Monday, October 28, 2024
Wednesday, February 26, 2020
The Courage to Reach Out
The Girl Who Was Broken.
That is what I imagine the heading in the Bible would be if my story was included.
I like to think it would be something more courageous, something that showed how brave I was or how hard I fought to change my story. But I can never truly separate myself from the past that sometimes creeps into the present.
In some ways, I feel like the woman with the issue of blood from the Bible. Here was one of the bravest women in the Bible, yet we still call her by the title that separated her from society. The issue of blood. She is never named in the scriptures, but I am going to call her Audrey. Audrey had been dealing with this sickness for twelve years. For more than a decade, Audrey was considered ceremonially unclean. This meant if she so much as brushed up against someone, they too would be considered unclean.
For twelve years, Audrey did not know the gentle caress of a caring friend. She would not have experienced the healing hug of a loved one. Audrey was completely alone in the world, and not by choice. Twelve years.
On top of that, the touch of a person who was unclean was punishable by death (through stoning).
Audrey was so desperate that she was willing to risk a brutal death in a last-ditch attempt at healing. I’m sure the town knew who Audrey was. I can just imagine the whispers and side glances she received as she ventured into the city. People would see her coming and cross to the other side of the street to avoid any possible interaction.
But Audrey was desperate.
Have you ever been so desperate that you were willing to try anything?
People in town were talking about this Jesus character coming to the city. Men and women were venturing to the main drag and quickly filling the streets. The crowds were so large everywhere that even Jesus’ mother and brothers were unable to see him (Luke 8:19). There was no possible way for an unclean woman to get to Jesus without bumping against or brushing shoulders with other people. With no money, no family, and no friends, Audrey decided to risk everything.
Courage often comes when we have nothing left to lose.
I’ve found myself in that same position.
For me, it was ten years. Ten years of my own struggle. And while my own situation was a self-inflicted prison, I can relate to Audrey’s desperation.
For ten years, I fought to escape this prison to no avail.
Somehow, I knew if I could just reach out… If I could just touch Jesus’ robe, everything would change.
If I could just touch his robe.
Audrey pushed through the crowd, a feat in and of itself, and as Jesus came into view she defied everything she had known for twelve years and stretched out her hand. An arm’s length away, but close enough to touch. As Audrey’s fingers brushed against the tassels on Jesus’ robe, healing washed over her.
Audrey had the courage to reach out.
Reaching out can change everything.
The story doesn’t end there though.
This wasn’t just a passing moment where Audrey was able to slink away undetected.
Jesus actively sought her out. He asked who touched Him and while the disciples insisted it was impossible to know…
Jesus kept looking. (Mark 5:32)
And when Audrey found the courage to make herself known, an entire crowd watching, Jesus does something incredible.
“Daughter… your faith has made you well.”
Do you understand the significance of that one word?
In front of all these judgmental people (prob like a live-action version of twitter), Jesus is intentional to make it clear who this woman is. Not the woman with the issue of blood, not someone who should be stoned to death. Daughter. Faithful Daughter. Courageous Daughter. He gave her meaning and a family in one breath. In front of everyone. I like to imagine Jesus extended his hand to her and placed it on her arm as He said it, solidifying to everyone that Audrey was not contaminated. She was not condemned. She was worthy of touch. She was worthy of love.
The Woman Who Reached Out
The Woman Who Found Her Freedom
The Girl Who Never Gave Up
The Courageous Daughter
I wish we chose our titles differently, but we can never truly separate ourselves from the people we once were. Without the woman with the issue of blood, we never would’ve been introduced to the woman who reached out.
And sometimes it’s so easy to cling to that past title because it’s safe. It’s what you know.
The broken girl. It’s easy to slip into that, it’s easy to ignore the healing and freedom I’ve reached out for. It’s certainly easier than pushing through a crowd and reaching out.
But you don’t lose who you are because of what you once were. Audrey didn’t have to push through the crowd again. She didn’t suddenly lose her healing.
I wish I knew more about her life after that. After 12 years of living in a virtual prison, I wonder if freedom was overwhelming. I wonder if there were days when she found herself holed up in her home because she got so used to being alone. Or did she dance in the streets and make up for lost time?
I don’t know.
Some days I find freedom overwhelming. I know it’s there, whether or not I choose to embrace it. I know all it requires is for me to reach out. But what if I reach out and my hands don’t connect with His robe? What if I reach out and it falls of deaf ears? What if… what if…
What if He again calls me by my new identity?
The Girl Who Found Her Freedom.
Daughter.
Courageous Daughter.
What if I could just reach out?
That is what I imagine the heading in the Bible would be if my story was included.
I like to think it would be something more courageous, something that showed how brave I was or how hard I fought to change my story. But I can never truly separate myself from the past that sometimes creeps into the present.
In some ways, I feel like the woman with the issue of blood from the Bible. Here was one of the bravest women in the Bible, yet we still call her by the title that separated her from society. The issue of blood. She is never named in the scriptures, but I am going to call her Audrey. Audrey had been dealing with this sickness for twelve years. For more than a decade, Audrey was considered ceremonially unclean. This meant if she so much as brushed up against someone, they too would be considered unclean.
For twelve years, Audrey did not know the gentle caress of a caring friend. She would not have experienced the healing hug of a loved one. Audrey was completely alone in the world, and not by choice. Twelve years.
On top of that, the touch of a person who was unclean was punishable by death (through stoning).
Audrey was so desperate that she was willing to risk a brutal death in a last-ditch attempt at healing. I’m sure the town knew who Audrey was. I can just imagine the whispers and side glances she received as she ventured into the city. People would see her coming and cross to the other side of the street to avoid any possible interaction.
But Audrey was desperate.
Have you ever been so desperate that you were willing to try anything?
People in town were talking about this Jesus character coming to the city. Men and women were venturing to the main drag and quickly filling the streets. The crowds were so large everywhere that even Jesus’ mother and brothers were unable to see him (Luke 8:19). There was no possible way for an unclean woman to get to Jesus without bumping against or brushing shoulders with other people. With no money, no family, and no friends, Audrey decided to risk everything.
Courage often comes when we have nothing left to lose.
I’ve found myself in that same position.
For me, it was ten years. Ten years of my own struggle. And while my own situation was a self-inflicted prison, I can relate to Audrey’s desperation.
For ten years, I fought to escape this prison to no avail.
Somehow, I knew if I could just reach out… If I could just touch Jesus’ robe, everything would change.
If I could just touch his robe.
Audrey pushed through the crowd, a feat in and of itself, and as Jesus came into view she defied everything she had known for twelve years and stretched out her hand. An arm’s length away, but close enough to touch. As Audrey’s fingers brushed against the tassels on Jesus’ robe, healing washed over her.
Audrey had the courage to reach out.
Reaching out can change everything.
The story doesn’t end there though.
This wasn’t just a passing moment where Audrey was able to slink away undetected.
Jesus actively sought her out. He asked who touched Him and while the disciples insisted it was impossible to know…
Jesus kept looking. (Mark 5:32)
And when Audrey found the courage to make herself known, an entire crowd watching, Jesus does something incredible.
“Daughter… your faith has made you well.”
Do you understand the significance of that one word?
In front of all these judgmental people (prob like a live-action version of twitter), Jesus is intentional to make it clear who this woman is. Not the woman with the issue of blood, not someone who should be stoned to death. Daughter. Faithful Daughter. Courageous Daughter. He gave her meaning and a family in one breath. In front of everyone. I like to imagine Jesus extended his hand to her and placed it on her arm as He said it, solidifying to everyone that Audrey was not contaminated. She was not condemned. She was worthy of touch. She was worthy of love.
The Woman Who Reached Out
The Woman Who Found Her Freedom
The Girl Who Never Gave Up
The Courageous Daughter
I wish we chose our titles differently, but we can never truly separate ourselves from the people we once were. Without the woman with the issue of blood, we never would’ve been introduced to the woman who reached out.
And sometimes it’s so easy to cling to that past title because it’s safe. It’s what you know.
The broken girl. It’s easy to slip into that, it’s easy to ignore the healing and freedom I’ve reached out for. It’s certainly easier than pushing through a crowd and reaching out.
But you don’t lose who you are because of what you once were. Audrey didn’t have to push through the crowd again. She didn’t suddenly lose her healing.
I wish I knew more about her life after that. After 12 years of living in a virtual prison, I wonder if freedom was overwhelming. I wonder if there were days when she found herself holed up in her home because she got so used to being alone. Or did she dance in the streets and make up for lost time?
I don’t know.
Some days I find freedom overwhelming. I know it’s there, whether or not I choose to embrace it. I know all it requires is for me to reach out. But what if I reach out and my hands don’t connect with His robe? What if I reach out and it falls of deaf ears? What if… what if…
What if He again calls me by my new identity?
The Girl Who Found Her Freedom.
Daughter.
Courageous Daughter.
What if I could just reach out?
Monday, December 9, 2019
Understanding God
Since I moved from the midwest, where I've lived my entire life, to the south, I cannot understand a word anyone is saying. It's literally so bad. I have to make my boss and co-workers repeat things multiple times, and even then I don't know what they say half the time. At restaurants and drive-thrus, I would probably accidentally order something I had no intention of getting if it weren't for the fact that my bestie is usually with me acting as interpreter. I'm telling you, it's a real problem. I don't know if it's an accent thing or just a southern way of speaking that my brain cannot seem to process correctly yet. I hear them, but I don't understand a word they're saying. It's honestly exhausting.
Then, the other day, I saw my pastor preach and had a conversation with her. Something incredible happened. I understood every single word she said. After the fact, I thought about how different that interaction was to my other recent conversations. Listening to her was so... effortless.
How come these interactions were so different? How come I could understand her so well, but struggle so hard when listening to everyone else?
But then I thought, well of course I could understand her. I've known her for years and have listened to her voice for hundreds, perhaps thousands of hours. (That sounds creepy, it's just because I've heard her sermons multiple times a weekend + editing videos of her each week). I know exactly how she talks and, probably, a depth of emotions and meanings even beyond the words she says.
So of course here I am thinking about this when I get one of those sarcastic nudges from God. You know what I'm talking about? When He says something like "hmmm... interesting thought. Sound familiar?"
Ugh. Of course He'd take this moment to make it about Him.
But... He's not wrong (go figure, huh?).
I've heard so many sermons, read books and blogs, even listened to songs and podcasts about hearing God. But what good does hearing Him do if I can't make out a word He's saying?
I find myself sitting in that a lot.
The problem is not that I can't hear God. Oh, I can hear Him. I know He's talking to me. But I can't understand a damn thing. I might catch it the fourth or fifth time He repeats it, or I might just find myself smiling and nodding because I don't want to ask Him to repeat it one more time.
And if I think it is exhausting trying to understand the people around me, just imagine how exhausting it is trying to understand God.
Guys, I'm exhausted.
But... am I really trying?
I mean, sure, I'm listening... but am I really listening?
Hardly.
I'm "listening" while I'm clicking through Instagram stories on my phone. I'm "listening" while I cook dinner. I'm "listening" reading a book... or watching a show... or shopping (okay I don't shop, but you get the picture)... or... or...
No wonder I can't understand what He's saying, I'm on sensory overload!
Then I think about how I got to learn my pastor's voice so well.
I listened.
I listened fully and paid attention to her movements and demeanor while I determined when to change the camera shot.
I listened to every word so that I could put her slides up on the screen at the exact right time.
I listened intently while I tried to reconcile what she was saying with her notes in front of me.
And I listened. Again and again. Hour after hour.
I listened to understand.
I learned how her voice cracks slightly when she is trying to hide her emotion and I know how she pauses, takes a deep breath and lifts her eyes up for a split second when she hears God talking in the middle of her message. I can tell you exactly when she is going to go off script and when she knows she's gone too far. I can recognize a lot of things in what she is saying that most people wouldn't pick up on.
I can't say I know God that way. I just think if I can hear Him, I should magically be able to understand Him. But I don't know His voice. Not really. I know it enough to recognize it, but that's about where it stops. Once in awhile, He tells me things enough times that eventually I get it. More often than not, I complain that I can't hear Him while the real problem is I can't understand Him.
Does He laugh silently when He knows what He's about to say is ridiculous?
Do the sides of His mouth twitch slightly into a smile when He is telling me proud of me?
Does He talk about some things more often than others because He knows it connects with me?
Does He ever go off script?
Honestly, I don't know... but I'm committed to learning.
It's a frustrating process, knowing that in the learning there is a lot of unlearning. There is a lot of listening for hours and struggling to interpret what I hear into something I understand. There is a lot of sitting in silence. In the dark. In places with no distractions. It's sitting with my Bible open, trying to reconcile the words I hear with the notes in front of me.
I don't want to just know God's voice, I want to understand it. I want to understand the emotion behind His words and be intimately connected to His character.
I want to know Him deeper.
And while there are many things I may never understand, I can find peace in understanding what He is saying. That in the moments when I have no other clarity, God's voice is the clearest thing I hear.
Then, the other day, I saw my pastor preach and had a conversation with her. Something incredible happened. I understood every single word she said. After the fact, I thought about how different that interaction was to my other recent conversations. Listening to her was so... effortless.
How come these interactions were so different? How come I could understand her so well, but struggle so hard when listening to everyone else?
But then I thought, well of course I could understand her. I've known her for years and have listened to her voice for hundreds, perhaps thousands of hours. (That sounds creepy, it's just because I've heard her sermons multiple times a weekend + editing videos of her each week). I know exactly how she talks and, probably, a depth of emotions and meanings even beyond the words she says.
So of course here I am thinking about this when I get one of those sarcastic nudges from God. You know what I'm talking about? When He says something like "hmmm... interesting thought. Sound familiar?"
Ugh. Of course He'd take this moment to make it about Him.
But... He's not wrong (go figure, huh?).
I've heard so many sermons, read books and blogs, even listened to songs and podcasts about hearing God. But what good does hearing Him do if I can't make out a word He's saying?
I find myself sitting in that a lot.
The problem is not that I can't hear God. Oh, I can hear Him. I know He's talking to me. But I can't understand a damn thing. I might catch it the fourth or fifth time He repeats it, or I might just find myself smiling and nodding because I don't want to ask Him to repeat it one more time.
And if I think it is exhausting trying to understand the people around me, just imagine how exhausting it is trying to understand God.
Guys, I'm exhausted.
But... am I really trying?
I mean, sure, I'm listening... but am I really listening?
Hardly.
I'm "listening" while I'm clicking through Instagram stories on my phone. I'm "listening" while I cook dinner. I'm "listening" reading a book... or watching a show... or shopping (okay I don't shop, but you get the picture)... or... or...
No wonder I can't understand what He's saying, I'm on sensory overload!
Then I think about how I got to learn my pastor's voice so well.
I listened.
I listened fully and paid attention to her movements and demeanor while I determined when to change the camera shot.
I listened to every word so that I could put her slides up on the screen at the exact right time.
I listened intently while I tried to reconcile what she was saying with her notes in front of me.
And I listened. Again and again. Hour after hour.
I listened to understand.
I learned how her voice cracks slightly when she is trying to hide her emotion and I know how she pauses, takes a deep breath and lifts her eyes up for a split second when she hears God talking in the middle of her message. I can tell you exactly when she is going to go off script and when she knows she's gone too far. I can recognize a lot of things in what she is saying that most people wouldn't pick up on.
I can't say I know God that way. I just think if I can hear Him, I should magically be able to understand Him. But I don't know His voice. Not really. I know it enough to recognize it, but that's about where it stops. Once in awhile, He tells me things enough times that eventually I get it. More often than not, I complain that I can't hear Him while the real problem is I can't understand Him.
Does He laugh silently when He knows what He's about to say is ridiculous?
Do the sides of His mouth twitch slightly into a smile when He is telling me proud of me?
Does He talk about some things more often than others because He knows it connects with me?
Does He ever go off script?
Honestly, I don't know... but I'm committed to learning.
It's a frustrating process, knowing that in the learning there is a lot of unlearning. There is a lot of listening for hours and struggling to interpret what I hear into something I understand. There is a lot of sitting in silence. In the dark. In places with no distractions. It's sitting with my Bible open, trying to reconcile the words I hear with the notes in front of me.
I don't want to just know God's voice, I want to understand it. I want to understand the emotion behind His words and be intimately connected to His character.
I want to know Him deeper.
And while there are many things I may never understand, I can find peace in understanding what He is saying. That in the moments when I have no other clarity, God's voice is the clearest thing I hear.
Monday, May 13, 2019
She's Still Here
It’s quiet now.
The endless stream of voices speaking into my life… The unending choir, singing a song that defines me. My voice eagerly mixing in the chorus, a constant hum that has become all too familiar.
You’re not enough.
Your dreams are dumb.
You’re not good enough.
You’re doing it wrong.
You have nothing to give the world.
You’re not special.
You’re not creative.
No one sees you.
No one cares.
You’re not important.
You are nothing.
Until finally I get the strength to tell them all to shut up. A quiet plea, that drowns within the chaos. A quiet plea that fades out until I finally get the strength to scream through my tears. SHUT THE FUCK UP.
My harsh language shocks them into silence. I’m a little surprised it worked, but I find myself sitting in silence. I take a deep breath, the first one I’ve breathed in a long time. But the silence grows loud and I find myself wanting the voices back, the voices that can tell me who I am.
Because in the silence, I feel like nothing more than an empty shell. Who am I without the voices to define me? The voices transform into questions.
Do you even like the things you claim to? Or did you just grasp them when people wanted answers? Do you even like video? Do you like reading? Do you even like ice cream? Are you even good at any of it?
I look down at myself, a canvas that everyone seemed to paint on but me. But I know it’s my fault.
I gave them the paintbrushes and insisted they define me.
I insisted they choose the colors and the designs.
I closed my eyes as the paint flung from every direction. A tapestry of colors, none of which I would have chosen. A design that was better suited for Jackson Pollock than it was for me.
I tried to become everything everyone wanted me to be… and the result was a confusing mess that I cannot untangle from myself.
Who am I?
The question repeats in my mind, the answer nonexistent. Surely I am still in there. Somewhere. Under all the paint, there has got be someone in there who is worth it.
It’s quiet now.
I sit in the silence and focus on my breathing.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
It’s the only thing that feels real, the only thing I can do right now that I know is truly me.
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
I feel my heartbeat, the rhythm growing louder in the silence. It tells me that there is still life in there, somewhere. Somehow my heart has held on, a metronome trying it’s hardest to keep me grounded.
She’s still in there.
I can feel her heartbeat.
She’s still here.
Monday, March 4, 2019
upon the waters
Splash.
I watched from behind the camera as a little girl was dunked in the water. A few seconds later and up she came. A smile broke across her face, and I couldn’t help but smile too.
“Rika.”
I sighed and sat back in my seat. I’m not doing this now.
“Rika.” That Voice that sometimes makes me think I’m going crazy. The Voice that makes my heart beat faster. The soft, tender Voice calling me out.
“You call me out upon the waters,” the band starts the next song.
“You call me out upon the waters,” the band starts the next song.
Really? I sigh again and close my eyes. Only for a few seconds, I don’t want anyone to think I’m experiencing any emotion. I take a deep breath and adjust the camera before an older man is dunked just like the little girl. I smile and clap again.
“Rika.”
“Okay, fine. What?” I already know what. I’m already coming up with excuses.
“It’s your turn. You’re ready for this.”
I’m not ready. What does the Voice know anyways?
Finally, the baptism service is over. I smirk a little, knowing I made it through. I didn’t have to do anything hard.
I feel the Voice smirking too. “There are two more services tomorrow, Love.”
I wish I could skip, stay home and not have to feel anything. But I have to be there, I promised I would be.
I don’t know what to do. Maybe tomorrow I will go in the water. Maybe I will be someone different. Someone with no fear or doubt. Maybe tomorrow I would go through with it.
I’m high on emotion. I’m overwhelmed. I’m scared. I do everything I can to block out the emotions that threaten to overtake me and soon find myself fading into the black night.
“Rika.”
I’ve barely woken up and the Voice is already back. Maybe it never left.
“Rika.” The Voice is pained, full of emotion. But today, today I won’t let the Voice get to me. I take a deep breath and don’t respond. Today I will be stronger.
The Voice is strong today. My soul feels heavy. The Voice tells me I’m okay but I’m not sure I believe it.
It’s worship night, and I’m scared. Images of last time start flipping through my mind like a slideshow. Walking in. Emotions running wild, feeling everything all at once. I am overwhelmed. I stand up and watch as everyone around me becomes part of the moment. I can’t breathe. I can’t stay there. So I run. I run home and I once again find myself fighting against the darkness, welcoming the black that overwhelms me with open arms.
I’m brought back to reality as I walk into the church. Today feels different. I’m scared of what that looks like, what that means. I know there will be no running away this time because I am serving tonight. I can’t back out of that, I can’t just leave.
I’m shaking as I walk in. I can already feel it, this heavy presence. The Voice is strong.
“Rika.”
Today, I choose not to fight it. Today, I choose more. I choose not to run.
“Rika.” The Voice says my name gently, and I can hear it smile.
“Yeah?” I close my eyes and it’s just me and the Voice. The music blends into a background track as I listen for the Voice.
It’s quiet for a few minutes, but I wait. I wait in the silence, and I breathe.
Through the silence, the Voice is so loud and clear that I want to fall to my knees.
“Rika.”
I wait. I know I don’t have to say anything.
“I love you.”
I don’t want to believe it, but something in me knows it has to be true.
Splash!
I pull the camera up to my face and hide behind it, keeping the moment at arm’s length.
It’s only been two days since my last encounter with the Voice, but I’m scared to dig in. What would it mean to stop running? Who would I be without the mask? My arms shake as I hold up the camera to record the next baptism. The Voice is here; I can feel it. I try to block everything out and just focus on what I’m doing, but the Voice is persistent.
I hide in the back and try to keep a neutral face. The Voice is doing something and I’m scared. Actually, I’m terrified. It’s Saturday and we’re having baptisms all weekend. I know this is my weekend, I know what’s going to happen but I still fight it. I can’t do this, not here, not now.
The Voice is quiet but close, I know it doesn’t have to say anything. It’s all up to me now, all I have to do is say yes. I hesitate. I want more, I want so much more. But… what if nothing happens? What if I say yes and I still feel empty? What if the Voice is just a game my mind is playing with me? No… I know that can’t be right. I’ve gotten to know the Voice well, and it’s more real than anything I could conjure up.
The night is over and I have a lot to take in. Deep down, I know tomorrow is my day. I try to come up with excuses, but they all fall flat, even to me.
Sunday morning.
I’m shaking, and only half paying attention to what I’m doing. I’m still not sure I can go through with it. How do I even ask Carly if it’s okay to bail on filming? I still don’t know her well and I’m not prepared to have that vulnerable moment with her. The first service goes by and I know I need to act soon if I’m going to do this. I still don’t know. I don’t get a chance to talk to Carly, and I don’t know if I can go through with it.
Splash.
The final service is halfway done and I adjust the focus on the camera as someone lifts their head out of the water.
Carly walks in front of me.
I sigh. It’s now or never.
Splash.
I try to film, but I can’t hold the camera up any longer. I need to do this. I need to stop being so scared.
I look at all the people. Why the hell am I part of a large church?
I pull the camera strap off over my head and hand Carly the camera. There’s no turning back now… I consider it, but can’t think of a way out. I’m doing this.
I’m overcome, absolutely overcome and it’s all I can do to keep the tears from breaking through. Deep breath. Everything fades away and now it is just me and the Voice. No one else is around. The Voice isn’t saying anything, but I can feel it smiling, I can feel it walking beside me.
I’m brought back to the moment as Carly puts her arm around me.
“I’m so freaking proud of you.”
That about does me in. I’ve never heard those words before, not really… I don’t understand. She doesn’t even know me.
My pastor grabs me and whispers in my ear. I think she says something about being proud too, but to be honest I don’t hear anything she’s saying. I’m trying so hard to keep my emotions in check. I don’t cry. Especially not in front of people, but this moment is about to undo me.
Heather doesn’t let go. I forget that there are hundreds of other people there and her arms become the Voice’s. Suddenly I know love. There’s no denying it in this moment. I know everything is about to change.
Splash.
This time I’m not looking through a lens but everything comes into focus as I lift my head out of the water.
Clarity.
Clarity like I’ve never known before.
Sunday, October 21, 2018
Heavy
My heart is heavy.
It's heavy when I look around and see so much broken. And maybe it's always been there, but I was too numb to care. To feel the gravity of it.
And it's heavy when my heart struggles to find a reason to beat. When it feels like the the ground beneath my feet is sinking sand. And I struggle to stand.
I want to be able to just hold up my hands like Moses, a simple gesture that ensures I win the battle. That when I feel overwhelmed, I can just raise my arms to get the advantage. The answer always seems so simple, so trivial. Just pray more. Be joyful. Don't give up. Lift your hands.
But pain is never simple.
Do I have a legitimate reason to feel this way? Maybe not. I get stuck in the cycle of comparison. Who am I to claim brokenness when I'm healthy, when everything is going relatively okay? There are so many people out there who are going through really hard, really heavy things. You don't have a reason to feel this way. How can you admit you're broken, but not have a good explanation for why? How can you take up someone's time and heart when there are so many who need it more? Why can't I just figure it out on my own?
& that's the reality. Sometimes I'm broken. And I don't know what to do with that. Sometimes it feels like everything is crashing down at once, and I'm not sure how to find the way out.
I get mad at the enemy for attacking my confidence. And I get mad at myself for letting him. For dropping my sword and sitting down.
I don't have a pretty wrap up for this post. I don't have a resolve, because sometimes we're in a place that isn't wrapped up in a nice package with a bow. It just is what it is... but what I do know...
What I do know is that God has never left me before. On the other side, I have seen that He was there the whole time. I can see the moments when He showed up, that I was too distracted to see... And if I have nothing else to hold onto, I'll hold onto that....
It's heavy when I look around and see so much broken. And maybe it's always been there, but I was too numb to care. To feel the gravity of it.
And it's heavy when my heart struggles to find a reason to beat. When it feels like the the ground beneath my feet is sinking sand. And I struggle to stand.
I want to be able to just hold up my hands like Moses, a simple gesture that ensures I win the battle. That when I feel overwhelmed, I can just raise my arms to get the advantage. The answer always seems so simple, so trivial. Just pray more. Be joyful. Don't give up. Lift your hands.
But pain is never simple.
Do I have a legitimate reason to feel this way? Maybe not. I get stuck in the cycle of comparison. Who am I to claim brokenness when I'm healthy, when everything is going relatively okay? There are so many people out there who are going through really hard, really heavy things. You don't have a reason to feel this way. How can you admit you're broken, but not have a good explanation for why? How can you take up someone's time and heart when there are so many who need it more? Why can't I just figure it out on my own?
& that's the reality. Sometimes I'm broken. And I don't know what to do with that. Sometimes it feels like everything is crashing down at once, and I'm not sure how to find the way out.
I get mad at the enemy for attacking my confidence. And I get mad at myself for letting him. For dropping my sword and sitting down.
I don't have a pretty wrap up for this post. I don't have a resolve, because sometimes we're in a place that isn't wrapped up in a nice package with a bow. It just is what it is... but what I do know...
What I do know is that God has never left me before. On the other side, I have seen that He was there the whole time. I can see the moments when He showed up, that I was too distracted to see... And if I have nothing else to hold onto, I'll hold onto that....
Sunday, July 1, 2018
The Month of Yes
I had no idea coming into June what the month would bring. The last day of May I felt so deeply in me that I should go to my church and pray over the weekend. The next day, June 1, somewhat... well very begrudgingly, I said "yes" and my friend and I went to the church. After mindlessly wandering the grounds and avoiding praying, I looked at her and asked, "Can I start?"
I spread my arms and I started praying, feeling a power from within me that I'm not sure I've ever felt before. Something shifted that night.
That weekend, my pastor said something that stuck with me. "If you don't say yes to God, He'll step over you and find someone who is willing."
I don't want to stand in the way of what God is doing. I don't want to be the roadblock that needs to be avoided to get to someone who is willing. I want to grab the baton and run the race that I was created to run. (Figuratively... please don't make me run for real...) So, I decided to say yes.
Shonda Rhimes once spent a year saying yes to everything that was hard... I haven't actually read her book, but she has a Ted Talks about it that I love. (seriously, so good- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gmj-azFbpkA) Shonda was living a dream life and then she lost what she refers to as "the hum" that kept her going. She poses the question, "If the song of my heart refuses to play, can I survive in the silence?" She goes through this journey of always saying 'yes' when her kids ask to play and slowly, that hum returns.
The point being, I remembered this video and then I remembered June 1. Friday night. And I remembered the weekend, Heather's sermon about saying yes to what He's asking of you... and how we have no idea what our yes can do.
You see, for months up to this point, I'd been super empty inside. I didn't feel anything. And not just numb as I've known most of my life. I didn't feel passion for anything. I didn't enjoy doing the things I used to love. I went through the motions and I pretended to care. But I didn't. Not about anything.
But that yes.
That yes sent a spark through my body. And I started thinking... what if I spent the whole month intentionally saying "yes" to everything God asked of me?
And yes, I know, shouldn't I have already been doing that? Shouldn't that just be what is expected?
Yes. But I didn't. I think the majority of us... we get those promptings, "Go, pray with this person." "Pay for their meal." "Reach out to this person." "Spend time with Me." and we just assume we're going crazy, or we just think our minds are coming up with those things on their own. (which is dumb, why would my mind ever think I should talk to someone?)
So, for the month of June, I decided I would explore every thought that may be from God and always say yes.
I had no idea what that would mean.
I had no idea what June would bring.
I was totally gung-ho on everything I anticipated about the month. Get out of my comfort zone and talk to people? I can do that. Be intentional about praying for and with people? Check. Do nice things for people? Well, obviously... I'm gonna do all these great things, blog about it at the end. It'll be beautiful...
Wait... you want me to take care of myself? Um.... No. But... Well... no.
But like... What do you mean I should actually take care of my own heart first?
No.
No. No. No.
Yes, God, I know I said I'd say yes. I know I did. But... you know that's not what I do. You know I can't do that.
I know I committed to the month of yes... I know. But can't you just like... aren't there more productive things I could do with my time?
Here's the honest truth.
I shut down. My stubborn heart screamed "NO"... No, I can't do this. There is too much going on, too many hard things, I cannot handle dealing with life right now.... maybe we could revisit it when life calms down.
There were some really iffy days in there.... There were a lot of "lets just go through the motions and stay too busy to focus on anything else" days... And there were a few "just curl up and hope I don't wake up" days.
But buried between those days were a couple moments when I was too weak and too defeated to do anything but squeak out the faintest "yes" I could muster. Moments when I didn't know what else to do but remember....
June 1. Friday Night.
That spark.
That first yes.
Guys, I'm really scared. I'm scared of my heart. I'm scared of what's in me. Or what isn't. I don't want to fail... But I'm also not sure I want to succeed.
I don't like unknowns. I'm a thorough person, I need redundancy. I need back ups to my back up. I don't worry about what ifs, because all my what ifs are covered... It makes me great at some things...
But horrible at others...
I can plan to build a boat or a bridge, or maybe if that doesn't work I can just take a plane or hot air balloon across the river. But to just walk to the river and stick my toes in, trusting God is going to do something? Ha.
To just lay all my broken pieces at God's feet with no idea how that will play out?.. not my forte.
But... I remember how alive I felt that first night. And something in me knows that He can be trusted.
It might have taken most of the month for me to mutter an embarrassingly weak "yes." One that I'll be honest, I haven't had time to see play out yet.
But that tiny yes.
Yes, You can see my heart.
Yes, You can do what You want with it.
Yes... Okay, yes.
For most of June, my loud yes was to embracing numbness. To forgetting. To ignoring.
And I was miserable.
But that tiny yes.
It made my heart start beating again.
It brought peace.
It amplified my voice to a stronger string of yeses.
Yeses that at the moment, I have no idea what they mean. But I'm not going to let myself assume what they will look like.
So my month of yes? Well, it was more a month of "well... no... I mean... um... I guess..."
Do I feel like I failed? A little.
But I also feel that God was preparing me from the beginning to bring me to a spot where I could learn how to amplify my yes. To bring me to a place where this month would not take me out, but strengthen me to fight battles I was otherwise unprepared to handle.
I'm not quitting now that June is over. I know I won't always make the right decision, but I also know the power of God in me. It scares me. It terrifies me. But the only thing that feels stable right now is that He is good. He is faithful. He doesn't forget His promises. And I only have a limited number of yeses to give. Instead of throwing them at whatever I think may or may not keep me afloat, I'll give them to the One who I know isn't going to let me sink.
So...
Yeah? (we're still working on it. :))
I spread my arms and I started praying, feeling a power from within me that I'm not sure I've ever felt before. Something shifted that night.
That weekend, my pastor said something that stuck with me. "If you don't say yes to God, He'll step over you and find someone who is willing."
I don't want to stand in the way of what God is doing. I don't want to be the roadblock that needs to be avoided to get to someone who is willing. I want to grab the baton and run the race that I was created to run. (Figuratively... please don't make me run for real...) So, I decided to say yes.
Shonda Rhimes once spent a year saying yes to everything that was hard... I haven't actually read her book, but she has a Ted Talks about it that I love. (seriously, so good- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gmj-azFbpkA) Shonda was living a dream life and then she lost what she refers to as "the hum" that kept her going. She poses the question, "If the song of my heart refuses to play, can I survive in the silence?" She goes through this journey of always saying 'yes' when her kids ask to play and slowly, that hum returns.
The point being, I remembered this video and then I remembered June 1. Friday night. And I remembered the weekend, Heather's sermon about saying yes to what He's asking of you... and how we have no idea what our yes can do.
You see, for months up to this point, I'd been super empty inside. I didn't feel anything. And not just numb as I've known most of my life. I didn't feel passion for anything. I didn't enjoy doing the things I used to love. I went through the motions and I pretended to care. But I didn't. Not about anything.
But that yes.
That yes sent a spark through my body. And I started thinking... what if I spent the whole month intentionally saying "yes" to everything God asked of me?
And yes, I know, shouldn't I have already been doing that? Shouldn't that just be what is expected?
Yes. But I didn't. I think the majority of us... we get those promptings, "Go, pray with this person." "Pay for their meal." "Reach out to this person." "Spend time with Me." and we just assume we're going crazy, or we just think our minds are coming up with those things on their own. (which is dumb, why would my mind ever think I should talk to someone?)
So, for the month of June, I decided I would explore every thought that may be from God and always say yes.
I had no idea what that would mean.
I had no idea what June would bring.
I was totally gung-ho on everything I anticipated about the month. Get out of my comfort zone and talk to people? I can do that. Be intentional about praying for and with people? Check. Do nice things for people? Well, obviously... I'm gonna do all these great things, blog about it at the end. It'll be beautiful...
Wait... you want me to take care of myself? Um.... No. But... Well... no.
But like... What do you mean I should actually take care of my own heart first?
No.
No. No. No.
Yes, God, I know I said I'd say yes. I know I did. But... you know that's not what I do. You know I can't do that.
I know I committed to the month of yes... I know. But can't you just like... aren't there more productive things I could do with my time?
Here's the honest truth.
I shut down. My stubborn heart screamed "NO"... No, I can't do this. There is too much going on, too many hard things, I cannot handle dealing with life right now.... maybe we could revisit it when life calms down.
There were some really iffy days in there.... There were a lot of "lets just go through the motions and stay too busy to focus on anything else" days... And there were a few "just curl up and hope I don't wake up" days.
But buried between those days were a couple moments when I was too weak and too defeated to do anything but squeak out the faintest "yes" I could muster. Moments when I didn't know what else to do but remember....
June 1. Friday Night.
That spark.
That first yes.
Guys, I'm really scared. I'm scared of my heart. I'm scared of what's in me. Or what isn't. I don't want to fail... But I'm also not sure I want to succeed.
I don't like unknowns. I'm a thorough person, I need redundancy. I need back ups to my back up. I don't worry about what ifs, because all my what ifs are covered... It makes me great at some things...
But horrible at others...
I can plan to build a boat or a bridge, or maybe if that doesn't work I can just take a plane or hot air balloon across the river. But to just walk to the river and stick my toes in, trusting God is going to do something? Ha.
To just lay all my broken pieces at God's feet with no idea how that will play out?.. not my forte.
But... I remember how alive I felt that first night. And something in me knows that He can be trusted.
It might have taken most of the month for me to mutter an embarrassingly weak "yes." One that I'll be honest, I haven't had time to see play out yet.
But that tiny yes.
Yes, You can see my heart.
Yes, You can do what You want with it.
Yes... Okay, yes.
For most of June, my loud yes was to embracing numbness. To forgetting. To ignoring.
And I was miserable.
But that tiny yes.
It made my heart start beating again.
It brought peace.
It amplified my voice to a stronger string of yeses.
Yeses that at the moment, I have no idea what they mean. But I'm not going to let myself assume what they will look like.
So my month of yes? Well, it was more a month of "well... no... I mean... um... I guess..."
Do I feel like I failed? A little.
But I also feel that God was preparing me from the beginning to bring me to a spot where I could learn how to amplify my yes. To bring me to a place where this month would not take me out, but strengthen me to fight battles I was otherwise unprepared to handle.
I'm not quitting now that June is over. I know I won't always make the right decision, but I also know the power of God in me. It scares me. It terrifies me. But the only thing that feels stable right now is that He is good. He is faithful. He doesn't forget His promises. And I only have a limited number of yeses to give. Instead of throwing them at whatever I think may or may not keep me afloat, I'll give them to the One who I know isn't going to let me sink.
So...
Yeah? (we're still working on it. :))
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