Can I be an anxious Christian? Part 2: Can a mature Christian be anxious?

There were some things that I wanted to say in the last post that I didn't get around to. So I'm having another go at this question- Can I be an anxious Christian? But, in this post I'm going to look at anxiety and Christian maturity.

When I think about a mature Christian, I think of someone who has been following Christ and obeying God's Word long enough for the fruits of the Spirit to be evident in his/her life.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Galatians 5:22-23

Mature Christians are people you can count on to respond to life's triggers according to God's Word and with consistent reflection of his character. This is not to say that they are perfect people. But, they are growing people. And they are people who know God and His Word well enough to look more like him than like the rest of the world.

So, can a mature Christian be an anxious Christian? 

One of the marks of a mature Christian is that they ought to be able to recognize sin, and want to turn from it. Many people qualify anxiety as a sin, because it implies a lack of trust in God. This is one of the more confusing things about anxiety- people think it is synonymous with worry. If you're anxious, then you must be worrying about something, right? And worry is a sin. So, if you're anxious, you must be sinning.

Not necessarily.

As I said in the first post, the symptoms of General Anxiety Disorder (GAD) can be caused by a variety of triggers. Yes, chronic or acute worry might be one of them. In my case, this did play a role, and I'll touch on that later. But, if you want to know how to love someone with GAD well, don't assume that their symptoms are a consequence of the sin of worry. Their anxiety may or may not have anything to do with worry.

Remember that GAD is basically a prolonged and/or exaggerated expression of the fight or flight response. GAD can be the result of a variety of physiological and/or psychological triggers- exhaustion, stress, poor eating and drinking habits, or a traumatic event. Likely, it's a combination of these factors. Mature Christians are not exempt from any of these triggers, and therefore can easily find themselves trapped in a pattern of GAD.

The last thing that a mature Christian should do is get discouraged by assuming that their experience with anxiety is an expression of their lack of faith. We might think, If I really trusted, loved and belonged to God, I wouldn't feel this way. Or, If I just pray more or get down to the root sin, all of this will go away. I once thought this way but, as time goes on, I've learned to see this experience as a testing of my faith, rather than an expression of not enough faith.

Having said that, I must admit that one of the things that I have recognized and dealt with during this time of testing is unbelief. One of the Bible's key verses on anxiety is 1 Peter 5:7. My mom gave me a print of this verse for Christmas and I love it, but, one of the things I was challenged with early on was the verse that precedes it.

Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's might hand, that he may lift you up in due time. 1 Peter 5:6

In my case, one of the factors involved in triggering my GAD was chronic worry over a circumstance in my life that I've struggled with for years. God used what was happening to me physically to spur me to deeply, and I mean really, really deeply examine my heart toward God and every other person involved in this circumstance. Through counsel and confession, I learned that I did not really trust God when he says that he is bringing all things together for my good and his glory. (Romans 8:28) Not only that, but, in my pride, I have been thinking that I could, would and should fix this thing that he has allowed to remain broken. It was really important for me to "humble myself under his mighty hand" and truly, deeply accept his will in this matter.

God is good. Even when a situation doesn't feel good. God is love. Even when I might not particularly feel loved. God is wise. Even when I think my way is better, his is always best. God is just. Even when something feels unfair, only God can see and rightly judge circumstances and people. GOD CAN BE TRUSTED.

After humility, we get to the sweet stuff... Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. 1 Peter 5:7

It's not exactly easy to feel cared for when you are face-down every day begging for something to be taken away, and it isn't taken away. I have many friends who find themselves in this place, and on their behalf and mine- I must say, the struggle is so. very. real. This is the testing that produces endurance, character, and eventually deepest hope and joy. But it hurts while it is happening. It feels desperate and terrible. Far from feeling beloved, it feels like being forgotten. Far from feeling cared for, it feels like affliction.

But somehow, through the pain, real hope emerges. My anxiety is not gone, but I feel more together with God than I have in a long time. I don't know what's happening in my life, and my circumstances haven't really changed, but I know His kindness in a deeper way. I trust His goodness with a little more certainty. I am excited about His future and less dependent on the experience of here and now.

All of this depends on accepting the latter part of this verse as the core belief in my life. Because he cares for me. I've started to rebuild the way that I think of myself. At the foundation level is this belief- God cares for me. He takes delight in me. He really, really likes me. And enjoys me. At every stage, every step. Currently, I believe that God has told me that my willingness during this time of testing delights him. It isn't the end product- not the final fruit of a perfectly at peace mind and soul- that delights him (probably because I don't have that yet), but he delights in my willingness to continue on this journey, step by anxious step, looking for him, trying to find out more about him, testing, tasting and seeing him each day.

Does this make me a mature Christian? Well, yes. I believe it does. I believe that mature Christianity can only result from true testing. We can study God's Word (and we should), we can serve in our churches (and we should), we can build beautiful relationships with strong believers, but for our own maturity to really come through- we have to be tested. We have to be tried by fire. We have to let the dross be consumed, the gold refined. That's what anxiety can be for the mature Christian- the blazing furnace of refinement.

Let me be clear. I am not a mature Christian because I am anxious. Neither am I an immature Christian because I am anxious. Anxiety can come about because of many things, but when it does come, there is always the opportunity to respond with an attitude reflective of 1 Peter 5:6-7. Humility. Trust in God's mighty hand. Belief in his love. And a throwing off of any worry that might keep us trapped in GAD. We can step forward, hearts still beating, breaths still coming short, panic attacks still just around the corner, trusting that he will care for us. He loves us. He delights in us. And he is working all of this together for our good.

Friend, if you are reading this and suffering from anxiety, please know that I do not assume that you have a problem with pride or lack of trust. God allows this suffering for reasons that he alone knows. It does not mean that your problems have been the same as mine. It also doesn't mean that anxiety will go away as soon as sin is dealt with. This has not been the case for me. But, what has been the case, is that I'm learning to count the whole thing as joy- even though I would LOVE for my pounding chest to never ache inside me again. I know, that for fruit to come to maturity it takes time. And for trust to be real, it must be tested. So I humble myself, because, in due time, he will lift me up. May he do the same for you.

Can I be an anxious Christian?

My friend Angela sent me this Relevant magazine article this morning, and it resonated with me. It feels similar to the experience I've been having with anxiety disorder. It also sounds similar to some of the encouraging stories that have been shared with me by others who are suffering from anxiety and depression.

I think the central question here is- can you be an anxious Christian? I want to talk a little bit about that question.

I think that any adjective could be inserted in front of the word Christian, and a similar question could be asked. Can I be a depressed Christian? A gay Christian? An angry Christian? A selfish Christian? A prideful Christian? An insecure Christian? An ungrateful Christian?

First, I have to think about the word Christian before I can address any of these other words. What is a Christian? For me, a Christian is anyone who fits this description in Romans 10:9 "If you declare with your mouth "Jesus is Lord" and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved." I think a Christian is a "saved" person- a person who believes that God's grace alone has saved them from the wrath of God. And the Bible is clear that absolutely anyone can qualify for that grace. It has nothing to do with our actions- Romans 4: 5 "To the one who does not work but trusts God who justifies the ungodly, their faith is credited as righteousness."

So, anyone, and I do mean anyone, can be a Christian. That is not to say that I think that everyone is a Christian. Some people think that everyone is saved. That's an interesting theology, but not one that I personally agree with. If I believe the Bible, and the Bible says that the qualifying acts for salvation are belief in my heart and confession of my lips, then I'm not going to believe that everyone is saved. Not everyone believes in Jesus in their heart. So I don't think everyone is saved. Some people choose to reject Him. Even people who were raised in "Christian" cultures.

But what about all these other words? I can't answer all of those questions, but I can share what I'm learning about being an anxious Christian?

Can I be an anxious Christian? Absolutely. Yes. Being anxious does not make me less of a Christian. It isn't something that I need to be ashamed of. Because it is a part of my Gospel story, and, like Paul, "I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation." (Romans 1: 16)

What is anxiety, anyway? There's a complicated question, and one that I can only answer by sharing from my experience because I am not a doctor, nor have I studied this disorder in great depth. But, for me, anxiety is a collection of nervous symptoms that I have learned are all associated with excess adrenaline and cortisol stress hormones. I've felt a lot of different things in this time that I've had anxiety, but the main ones that I suffer from are- chest pain (yes, I've been fully checked out and my heart is 100% fine), dizziness, invasive thoughts and the sensation of unreality.

When I first began to experience anxiety, people would ask me, "What are you worried about?" Well-meaning friends often ask this question and encourage anxiety sufferers to pray more or seek help from a Christian counselor, which is really good advice, but may or may not be what that person needs. Some people have been praying on their "hands and knees" as the Relevant magazine article clarifies, and some have been in counseling for years. Both of those truths applied to me when I first began to experience anxiety. To me, counseling and prayer are always a good idea, but they might not eliminate nervous suffering.

"What am I worried about?" At first, I had no idea. Because on the surface, I thought things were fine in my life. I wasn't consciously worried about anything. But over these months of nervous suffering, God has let me explore the deepest parts of myself- places where unbelief and unforgiveness and ungratefulness have been flourishing. This has been a hard and humbling journey. And, along the way, as I've uncovered places that needed to be transformed by God's grace, I have been sort of shocked and ashamed. But, I'm choosing to reject the shame. I don't need to be ashamed of something that God says is common of all humanity- I am a sinner. I need God's grace. I need His help. That's part of my belief and confession. It's also a part of my healing. I also don't need to be ashamed of something that glorifies my Savior. And, let me be clear- I do need saving. I do need healing. Every hour, I need Thee.

But anxiety disorder can't just be boiled down to mental stress or unconfessed sin. For some, anxious suffering might not have anything to do with the heart or mind (though, we're integrated beings, so it's hard to separate those things out, but emotional or spiritual issues might not be the primary problems) Most of the time, I see anxiety classified as a mental illness, but the book my doctor recommended to me- Dare, by Barry McDonough- says that's not really the case. The symptoms of anxiety (panic attacks, troubled breathing, insomnia, muscle pain and fatigue, invasive thoughts, unreality, etc.) are actually caused by adrenaline. Essentially, chronic anxiety is a prolonged and habitual fight or flight response. Not many people talk about these physical aspects of anxiety. Usually, people go straight for the mental, emotional or spiritual issues at hand. But, even when those are being dealt with, the physical sensations (which can be frightening and horrifically painful) can remain. In fact, anxiety is often triggered by physical suffering, and I believe this was the case for me. The first panic attack I had was in the hospital after delivering Grey. My body had struggled so much with that delivery, and I was exhausted and in pain. This isn't uncommon. Apparently, many people first experience anxiety and panic attacks after operations or accidents, or when they are chronically exhausted or not eating or drinking well. My anxiety returned at a time when I wasn't sleeping because of Grey's troubled sleep. (In truth, I hadn't slept more than a few consecutive hours in more than a year) When we think about anxious suffering in this light, it seems almost silly to ask the question, "Can I be an anxious Christian?" It would be like asking, "Can I be a Christian with cancer? Or migraines? Or arthritis?"

Of course, anxiety is more nuanced than migraines or arthritis because the mind does play a significant role in the progression of the disorder. What I think about anxiety, and what I think about myself and about God and about other people, will absolutely affect whether or not I heal from this disorder, which is not necessarily the case with those other sicknesses. But, anxiety is definitely a physical problem, and should be treated as such, both by anxious sufferers and those who are close to them.

So, can I be an anxious Christian? Does having anxiety disqualify me in any way from bearing witness to Christ? Or becoming like Him? My take- No. Absolutely not. I'm beginning to see anxiety as one of the cracks in my life through which the Light shines in. Anxiety helped me get at some of the sins beneath my conscious thoughts. Anxiety drives me to God, who heals all my diseases (Psalm 103: 3) And, best of all, anxiety is helping me throw off the need for you (or anyone) to see me in any particular light. I want other people to see me in a good light. I want a good reputation, and to be seen and thought of well. I have held out the cup of approval so many times like little Oliver Twist, "Please, God, can I have some more?" And, I could not get over it when He said, "No." Rather than fill that cup with the elixir of other people's approval, which doesn't actually satisfy my soul, He's allowed it to stay empty. I'm finally learning to put that cup down. And I'm looking for a new one to pick up and bring to Him. There's tremendous freedom in that. Freedom from the anxiety of what other people think about me. Wow. I'm not "there" yet, but I'm journeying on... step by anxious step.

Have yourself a (Merry) little Christmas

If I'm honest, I have mixed feelings about the Christmas season. There's a lot to love. Time with friends. Family in town. Christmas cards in the mailbox. The smell of Frasier fir, the sound of familiar songs, the anticipation of gift-giving, the joyful cries of my children from the backseat as we drive through streets, normally dark, but, for these few weeks, brightly lit.

But, there's a lot of pressure too. I'd like to be one of those people who just throws off everything and settles into a peaceful, simple expression of wonder. I tried this year. I think I might have done a little "better" than years past. But, honestly, goal not achieved. Maybe one day.

Truthfully, there's a lot of pressure that I feel this time of year- to feel great- happy, joyful, merry. Everywhere you turn, that message is kind of in your face- written on billboards and throw pillows and t-shirts. It's in every song and movie plot.  Every magazine cover is artfully, skillfully, painstakingly designed to show a Christmas that is all homemade cookies and glitter and smiles.

Don't get me wrong, I do feel merry, but over the past few days, I've reflected more and more on how merriment, for the sake of merriment, does not last. Heartache doesn't fade away, loneliness doesn't take a holiday, depression and anxiety don't hibernate during December. In fact, for many people, there can be a heightening of these sensations because of that pressure- the cultural and interpersonal pressure to feel good because that's what everything is screaming at you this time of year. You can really start to feel like something is really wrong with you if you are struggling.

Full disclosure- my anxiety symptoms have resurfaced this week. Just after I posted last week about how good I have been feeling. I'm trying not to freak out about it. I've read so much about needing to be patient with myself as I heal. But I do feel disappointed. Just when I was starting to feel so good. But, as I started to feel good, I noticed a change. As the tide of merry-making came in, my deep, personal longing to connect with God went out. Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, prone to leave the God I love... to craft my to-do list, to wrap presents, or make a dessert, or try to tame the chaos of my house after my three year old and one year old take a couple of laps around.

Anxiety is a faithful companion in this way- it is faithful to bring me to my prayer journal and Bible, to God, my Refuge. Merriness does not do such a good job of pointing me in this direction.

Magazines and blog posts are filled with helpful tips to make this the best Christmas ever. Here's mine. Stop trying to have a Merry Christmas. Christmas will come, and the best gift that you can give yourself, others and God Himself, is the gift of your honest, focused presence. Maybe you do feel merry. Maybe you don't. Maybe you, like me and others that I hold dear, find yourself feeling sad, lonely, depressed or anxious- this holiday season. That's okay. For this, Christ came.

We sing "All is bright" this time of year. But, we've gotten so focused on how we can make things bright, that we have neglected to meditate on our deep need, our inner longing for true Light. The brightness doesn't come from us, or anything we create. It's given- the original Christmas gift. And, oh, how it shines in hearts that are dark from fear, anxiety, grief, regret. How it's needed in hearts that are longing for relief, change and hope.

You don't have to create or feign merriness to fully receive the gift and true meaning of Christmas. One of the most excellent things I've learned in this season is that I don't have to feel good to fully receive God's blessings with gratitude. I can be grateful while I'm still in pain.

Friends, if you are in pain this holiday season, I pray that it might pass. But I also pray that you and I will only fight the darkness by looking for the Light. Let's not get caught out by trying to manufacture what is artificial. It puts our focus, not on God, but on ourselves, and besides, it only lasts a moment. May the light of Jesus Christ shine brightly in your hearts and homes this Christmas season.

Seasons

I think it was March of last year that I took on my first garden project. There's a beautiful Japanese maple at the end of our driveway that was surrounded by a hodge-podge of plants (mostly dark green liriope, which I loathe) I resolved to make something useful of the space. After digging up all of the liriope with a shovel, Andy worked with me to turn half the bed into a seating space for our fire pit and red plastic Adirondack chairs. The rest I planted throughout the spring and summer, dabbling with a little of this and that. Learning what plants I liked, and what plants didn't work in the shady space.

I don't think of myself as a gardener. I come from a family with more than a few green thumbs. And when I took a European backpacking adventure with three friends five summers ago, I found myself more enchanted by English roses and Spanish gardens than with architecture or artwork. Still, I've been reluctant to assume the identity of "gardener." Maybe because I have always had so many other things going on, and working in the garden seems like just another thing to try and then fail at.

I can't say that the March 2018 project dramatically changed things for me, but it was a start. And in the months that have followed, the love and desire to be outside in the garden has taken root (pun intended) in a deeper way because God has been using the garden to teach me and heal me.

It's December, and the life-crippling anxiety that settled into my bones in August has left at last, and while I wouldn't say I've been gardening all that time, I think that's exactly what God has been doing in me.

I've been watching this English gardening show a lot lately, and one of the things that I've learned is that the best gardens don't just happen. They're the result of intentional plans, hard work, acceptance and time. As I sit at my kitchen table, looking out my window at the azalea hedge I'm clearing as my newest garden project, I can't help but recognize that the work God has done in my life over the past year involves these same four things.

Religious people see God as useful. Gospel people see God as beautiful. 
-Tim Keller

I came across this quote at some point in my months of suffering, and it's been like a North Star. It helped me identify where I have been. I haven't been the Gospel person I thought I was, and maybe have genuinely been at other times in my life. It helped me see that I have spent the most recent years as the religious person looking for God's usefulness. When God failed to be useful in the way I thought He should be, heart-sickness, bitterness and unbelief began to overgrow my heart.

I couldn't see God as beautiful, and I certainly couldn't see that He had a beautiful plan for my heart. This is where the gardening analogy really starts to fit. I'm learning that when I look out on a landscape and see it overgrown and unkempt, it doesn't frustrate or disappoint me the way that it used to. I used to feel really intimidated by all that unruliness. But now, it excites me. Because I've learned that as I plan and diligently work, little by little, with time and acceptance and grace, something good will come. Could this be how God has felt as He has looked into my heart? The bitterness and disappointment, heart break and sin that He has seen haven't intimidated Him. He has a beautiful plan and infinite power, abundant grace and all of the time in the world. All I need to do is cooperate with His plan.

God gave me the fertile soil of anxiety in which to create that cooperation. When physical suffering made it too difficult for me to ignore my great need for God's great work any longer, I settled into months of seeking and receiving His grace- not the "useful" grace that I have yearned for, but the beautiful grace that He so expertly, abundantly and creatively gives.

As I've opened up about this suffering, I've been amazed at how many people have identified with the struggle. There are many of us struggling with anxiety and I'm grateful to get to share what I've learned and the grace I've received. Truth  and transparency seem like the right direction, but shame calls out from the darkness and would love to keep us hidden and trapped. I'm not for shame. It's my enemy, so I write this to defy it.

Every day from August until now, God has taken me a step (sometimes even a leap) forward in the process of cultivating a beautiful heart. It started with identifying my need for the Beautiful God, and then developed into a glimmer of belief that He could work in my brokenness (thank you, Ann Voskamp and The Broken Way)

I've learned to risk asking God what He thinks of me (thank you, Kinsey) and then learned to wait an uncomfortable amount of time for an answer.

I've learned to take medicine when my physical suffering from anxiety was so great that it made me want to die (thank you, Jim Rapalje, the PA who pointed me to Isaiah 54: 16 and scripted me the relief that I needed) And then learned to put that very medicine away when God showed me it was time to step forward in a new kind of faith (thank you "Burn the Ships" by For King and Country- seriously, watch this...https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pOVrOuKVBuY)

I rumbled, and rumbled and rumbled some more with shame (SO MUCH shame) and expectations and loss and forgiveness and boundaries. (Thank you, Brené Brown for teaching me about Rising Strong) 

I've learned to be intentional about my yeses and no's because they haven't come as easily as they used to. So those yeses have been whole-hearted. Every Monday morning at BSF leader's training, and every Tuesday morning with my BSF small group has been a most whole-hearted yes because I had no idea if my body would agree with the yes that my mind and heart had already agreed to.

In late October, I broke down in the doctor's office. I had waited three months to sit there and get my blood pressure taken in a triage room covered in Bible verses. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I read printed versions of prayers that had filled my sleepless nights. My doctor gave me his undivided attention, a new prescription, a book recommendation and hope. I learned a LOT about all of the physical things that I had been experiencing from listening to that book. It was a HUGE turning point for me. (Thank you, Dr. Viswanith and Barry McDonough for helping me understand the power of adrenaline and how to accept by practicing the DARE response)

It's mid-December, and I know it might sound cliché, but I'm not sure if I've ever felt better. I'm learning to sleep again. I can eat. I'm still off caffeine and drink very little alcohol. On sunny days, I can't wait to get out into my garden. I'm learning to accept that things take time. I'm learning to have compassion on myself and others. I'm learning to enjoy process, instead of rushing toward some imaginary "product." My heart has never been more at peace. God has truly done a work in me in this season.

I came across this song a few days ago. It's a Christmas song, and it is perfection.


Nothing makes more sense to me than this song. It's the story of this heart and its Beautiful Gardener. All of the weight- the heartache, the disappointment, the physical suffering- it hasn't been lifted, it's been invested, churned deeply into deepest, darkest soil. Sin has been pulled up by its roots, but it's an ongoing process to keep the space clear- a lesson every gardener learns eventually, I guess. And good seeds have been planted. I end this year with this commitment to the God I've once again found to be beautiful, and whose beauty I've found to be sufficient- my "useful" expectations of Him be damned.

You're the God of seasons
I'm just in the winter
If all I know of harvest
Is that it's worth my patience 
Then if you're not done working, 
God, I'm not done waiting. 

p.s. As I've walked through this season of life, I've learned a lot about anxiety. Thank you so much to be MANY friends who have carried this burden for me. I must especially thank my mom for shouldering the tremendous burden of helping me care for my children.  And Andy for becoming even more tender-hearted and open to growth. Many friends have reached out with private messages, texts, prayers requests, emails and listening ears. Every single bit of it has been insurmountable grace. Every person's experience with anxiety if different, in both cause and effect. I am grateful for and respectful to those sojourners who have walked these difficult paths alongside me. May your winter bring forth a beautiful harvest.

I would wish it on my worst enemy

It's part of human experience to have someone say things about you that aren't kind or true. As long as humans have been sinning, we've been accusing one another falsely and maliciously. But it isn't a part of everyone's experience to have those accusations posted on public domains (though, I fear it is increasingly more common in these days)

Politics has sadly become an arena where many of us have stopped looking for kindness or truth. Seems like too much to ask these days. So many years of so many politicians saying whatever they can to get elected has most of us jaded and cynical, or, at the very least, uncertain about what and whom to believe.

So when a politician wrote something in the Fayetteville paper yesterday about my Dad, it wasn't entirely surprising. It was, however, hurtful and disturbing.

My Dad is not a politician. He is the legal advisor for the Sheriff of Cumberland County. The opposing candidate wrote an op-ed piece that appeared in Friday's Fayetteville Observer. Kindness and truth were not the motivation behind the piece- but winning definitely was.

Jesus told His followers to rejoice when people insult you and say all sorts of evil against you because of Him. After my Mom read me Charlie Baxley's letter, I prayed for Jesus to give me and my family- especially my Dad, that kind of joy.

Jesus is kind, and He is the TRUTH. So I think He would also want me to replace some of the false and misleading accusations. The truth about my Dad is that he is a wise advisor with forty years of legal experience. He has a heart for the marginalized and compassion for the less fortunate. He wants the law to keep all citizens of Cumberland County safe. He truly believes in the law- something that is so rare in a world filled with skepticism and corruption. He believes that the law, when exercised rightly, has the power to keep the people safe. He is devoted to teaching and maintaining that law for the safety of the deputies and the people of Cumberland County. He does not take anything for granted or use it for  his personal gain. He has served on more leadership committees and boards than I could even count, and has been selected over and over again to provide wise counsel to leaders in churches, community organizations, even the state of North Carolina.  He works endlessly and flawlessly. He leads with integrity. He advises with wisdom. He sees and goes with compassion.

Jesus also told His followers this..

But to you who are listening I say: 
Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you... 
Do to others as you would have them do to you. 
Matthew 6: 27-28 & 31 

I confess that I have completely failed at obeying this difficult command. But, in recent days, I've begun to understand a little bit better why clinging to Jesus here is so vital for the soul. When someone curses you by saying false and unkind things about you, you become especially vulnerable to the lies. These lies can steer you in one of two terrible directions- 1) Self-defense, self-righteousness and pride or 2) Self-loathing and doubt. Sometimes these directions have the uncanny ability to double back and cross over on one another. I should know, I've crossed those paths so many times over many years.

But, when we obey Jesus here, we align ourselves with His love. We choose to walk His narrow path. We know that we are sticking with Him, and we are trusting Him to stick with us. His heart toward the ungrateful is filled with kindness (Luke 6:35) We also are trusting Him with the outcome, placing the "fairness" of unfair situations in His sovereign hands. He knows that such things are too much for our human hearts to bear. Our emotions will crush us if we replay them over and over, or we will bury them and they'll eat us from the inside out.  The safest place to hide our hurt is with Him.

So, these days, I'm wishing good things for my worst enemies. Truly my heart is pouring out blessings, like those I would want to receive. May God be gracious and merciful. May He be kind, compassionate and true. May He guide into wisdom and grant understanding. May He give life to the full, and make Himself known. May He provide sunshine and shade. May He not let sickness or sadness prevail. May He give joy and abundance. May He not let despair overwhelm. May He not allow you to be wise in your own eyes. May He humble your heart and then lift up your head. May He replace a heart of stone with a heart of flesh. May His blessing rest upon you and may you enjoy peace with Him and His people. May you see your salvation in His Son Jesus, and may He become your greatest joy and reward. Amen.

My Two Cents

Our church has been going through a stewardship campaign for the past few weeks. Reverend Dudley, has encouraged us with the statement- "every member, a mission." He's challenged us to think and pray through the work that God is calling us to do- so that we might build the Kingdom of God right here, right now, and meet Christ in doing so. It's been an excellent challenge.

Yesterday, he finalized his "campaign speeches" with a sermon about the widow who gives everything that she has to the temple. Many others pass before her placing large offerings in the plate, but Jesus commends her because her small gift- only two cents- is all she has to offer. Reverend Dudley made the point that even those two coins would have been given to her. Widows had no way to support themselves. She couldn't have worked to earn the money she whole-heartedly returned to the house of God.

As he does every Sunday, Reverend Dudley, sent us out with a challenge and a blessing. May we unclinch our fists and whole-heartedly offer back to God what He has blessed us with, because it isn't ours anyway.

There are so many ways that this story can take form in our lives. But yesterday, I saw it materialize for me in an unexpected way. Not for the first time, I received a communication that accused me and Andy of ongoing unforgiveness.

This accusation, and others similar to it, has destroyed my heart over the years. I believed them, rather than what God was clearly saying to me, and I entered into the soul-destroying, joy-consuming, lie-based death spiral. God has recently been working so hard to bring me up out of that pit and replace lies with the truth.

But it's hard to not want to defend myself. To give someone else your "two cents" and explain your side of the story. There is a time for very clearly explaining boundaries to one another. We cannot thrive outside of the freedom and truth God gives each of us as His children. We have to learn to advocate clearly and respectfully and then to listen well in order to be generous and sincerely love one another. Crushing one another with our expectations and ignoring one another's needs is not what God intends when He asks us to live in unity in the bond of peace.

But, once you create that boundary line, you're left to maintain its integrity- just you and the Lord and the people that He has put in your corner. Doing so is costly, because it means receiving those accusations from time to time, even from well-meaning brothers and sisters in the faith. Tough love and obedience to God's wisdom can look cruel or wrong from the outside. Sometimes obeying God costs you your "good" reputation.

That's been one of the hardest parts for me. Losing my reputation. Losing the opportunity to be seen as someone kind and loving and who loves the Lord and wants to obey Him whole-heartedly. Instead, I've been given a reputation that's pretty shameful and heart-breaking. But what I am learning, is that I need to offer to the Lord my "two cents"- to give back to Him the real identity that He is giving to me. To trust Him with the transformed woman that He has been so meticulously creating through this trial. He alone knows the value of what He has made and is making still.

So, I unclinch my fists. I am who He says I am. Nothing more. Nothing less. I offer my reputation , my true identity, to Him. For certainly He is the One who has given it to me. I didn't work for it or create it. It's been received. And I give it back to Him. Let the accusations come. Let the desire to defend myself die. Let Him do with my reputation what seems good to Him. I have come to trust Him completely.

Welcome among the weeping

I've been posting a lot about my anxiety on Facebook recently. This morning while Story is at preschool and Grey is napping, I thought it might be a good time to update on that situation.

Since the beginning of July, I've been on a physical, mental, emotional and spiritual roller coaster ride. From "out of nowhere" I was struck with physical manifestations of anxiety almost identical to the post-partum symptoms I had in the first days and weeks after I had Grey.

I didn't have a medical doctor in Fayetteville, and the one that was recommended to me had a three month wait list to get in as a new patient. So I have been "patiently" waiting to become a patient for a long time.

Every day, I want to get off this roller coaster. But, day by day, God shows me reasons why I am on it. And for that reason- and that reason only, I choose joy in this journey.

But joy does not feel good. A friend recently shared this thought with me- that joy and suffering are like the faucets of a sink. When the faucet of suffering is turned on, the flow of joy can increase to match (and even overcome) the force of the suffering. I'm discovering this truth first-hand.

In this three month wait- God has supplied me with so many tools to help me filter through my painful emotions and matching physical symptoms. Every single day, there is a new thought or a song or Bible verse or sermon or book or conversation with God or another person that propels me forward. I have been "rumbling" (as Brene Brown says) with fear, shame, self-worth, trauma, unbelief, idolatry, bitterness and forgiveness throughout this time.

Did the spiritual and emotional pain catalyze the physical suffering or did the physical suffering force me to get serious about my spirtual and emotional pain? Really, only God knows. All I know is that I prayed an angry prayer on a hot July afternoon, and God wheeled me into soul surgery in early August. And my body has ached and felt near death this whole time. Truly, we are integrated beings.

This past Tuesday was the long-awaited day of my doctor's appointment. A couple of hours before the appointment, I was struck by a panic attack that sent me into deep anguish. I found myself alone on the floor of my mom's house, heart pounding, tears flowing- so. much. pain. I didn't want to live in this much pain. Hadn't I just asked the Lord to take me home if it was going to be like this?

I'm amazed that God does not shame me for feeling like this. Instead, He gives examples in His Word of other believers- more influential in history that I- who felt the same way. I love Elijah in 1 Kings 19. In chaper 18, he was taunting his enemies, so great was his belief in God's faithfulness and mighty power, but by Chapter 19, he is sitting under a bush, asking God to take his life. "I have had enough, Lord." Me too, Elijah, me too. I love Hannah, whose grief because of her infertility and the shame continually forced upon  her by her husband's other wife, causes her to cry out in deep anguish. So odd was her behavior that Eli thought she was a drunk. I love Psalm 88, from the sons of Korah, which describes a depression and suffering greater than I can imagine and unapologetically ends with the statement- "darkness is my closest friend." And finally, and most powerfully, I love Jesus, whose body was more messed up than mine will probably ever be- when He sat in Gethsemane and sweat out drops of blood and begged His Father for another way.

There is a lot of joy in the Bible. A LOT. The Bible ends with joy. There is a lot of deliverance. A lot of hope. But, there is also some very real and very sacred weeping. Today, I'm grateful that I am welcome among those who have wept because of what God has chosen to do in and with their lives.

This fellowship is not one that I would have chosen for myself. In fact, I spent weeks trying to talk myself into believing that this suffering wasn't real- that it was in my head- that I didn't really have anxiety, not really. This couldn't be right. Couldn't be my story. I'm not an anxious Momma. I'm a go-hard, have-fun, get-it-done Momma. I have generally always had a strong fortitude, a more-or-less pleasant disposition. I had such great plans for this time off from working- fun plans for me and my kids. Soul surgery, heart palpitations, depression and insomia were not on the to-do list.

But my God is too good to let my plans get in the way of His plans. My flesh might have felt better in the past, but my soul was in a death spiral. Shame and bitterness and sadness and unbelief had settled in. My view of God was small. I thought my broken heart would never mend. And I was on a head-strong path that led straight into the desert of self-sufficiency.

What I am learning to appreciate so much about my God is that He is too genuine and too passionate about the beauty of my soul to not answer an angry prayer on a hot July afternoon with a mighty work that will save my life. How precious that He would break me- in order that I would not continue along that path. How jealous He is. How faithful He is to Himself- to His own reputation- that He would not let me continue to see Him wrongly. How great His compassion because that wrong view of Him is the beginning of total soul destruction.

Please know- that I still do not feel good. I am not "on the other side" of this. Yet. For me, it is still night. I am still weeping. Still in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. But, my beautiful God is here. The One that I knew and trusted in my younger years- before I believed some nasty lies about Him and His feelings towards me. Before Shame was heaped upon me. Before Fear's fangs sank into my heart and poisoned me. He is leading me in this new way- through the rumble with these many difficult things. My God is a Warrior. But He is also a Weeper. And He welcomes me into His fellowship of the Weeping. And, it is being here that is somehow, magically, mysteriously also my joy.

Snapshot #9- I am a miracle.

It was a blisteringly hot July afternoon when Jesus asked me to have a glass of wine with Him. I know that sounds really weird to some people- Christian people can be touchy about drinking. Understandably. The Bible is really clear that getting drunk is NOT something that God wants people to do. And sometimes, when people drink, they get drunk. So it might sound really odd to some people that Jesus would invite me to sit down and have a glass of wine with Him. Except, that's exactly what He did.

I put my kids down for their afternoon nap, and I sat down at my computer with my wine glass, and I started to write. See, this invitation wasn't about kicking back and relaxing. This was an invitation into truth. In vino, veritas, right? It was an invitation to let my mind flow freely, to let the words and feelings pour out onto the page in front of me.

I was having a glass of Pinot Noir, but what I poured out for Jesus was this- disappointment, disillusionment, anger, unbelief. I didn't really hold back. I poured Him a cup of my wrath, a fully disclosed rendition of the state of my heart and mind.

I didn't realize it at the time, but this invitation of His was more than just an invitation to share my deepest, darkest secrets. It was an invitation into His healing.

About a week later, I got really sick. I wrote a blog about those feelings earlier in August. What I didn't write about, though, was how it persisted, and then got worse. My anxiety was followed by a terrible sinus infection, and then migraine headaches. Every day of the month of August, I felt so miserable that I thought that it would be better to die than go on feeling the same way.

It wasn't just that I felt physically bad. I felt unmoored. Like I could not find myself. Like I was a stranger in my own body. I could not seem to access the "good" feelings that are characteristic of my life. Whatever the chemical "cause" of this, I do not really know. What I do know is that God was using this physical change to do a greater spiritual work in me.

I started reading Ann Voskamp's The Broken Way a few days before Jesus and I had wine. Early in the book, Voskamp describes a time when she was seated beside a rabbi on an airplane. She had a bottle of water and the rabbi spoke poetically about its purpose- to be broken open and poured out. Our lives are like that, he said, made to be broken and poured out. Voskamp makes the point that it's a risky thing to pour out your broken life. To do so requires faith that God loves enough, cares enough, is enough... to refill what has been broken and poured out.

I didn't know how to articulate this until reading about the rabbi and the water bottle, but, for so long, I have felt like there is a filter over my life. Like that bottle cannot be refilled because there's something covering it. I believe that God is Living Water, but it's like something covers my heart and prevents me from really being satisfied by His goodness.

After the wine, but before the sickness, an old friend came by for a visit. We hadn't seen each other in a long time, but she's someone who knows about my life- my hurts and disappointments. She also works as a life coach and is passionate about helping sisters in Christ get "unstuck" from places like the one that I have been occupying. I thought that things were fairly "okay" while she was at my house visiting- I was feeling pretty put together that day actually. But, after the sickness came, I knew it was time to ask for some help.

I sat on my back porch cocooned by the sounds of crickets and cicadas for our first phone conversation. I told her how I had been feeling physically. Then, I told her about the "filter"- how I couldn't seem to be filled up by God. My pain- the pain that made me start writing these Snapshots in the first place- covered my life. But it wasn't just covering me, it was choking me. The belief that I could not be loved, that I had to prove my worth, that rejection and misunderstanding from people equated with rejection and misunderstanding from God- was destroying me.

When I had wine with Jesus, I accused Him of something. That afternoon, my wine-loosened fingers typed it out- My spirit died. You let them kill me. That night on the phone with my friend, while the insects roared, Jesus so gently began to respond to that accusation.

We prayed against the nastiness that entangled my heart. I would love to say that the next day I woke up and it was all over. That I was suddenly better physically, mentally and spiritually. But that wasn't the case.

I was reading the book of Mark at night when my anxiety kept me awake. I paid special attention to Jesus' healing miracles. I began to wonder what it felt like when people with life-long illnesses or possession by evil spirits were healed. I've always just read those stories abstractly. But now, I wanted to know- what does a miracle feel like? Was it painful when Jesus touched those people? Did it feel like fire or lightning or was it comforting, maybe even peaceful?

For years, I've prayed for a miracle. Especially at Christmas time, I would pray for a miracle- for miraculous healing of broken relationships. In all those prayers, I've sometimes wondered- what if what God is doing in my life- and in Andy's life- what if that is the miracle? But, to tell the truth, I didn't believe that was enough. I'm just one person, and not a very important one. A miracle in my heart would be nice, but it was not enough. It had to be bigger. It had to be everyone. It had to be something that could be shouted from the rooftops- something that people would look at and proclaim - God is good. 

But that was before. Before Ann Voskamp and her poured-out heart. Before anxiety made me feel like the universe was splitting apart. Before the night I spoke to the lies while the cicadas sang. Before the headaches made me want to die. Before I started taking walks with God every morning. Before I heard His voice. Speaking. Singing.  Calling. Assuring. Comforting. Giving. Clarifying. Answering. Challenging.

I used to think that I would have to outline these Snapshots. My plan was always to go searching for them in an orderly fashion. But it never really seemed to work. I believed that the answers were there in the Scripture. I thought if I just went digging deeper, more diligently, more systematically, then I would find it. And then I could use them. I could fortify myself with the truth. I could outline myself into an existence where I wouldn't experience pain like this ever again. I could structure and write myself into a place where I would feel loved and secure.

I used to think that if I had known my identity well enough, then I would never have gone through this. I never would have believed the lies. I never would have suffered like this. But now I'm starting to think that it doesn't work that way at all. I'm beginning to see that identity is a gift, as is the faith that's required to receive it. And that the identity we are given is the identity that Christ sees that we need, minute by minute, hour by hour of our one and only, precious, God-given life. Like manna, I'm not sure that it's something that I can store up the way that I have so desired.

I'm beginning to see that what I did was store up an identity that I thought looked pretty good, in an effort to protect myself from further pain. Never mind that it wasn't exactly what Jesus was speaking and singing and giving to me. It was based on the Bible. It was good-looking. It was neat and orderly and purposeful. And yet, it failed. Every pain-filled, terrifying day of this past month, God has been completely disassembling what I have built up for the past nine years. Every lie, every painful memory, every sinful response, every attempt to fix it, every good thing that I've tried to build up as a buffer- it's all coming down. And, in its place, He is rebuilding me with His very specific words for my very specific needs.

I have long loved Mark 5: 21-43. In these verses, Jesus performs two miracles at basically the same time. A woman is miraculously cured of her internal pain, and a little girl is raised to life. This is my Snapshot from this most painful place in this journey. Because, you see, I am a miracle. I am this miracle. A woman with internal pain. A little girl who died. And a Jesus who has said, "Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering." 

For a lot of years, I've felt kind of foolish talking and writing about my suffering. Because it doesn't seem serious enough. It came from rejection from relatively nice people. Rejection happens. It's part of life, so it has always felt like something that I should be able to just get over. But the truth is, those people represented Christ. So their rejection felt like His rejection. When they wouldn't listen, it felt like He wasn't listening. When they failed to understand, I thought that He didn't either. For all this time, that's what I have been suffering. Not the rejection of man, but the confusion that comes when man's rejection masquerades as God's rejection. Feeling unloved and rejected and separated from God is suffering. Even if the catalyst for that starts with something small, even foolish.

But Jesus hasn't ever thought that my suffering was silly or foolish or insignificant. Jesus, who asked my angry, busted, confused heart to pour Him a cup of my wrath that July afternoon, passionately pursues me. In Mark 5, the dying girl's father comes to Jesus, the woman with internal wounds comes to Jesus. But in July, Jesus, filled with compassion, came to me. Have a glass of wine with me, Meredith. Pour out what's inside. Let it come out. Let it come down. Let me refill and rebuild. 

Now I know what a miracle feels like. It feels like a racing heart and shaking hands and migraines that keep you awake at night. It feels like losing everything, even your very grip on what makes you, you. It feels like desperate cries for prayer when your own prayer feels like it's not enough to get you through.  And in the midst of it all, you're wondering- what is He doing? 

He is coming with compassion. He is speaking the truth. He is reminding me of who He is. He is telling me who I am. He is singing over me. He is strengthening me. He is saying "Be still!" to the storms of my mind. He is promising me the future. He is guiding me in His word. He is giving me friends who are co-suffering with me. He is changing me. He is healing me. He is taking away my pain. He is giving me new life. He is doing a miracle.

I am a miracle because He is a Miracle Worker. I've wanted a miracle. I've wanted a restoration. And, now, at last, I have one. And maybe it isn't the miracle that I prayed for all those Christmases. But what I have learned is that my life is enough. Enough to glorify the Miracle Worker. When I wake up in the morning, I will walk with Jesus. I'll hear His voice clearly. The filter is gone. The dead in me is coming back to life. The internal wounds are healing. And, with my one voice, I will proclaim that He is good. 

Snapshot #8- I am clean

Our first apartment was way too clean. I come from a really clean family. The Cobles (my mother's family) are all clean super-freaks.  I coined this phrase a few years ago that caught on in my family- "there's clean, and then there's Coble clean." You can walk into any of the Coble family homes and basically eat off of any surface, including the bathrooms. I'm only 1/4 Coble, but I got the clean gene for sure. I revel in organization and think the smell of Pine-Sol and Murphy Oil is better than perfume. Still, that first year... things were out of hand.

People deal with disappointment and dysfunction differently. Some people drink and numb their minds. Some people eat too much and burden their bodies. Some people join fitness groups and sculpt themselves into something they show off on social media every day. Some people go to the mall and try to purchase beauty. I vacuum.

Our first apartment was where dust came to die. I knew where every item we possessed was located. I vacuumed and dusted and scoured daily. Dysfunction makes me feel dirty. And there was so much dysfunction and disappointment in that first year,  I couldn't handle it. Cleaning made me feel in control. There was so much that I could not control, that I could not stop or change or bring into order. Every expectation I had might be shattered, but, dang it- my clothes would be color-coordinated by season and hanging one finger-width from one another in our little walk-in closet.

I've asked a friend to help me debride some of the old wounds I'm trying to overcome. She works as a life coach and spiritual counselor, so she asks the tough questions- the ones most of us are too polite to ask of one another, even if we care deeply for one another. The other night she asked me one of the hardest questions I've ever been asked. What if it's all true? What then? What she meant was- what if the low opinions that other people have of me are true? What if I have been a troublemaker? What if I am responsible for making a mess of so many lives? What if it is my fault that people don't speak to one another anymore? What if- had I not come on scene- everything would have been better? Been okay? No love lost? What if that is true? What then?

I could hardly catch my breath. "Oh," I said. "I don't know...I think. I think that would be... unrecoverable."

It's been almost nine years. But I'm still cleaning. Trying to clean what's around me. All of the brokenness of my own heart. The brokenness of the relationships. I've tried to clean it. Tried everything. Dysfunction makes me feel so... very... dirty.

The Bible talks about cleanliness a TON. If you ever get into the weeds of the Old Testament, it's just on and on about cleanliness. The Cobles might be a little house-proud about our cleaning skills, but we have nothing on God's chosen people. Their lives were literally consumed by the pursuit of ceremonial cleanliness. The actions they took or did not take determined whether or not they were clean enough to be accepted by God in their acts of worship.

My BSF teacher in Austin would always say, "Our God is a God of order." When you study Biology for a while you realize that nothing is more true. The order found in the living world is astounding. Take genes, for instance. They're composed of four chemicals- just four- arranged in ultra-precise sequences. And sometimes, when one- just ONE, out of billions- of those chemicals gets out of order- boom! Genetic disorder.

So we have a God who is ridiculously orderly and kind of a clean freak in charge of the universe, time, our existence... and what do I have? Dysfunction. Chaos of mind and soul. The heart is deceitful and beyond cure. Who can understand it? Dysfunction doesn't just make me feel dirty. I am dirty. I came into the world this way. Sin-stained. No amount of animal sacrifice or Murphy oil can do anything about that.

But that's exactly the point of all those old laws. To show God's chosen people, and dirty people like me that would we never, ever get clean enough.

Jesus says in John 15:3- You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. 

It's true that in a world devoid of grace that my actions would leave me in a state that is truly unrecoverable. But I don't live there. I live in the presence of the Vine, attached to Him, His grace flowing into me each and every moment. What he says is the only judgment that really matters. And he says- I have already made you clean. 

God is a God of order. A holy and perfect Being. But I am not. I am powerless in my own existence to create that kind of orderly, holy, perfect world. So, in my own efforts, I will always fail.  I did fail. There was love that I withheld and there were words that I didn't. There was fear. There was pride. Sin breaks everything. Dirties everything. Mine is no different. My friend asked me- What if it were all true? When then? 

For so long, I've tried to come against that thought. Clean myself. Defend myself. Create a life away from this idea that it could be my fault. Please, please, don't let it be my fault. What holy terror has come to me when I've entertained the thought that I could really be responsible for this amount of brokenness.

But what if it is? What then? I've proved to myself and everyone else time and time again that I cannot clean it. I cannot clean my own wounds or anyone else's. But, what I can do. What I am doing is listening to HIS voice. Not mine. Or anyone else's. He says, "You're already clean because of the word I have spoken to you." His words, his work, his life- makes me clean. These sins, this chaos, this exhaustion from trying to fix it. They aren't here. They are gone. Washed away by the blood of Jesus.

He went to great cost- the greatest anyone could ever go to- to make me clean. So I lay down my dust rag, my vacuum and my attempts at self-righteousness. And I embrace the reality that my broken heart is only truly understood by the One who broke himself to make me whole. Who dirtied himself to make me clean. The one who traded holiness for sinfulness out of his abundant love for me. I receive this gift with all of my grace-washed heart.

I have a new answer for my friend's question now- What if it's true? What then? The answer is in the words of this amazing song by Natalie Grant.

There's nothing too dirty that you can't make worthy. 
You wash me in mercy. 
I am clean. 

Washed in the blood of your sacrifice. 
Your blood flowed red and made me white. 
My dirty rags are purified. 
I am clean. 

Snapshot #7- I am worthy

This morning, I sat on my kitchen floor surrounded by three loads of laundry, trying to entice my three year old to let me take off her very full Pull-up from the night before. She was busy taking the Russian nesting doll magnets on and off the magnetized, chalkboard-painted pantry beside our stainless steel fridge. My very sleepy, almost one-year old son saw my empty lap... and an opportunity. I was calling to his sister, but he crawled into my lap with lightning speed and stretched his body out, belly up, a smile stretching across his sticky face as he relaxed and sank down. His sister soon followed, her urine-soaked ballerina PJ's making full contact with the knee of the faded yoga pants that are older than our marriage.

I know that the years will be too short- everyone on Facebook keeps reminding me, especially with back to school in full swing- so we sat there, the three of us, smelling like syrup and pee-pee, and I let a few minutes ooze by like the Aunt Jemima Light that had taken just a few milliseconds to itself before covering Mickey Mouse's waffle face earlier in the morning.

I read a verse recently-2 Thessalonians 1:11. Here it is.

With this in mind, we constantly pray for you, that our God may make you worthy of his calling, and that by his power he may bring to fruition your every desire for goodness and your every deed prompted by faith. 

My mind has been exploring identity for so long. Maybe it is the journey of my life, the story that I will tell myself over and over and over again. Because it seems that I lose sight of the slivers of truth I discover every time I blink my eyes. But here is this snapshot- of a Parent calling his children into his lap.

God is a parent. A Father-Mother. It took both Adam and Eve to reflect his image. And today I need this image of this Parent calling, and messy children filling his lap.

It's hard to feel worthy. The entire world is sort of set up to make us feel like we have to do something to be worthy to live in it. This takes on so many different faces. Have children. Make money. Lose weight. Accomplish goals. Build. Design. Create. Save. Be relevant. Make yourself interesting. Look good. It's exhausting.

What I love about this verse to the Thessalonians is that the worth follows the calling. God is calling his children. Like a mother on the floor of a kitchen. Come here- sticky, pee-soaked, beautiful creation of mine. Come here to me. I am calling you. Just as you are.

This is what I'm learning about who I am- the worth is because of the calling. But the two cannot be separated. I am called, therefore I am worthy. And the calling doesn't really have to do with "doing" anything. We talk about calling a lot in Christian culture- God "calls" us to serve in different ways, to live in different places. But those sort of "calls" change as life changes. God is creative with his children. He lets us move around and do different things. But this call here- this is the call to all of us. The one call that makes all the others possible. This is the call to come to him and be filled with the power we need to be a worthy member of his family.

Let me see this invitation and sprawl, belly up and smiling, and stare into this holy Parent's beautiful face. Let me believe that because I was called here, I am worthy to be here- in all of my mess and pain and striving and failing and thinking and feeling. Let me see him welcome all of his children into a lap so unimaginably big that there is room for all of us who are being called. Everyone come. There's plenty of room. And nothing delights his heart more.

In coming to him, I am being made worthy by him. Because he's called me to be his. His flesh and blood. His hands and his feet in the world he sent his Son into, and then brought him back out of. I am worthy of being a part of this because I have been pulled by grace into his Father-Mother arms. He breathes me in and fills me with his very life,  and this gives his heart gladness and joy. He rejoices because I am there. I rejoice because I am wanted. I am loved. I am understood just as I am.

And he gives me his power to go out and do those other callings. To really be him to the world. His flesh and blood. His hands. His feet. His voice. His heart. How else could I do it if not through his power? And yet, what I am learning is that nothing is more important than being him. Because there are so many other voices out there telling everyone what they need to change in order to be worthy. What they should or shouldn't look like or accomplish or feel like inside. Wealth and beauty and youth and affluence are calling. Relevance and productivity and achievement are calling. Legalism and self-righteousness and pride are calling. People will say to you, with their words or their actions or their silence- you are not worthy. Try not to listen. Try to hear this calling instead. Try to see the Father-Mother, the holy Parent, who kneeled down farther than any of us could ever have imagined, and became sin for us, so that we can come into his lap and be held and told- you are worthy of being my flesh, my blood. 

I'm trying to sit in his lap this morning and let the minute ooze by. I'm trying to let this calling replace the rejection that has pierced my heart 1000 times and made me feel so deeply unworthy. I'm trying to let grace surround the messiest places of me and believe that I am worthy.

Father, receive me now as I answer your calling. The calling to be yours. Let your voice soothe my restless heart that has so deeply believed that I must change or do or accomplish or clean up or fix or become something in order to be worthy, in order to be accepted. Help me rest here in your arms. Help me to believe that I was wanted. That I was bought at a price. That I am worthy. That I am desired and loved. Please make me worthy of the calling you freely give to me. Give me your power to accomplish all the other callings. To become like you in my heart and my mind and my actions. Help me to reflect you rightly- to be Jesus to the people that I love- the ones that I like and the ones that I don't like. The ones that like me and the ones that don't like me. It scares me to think of the damage that's being done in the world by people just like me, who associate with your Name, but aren't resting here and receiving your power to do your will. Forgive me for doing that very thing and change me. Let me be yours and let that be enough. Amen. 

From the bottom of my anxious heart

For you were bought with a price. So glorify God with your body. 1 Corinthians 6:20

Last Saturday, I woke up to a bright day and got my family in the car to go to Sunset Beach for the day. Today, I woke up and had to mentally scan my body before I could even move. The tips of my fingers are still a little numb. The pain in my chest has subsided and my breathing seems pretty normal. My muscles feel sore- like I've started intense exercise training, when, in fact, the most strenuous thing that I did yesterday was fold a basket of laundry. That brightness and energy from a week ago seem so out of my grasp.

I usually meet my day feeling strong and courageous. I love to make plans with my family and my friends. My life is filled with simple joys and attainable goals. But for almost a week now, I have awoken every day with uncertainty. I don't know how I will feel- what my body and mind will allow. Even the most menial tasks can seem difficult and overwhelming. It takes all of my energy and focus to feed my children. Sometimes I can't even manage to eat something myself. My appetite is gone. My energy evaporated.

I don't really know what is going on with me. All I know is that I was full of energy last Saturday and then, out of nowhere, on Sunday afternoon, a fatigue suddenly came upon me. We were riding in the car and I couldn't keep my eyes open. That initial "can't keep my eyelids open" sensation was followed by anxiety symptoms that have waxed and waned over the past week.

I suffered a severe bout of post-partum anxiety just days after I had Grey. I felt so claustrophobic my last day in the hospital that I paced the room. My blood pressure shot up so much that it was HIGHER the day of discharge than when I was in labor! That time was so difficult for my family. We had to hunker down at my mom's house for a week because I couldn't get out from under the cloud of anxiety. I couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat. My heart pounded and my muscles ached and I couldn't catch my breath. I have felt all of those things this past week- sometimes for hours on end. But, what's made it more troubling for me is that I do not have any idea why. After I had Grey, I thought, "Okay, this is terrible, but I just had a baby. My body is all out of whack, but it will recover." This time, I don't know the cause.

When you tell someone- even a medical professional- that you're suffering from anxiety, their usual response is to ask you- "What is troubling you?" This makes a lot of sense because I think that a lot of people (myself included) experience anxiety about something. Stress at work, worrying about bills, trouble with family. I've gone through that kind of anxiety before and it does manifest itself in physical problems. I think that's the kind of anxiety I experienced back in February, when I felt really worn out, troubled, sad and, yes, anxious... about my life, my work, and my emotional pain. But that is very different from what I've felt this week. This experience is more like what it feels like to suddenly come down with the flu- it comes from out of nowhere and you know that something is terribly wrong with your body, but you cannot stop it from ravaging every muscle and nerve.

Anxiety cycles in a positive feedback loop, which is one of the things that makes it so terrible. My anxiety started as something purely physical- heart palpitations, shaking hands, troubled breathing- but then it became something mental as fear began to creep along the very pathways the biological symptoms were bulldozing through my body. "What if I always feel like this? What if I can't catch my breath? What if I have a heart attack? What if I'm never able to take care of my children by myself again?" Sometimes these thoughts make the physical symptoms even worse,  and other times they send me into a depressed state.

I hate feeling this way. I want to get better and I'm continuing to seek help from medical professionals until things return to normal. When things get really hard, I cry out in prayer. I send desperate text messages to my praying friends- I know that they will lift me up to God. In this week of suffering, I have clung to some truths that have refreshed my soul, even as my body has completely failed.

God will not leave me. One of the scariest things for me this week has been being alone. It's totally crazy because being around people heightens my anxiety, but then being alone makes it even worse. Anxiety doesn't really make sense. But, in the few times that I have been alone, I have been able to just breath and believe that God is with me. That He will not leave. That even if my heart stopped or I could not catch my breath, He would, somehow be there. My friend Rebecca sent me the picture that you see at the top of the post. This image says everything.

My prayers are being listened to. I have never been so desperate and dependent on prayer as I have been this past week and in the week after I had Grey. I've never had to fall to the floor in prayer because I cannot stand (or stand it) anymore. I've sent so many desperate "please pray!" text to my family and friends this week. My prayers have changed as the week has continued. At first they were always- "God, please take this away!" I'm still praying that, and if you want to pray for me- please pray that too!!! But I've seen a shift in my prayers as I've anchored into the truth that God is in control and that He loves me and will not abandon me. Now, I pray for specific things- "God, please take the tightness in my chest away. Please let me sleep. God, please help me love Andy and the kids. God, your will be done." He answers. My favorite moment of his faithfulness to answer me came on Thursday night, which was the worst night I've had. I couldn't sleep, and the chest pain and troubled breathing were extremely difficult to endure. In the middle of the night, I was reading the book of Mark and came across the passage where Jesus is in the boat with his disciples and a storm comes up. Jesus is asleep, but everyone else is like, "We're going to die!" They wake Jesus up and ask him- "Teacher, don't you care if we drown?" Jesus speaks to the storm and says, "Quiet! Be still!" I read that passage on Thursday night and asked Jesus to do the same for me. Within a few minutes, I was asleep, my fingers still stretched out onto the passage in Mark 4.

One Body, many parts. The Body of Christ is an amazing and mysterious thing. I know that the Bible tells me that I'm being made into the image of Christ. But I'm also a part of a bigger Body- one that is composed of people with different gifts. As my physical body has failed, I have depended on the Body of Christ to hold me and help me. Andy is part of that Body. My mom is part of that Body. My friends are part of that Body. Whether it's lifting me up in prayer or folding laundry or playing with my children, I have depended on this Body this week. My friend Leslie reminded me that it is God's design for this Body to work in this way. I don't want to have to put these members in this position, but, ultimately, it is what God calls them to- to do His will and His work and to show Himself to the world through them- through my brokenness and their strength. For this is the message of the Gospel- our brokenness, His strength. Thank you to those members of our Body who have lived out that Gospel with me this week.

Give God glory. The main lesson I'm learning this week, and the reason that I am writing now, is to glorify God. I listened to this John Piper meditation on Friday about the reason that you have a body. (I'm attaching the link at the bottom of the post) It made me weep. My body is broken right now. Something is so wrong with it and it affects my mind and my heart and every muscle and nerve. It hurts to be like this. It's easy to think that there is no purpose in a broken mind and a broken body. It can hardly function at times, curling up underneath a blanket in agony has been my only recourse on a few occasions. I long to glorify God in a healthy body- one that can get together with friends, teach lessons to children. I hope to be in that kind of body again soon. But, for now, I choose this truth- this body, this broken one, this one whose neurotransmitters and hormones are completely out of whack- this is the one body that I have. And this is the body that I will use to glorify God. He bought this body in all its imperfection- at a price. His plan is to use this body to glorify His name. So I say, "Yes, God. Let's do it. Though my flesh and my heart (or mind, in my case) may fail... let me glorify you. You are the strength of my heart and my portion forever." I love God. I give thanks to Him for this broken body. I ask Him to heal it. I ask Him to take away my pain and my family's suffering. But even if He doesn't, I ask for the strength to continue to glorify Him. He is in control. He is Sovereign. I have made Him my refuge, and I will tell of all of His deeds.

https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/why-you-have-a-body

Mommy's voice, too

Story has VBS at our church this week. The theme is “Shipwrecked: Rescued by Jesus.” We’ve been watching the music videos on YouTube since yesterday. I like the songs. They’re catchy and the theology is good.

On the way to church this morning, Story was watching one of the music videos on my phone and singing along. I began to sing along too, and she said, from the back seat- “Stop singing, Mommy.” She likes to hear her own voice these days. I guess that’s a pretty normal child-development thing.

Most of the time, I would say, ‘Okay, you sing.” Let her develop her own voice, her sense of self, all that stuff. But today, I didn’t. I said. “Jesus wants to hear Mommy’s voice too.”

After I said this, the power in my own words filled me with emotion. Again, the chorus came, and Story sang, and I sang too. She didn’t like it. “Mommy, no singing.”

“Story, I’m not going to sing loudly. I want you to be able to hear your voice, but Jesus wants to hear both of us.”

My eyes filled up. My voice cracked. But I sang on.

Not Going Back...

I have only got a moment for this- the kids will be up in a few- but I'll write with what I've got.

I'm home with the kids today because public schools are closed in a lot of North Carolina counties. The reason is that many teachers are up in Raleigh, rallying for respect.

I'm not there. Not marching, not even posting something on Instagram in solidarity. Because I am just too tired to do it. I am exactly the reason why those teachers are marching- a burnt out, heart-broken educator who isn't going back next year. They're rallying for pay that catches up to the national average, for better per-pupil spending, but mostly-- for respect.

I teach in a classroom with a hole in the ceiling. Leaky pipes caused the ceiling tiles to soak through and after one of the tiles caved in and fell during first period, they took all of the tiles down and now there's just a gaping hole. (by the grace of God, the student sitting under it wasn't at his seat at the time) When it rains, I come into a class with a little flood that extends from wall to wall. I call the front desk to try to get the custodial staff to come and clean it up. Sometimes they come. Sometimes they don't.

There's no air conditioner in my classroom. On Monday, the outside temperature was above 90. My poor administration is trying to work everyone into an air conditioned classroom when they are teaching, forcing teachers with AC to let other classes roam into them during their planning hours. On Tuesday, Grey had a high fever, and I really wanted to stay home with him- the only time I've thought of taking off to be with my sick child during this whole semester- but the logistical nightmare of trying to explain these classroom switches to a sub wasn't worth it. I gave up on my sub lesson plan after twenty-five minutes of trying to type things up. I called my mom. She came here. I went to work.

A few weeks ago, there was a fight in a classroom across from me. The teacher, a lovely woman from Barcelona and a fantastic, incredibly hard-working teacher, was having a hard time keeping her students in the classroom. They were all pouring out into the hallway to see the kids slam one another into the lockers. I bolted from my room at the sound of the commotion and tried to herd her students back into their room with my most commanding voice. They wouldn't listen, so I gently laid an open palm on their arms to move them back into the room- out of harm's way- trying to curb the chaos. One girl looked at me- she knew I was a teacher- she looked me in the eye and said- "Get your f-ing hands off me." I had to go back to my class and teach cell division. It was the fifth or sixth fight that had happened near me or involved one of my students, just in one semester.

I teach to rooms filled with 30 students who are more interested in their cell phone than anything I could ever say. Most cannot listen or pay attention beyond 10-15 minutes of instruction- if that. If I try to design a lesson that is fun, engaging- whether it's a lab that I have paid for out of my own pocket or something using technology- most are too lazy to read the instructions and actually engage in the activity. And those are my honors classes. My standard class has about six sleeping students everytime I try to talk for more than five minutes. Some of them can barely read, but I'm required to cram an over-stuffed biology curriculum down their throats at break-neck speed in time for state-testing in June.

I wake up at 5AM every day to design lessons and grade papers. And I come home so tired. Tired in my bones. Tired in my soul.

So, I'm not going back. I'm not bitter. But I am sad. I said to my mom today, "it feels like a death." I love teaching. I love science. I love kids. But I can't be crushed in spirit day after day and have the heart and soul reserves necessary for my own family.

So, I'm not going back. I'm going to stay home with my kids next year.

In saying this, I want to make it abundantly clear that I am in no way blaming the school I teach at. I have been INCREDIBLY blessed to work at Cape Fear High School. The administration has been nothing but fair, kind and considerate towards me. They are doing the best they can. And I work with a host of excellent educators. We are all tired. That's why we are marching. We're more than just tired- and we aren't just paranoid or greedy. There are SERIOUS problems going on in public education. I cannot even begin to address the probable solutions in one blog post. All I can say today is that I am proud of those teachers in Raleigh today. My heart is there too. THANK YOU for going on behalf of those who have lost their voice, lost their strength and their will to fight. God be with you.

Snapshot #6- I am getting hungry.

The next stop on my identity journey is John 6. I'm probably going to camp out here for a while, but I want to share something that happened today when I started digging in.

I read through the chapter and started outlining.

In John 6: 1-14 Jesus feeds 5,000
In John 6:16-24 Jesus walks on water as he and the disciples get over to the other side of the lake.
In John 6: 25-59 Jesus talks to the people who have come looking for him after the feeding miracle and tells them that he is the bread of life.

I stopped reading and looked across my screened in porch to the empty settee. I imagined Jesus sitting there, relaxing, as I am, for this hour of time while the three little things that make so much noise rest peacefully inside. I talk to him like he's a friend who has stopped by for a chat while the kids nap. I say, "So, I don't mean this disrespectfully, but I don't know how to connect this conversation you're having to my current circumstances. You were talking to these Jewish people who were steeped in their traditions, but didn't recognize you as the Son of God. My problems are with believers- people who have said that they recognize you as the Son, and have eaten your Bread."

He doesn't say anything, so I continue.

"I'm not saying that this is irrelevant. I think it's really relevant. But I just don't know how yet."

Then, something inside me says, "Go get a piece of bread."

Not wanting to miss out on something that might be important to this project, I get up and go to the kitchen and open up a ziploc of leftover rolls from Easter dinner. I pull off half a roll and bring it outside. I'm thinking- maybe I'll experience some sort of profound sensation as I eat it that will point me in the right direction.

Back on the porch, I put the roll in my mouth. It starts to dissolve, and it tastes a little bit like the plastic bag it's been in. Nothing profound happens- just the enzymes doing their thing, turning it into a mush that I swallow down.

"Were you hungry for that bread?" He asks.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I had already had so much to eat."

"Exactly," he says.

I'm not sure what I'm going to find here in John 6, but I know that my nap-time conversation with Jesus is revealing this- to really want the Bread of Life, I've got to get hungry for it. Hungry for Him.

What got me into this identity- quest to begin with? Wanting to be believed? Liked? Loved? Understood? Valued? How have I gone about trying to meet that need? I've tried just about everything- organizing, cleaning, yoga, therapy, friendships, adventures, reading, TV shows set in Britain, mysteries set in Quebec, Pinot Noir, Southern Living, talking (poor Andy... so much talking), writing, Bible study, posting pictures on social media, working, gardening-  I've tried lots of good things. They fill my plate. They aren't bad. I'm not going to pretend like they are. They're good. I can keep them. I can keep all of them. But, He's right. Those things can suppress my hunger. When I am the cleaner, the organizer, or the yogi, I'm not hungry. When I'm the reader or the talker or the writer, I'm not hungry either. When I'm the teacher or the mom at play group or the wine-drinker at girls night out- I'm not working up an appetite for Jesus. If I want to eat Bread, I've got to get hungry.

For me, I think that means that anytime my internal struggle nags at me, I shouldn't load up on those favorite things to try to feel better. They curb my appetite. It's scary to think about not leaning into those pleasant distractions, because how I feel on the inside can be really unpleasant. My pain and insecurity are scary. I like to try to get away from them. I feel weak and guilty and stupid for feeling this way. My feelings frighten me. But they make me hungry.

Bread that comes down from heaven shouldn't be something that I'm too full to eat. Because it's the one type of Bread that I really need. I have a problem- a broken heart and a messed up identity, and there's a Fixer for that problem. He was on my porch with me this afternoon, letting me know that I need to get hungry.

Snapshot #5- I am a Worshiper

Before I leave the scene at the well, there's one more snapshot I want to look at. The woman told Jesus that the well was deep and He had nothing to draw with. Jesus told the woman that He had living water. Then, Jesus proves His omniscience by telling the woman that she has been married five times and is currently living together with someone she isn't married to. Drop the mic, Jesus.

But, of course, he doesn't. He isn't there to just prove how holy He is. He's there to invite her to Himself. So they continue chatting. She is convinced now that He is a prophet, but seems to be mixed up about how she should respond to that realization. She says- "Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you Jews claim that the place where we must worship is in Jerusalem." I think her expectation was for Jesus to tell her that she needed to choose one spot or the other. I wonder if she really felt welcome to worship at either?

But Jesus's answer isn't what she expected. He says, "a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in Spirit and in truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in the Spirit and in truth." 

When I started this journey into identity-seeking, my identity was messed up. I had left my job, so I wasn't  the hard-working teacher and coach with busy, long, purposeful days. I had gotten married, so I wasn't in control of my environment or even my emotions in the way that I had been when I was single. I had moved to Austin, so I wasn't surrounded by friends who accepted and loved me. And I was beginning to feel the first rush of rejection, and I couldn't get over how bad it felt. I was trying to write a book- this book- a book about identity. And I couldn't. I couldn't get the words right. My heart and mind were too black with pain and confusion.

I'm learning that people seem to worship in a way that's unique to them. For me, that's writing. When I was in that painful place, I was still writing- trying to work it out, trying to write a story about a God who is worthy. Each noun, verb and adverb inching me into His victory. I tried to know Him through my words. It helped. It hurt. It didn't come together to be the book that I wanted. But, I let the words that I did have come out- because, for me, to silence the words is to cease to worship.

My mom has told me that she worships best when she's out in her yard. She loves to see what God has created. Her heart glorifies Him when she's among her bulbs and pots and Round-Up can.

Andy worships in song. He loves to hum and sing along to music- whether that's "worship" music or hymns or Simon and Garfunkel.

I know people who worship when their feet pound pavement, when their eyes gaze upon mountains, when their ears hear the lap of water against the sides of a boat. I know people who paint portraits of God with camera lenses and oil-based colors. I know people who worship God when they're on their knees, and people who worship God when they're standing up for justice. I know people whose worship is most beautiful when surrounded by others, and people who worship best in solitude. Worship is as diverse and creative as the One who seeks the worshipers.

Another thing I'm learning about worship is that our chosen acts of worship bless God and one another. When my mom worships in her garden, her heart song is within my ear shot. I walk along the streets of my neighborhood naming the spring flowers and budding trees for my children, an echo of her cry to the Creator. When I dig in my garden, I mix soil and metaphors, designing and creating- my hands in soil, my mind in prose. When Andy overcame his fear of singing in public and boldly put on a choir robe for the Christmas Eve service, his voice joined others and together their song lit up the night and the season.

Jesus says that His Father is seeking worshipers. Truthful, Spirit-filled worshipers. To answer that call to worship could be the most important snapshot thus far. Because saying yes to worship means that I am saying yes to the truth. I'm saying yes to believing that He seeks me. I'm saying yes to a God who wants the me that He meant to make, not the me that other people wish that I had been.

Worshiping God in Spirit means being directed by the Maker to worship Him in ways that please Him, His own Spirit designed and filled ways. But I'm learning that such worship is far from constrained. Worshiping in the Spirit can happen in traditional services where the same anthems and creeds are read week by week. It can happen in giant auditoriums where people throw their hands into the air and let the tears stream down their cheeks. It can happen when fingers and feet make the pipes of an organ groan. The Spirit can pick a banjo or strum an acoustic guitar. The Spirit can fill baptismal waters and offering plates. Or it can strip a building bare and fill it with just people. There are almost no rules when it comes to worship. The methods are beautiful, diverse and full of freedom. The heart and the Object are the only things that cannot change.

Worshiping God in truth can be a little trickier. It means intentionally turning away from the lies of this world. For me, that means rejecting my rejection. It means accepting my acceptance. It means that in this moment, while dirty clothes litter my floors and baby dishes clutter my counters, I stop and I write this. It means letting God know- and maybe others know too- that I am not okay sometimes. That I am seeking. That I am hurting. That I am healing. It means letting the real shine through. All the while placing my mind, and my heart and my hope completely and utterly in the hands of the One, True Savior.

That's what the woman at the well figured out, in the end. She says to Jesus, "I know that Messiah is coming. When he comes, he will explain everything to us."

Jesus replies, "I, the one speaking to you- I am he." 

He is explaining who He is. And, as He explains who He is, it explains who I am. I am a worshiper.

Thank you for reading my worship.

Snapshot #4- At The Well

When I got really sick a month ago, I decided to say yes to whatever would lead to my healing. One of those yeses was talking to Andy's counselor.

After we got married, our situation got really confusing. Things came out that Andy and I could never have expected. People responded in ways that were dumbfounding. It was a great big mess. Andy and I tried to find some professional help to work things out. We offered that help, but it was shot down.

So we took a step back and life moved on. We worked and loved on students and played soccer and made friends. We studied and led at BSF. We joined our church. We had highs. We had lows.

Then, Story was born. And we tried again to make things real. To make things better. But it was hard. Some of Andy's old wounds were making it even harder for him. Andy isn't like me. He doesn't talk about his hurts until they are threadbare. He's more likely to pack them into a small, tight space and pour some Bourbon on top.

I love Andy. He is one of my safest people. He holds all of my crazy so gently and rightly in his giant, soft heart. He is endlessly patient and encouraging. The very least that I could do for someone who takes care of me like that was point him to someone qualified to help debride the wounds. So I said, I don't care what it costs, I want you to get the help you need. That's exactly what he did. He got several months of sound, Biblical counsel from a trusted Christian therapist. That help transformed the way that Andy thinks and communicates. His voice got louder (a good thing!) and mine got softer (a very good thing!). We learned to listen and speak and wait. It was really beautiful. I went to therapy once with Andy, just to be "in" on some of the things that he was learning there, to be a part of the story, but those months were mostly his journey. I was cheering him on from the sidelines and reaping the benefits of his healing.

After Grey was born, we tried again. Because mercy compels us, and justice drives us. Because Jesus is a Lover, a Forgiver, a Healer. But it went worse than ever. And the stress made me sick. So, I knew it was my turn to get the help. One of the things that I was instructed to do by our counselor was to research some behaviors that he has witnessed in this situation over the course of time. Even with all of my over-thinking, I had never researched the pathology behind some of the things I've experienced. So I've made a study of what he told me to look into over the past couple of weeks. It's been an eye-opening and, at times, frightening and discouraging experience.

In John, I'm still at the well with Jesus and the Samaritan woman. This has been a fitting place as I've looked into these patterns of behavior. The more I've learned, the more I've come to understand about what we've been through these past years. The shoe fits. But it's a shoe nobody wants to have to put on. Looking into this situation has been a lot like looking into a deep well. I don't even know exactly what's down there. Trauma. Abuse. Behavior patterns to shroud shame. Manifestations of those behaviors that abide by no rules, heed no boundaries, that cause harm to my beloved... and to me. It's subtle. But it's real. It's what I've seen. It's what others, more qualified than I, see. The well is deep.

The Samaritan woman tells Jesus that Jacob's well is deep, and He doesn't even have anything to draw with. Jesus' response brings her from that tactile reality to a spiritual one. Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. 

As I've studied this week, I learned about some of my own unhealthy behavior. I discovered that, though I have learned how to set boundaries externally- I am uncomfortable with that. No, we cannot make it to that event. Please don't use that word again. Please don't send me those kinds of emails. We are not okay in our relationship- please take responsibility for your part so that we can be okay- on the inside, I have almost none. I might be able to say these things to other people. But, once said, I am filled with doubt. I worry about the boundary that I tried to set, especially when people get mad at me for setting them or just pretend like I didn't say anything at all. Then, I try ceaselessly to "fix" these problems in my mind. It never works. This is the well that I keep trying to drink from. It makes me thirstier and thirstier every time.

Jesus says to the Samaritan woman- Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life. I am at the well with Jesus. The well is deep, much deeper and darker than I could have imagined. But Jesus is here. Jesus is calling.

Jesus has taught me two things here at the well. First, that I must stop drinking here. I must understand that the well really is too deep for me. These waters have done enough damage to my heart and soul. It's time to trust Him, take his hand, and walk away. Second, that it is not too deep for Him. He has gone into greater depths. Because of His great love, He goes deeper still.

Jesus, precious, beautiful, powerful Jesus- go. Go into that well. Heal and purify those waters. 

And Jesus, steadfast, faithful Jesus- stay. Stay with me here. Walk by my side as I turn away from this well. Give me the living water that will sustain me for the rest of my journey.