, it’s the place we bring our not-good-enough selves. It’s the place we learn to be still again, so we can hear the voice calling us “Beloved.” So we can touch our guts and the beauty there and know we are blessedly good enough.

So we can marinate in it."  By Kelly Flanagan