About a month ago, I spoke with a friend regarding how it felt to be a college graduate who transitioned back into her hometown. Firstly, I expressed pure disdain for the fact that my high school hang out was turned into a slot machine hub. Disgusting. Next, I shared the uncomfortable exchanges after bumping into people I used to be friends with but haven’t spoke to in years. Awkward. Lastly, I felt as if my entire community lived on and continued to thrive in my absence… THE NERVE. As I searched for a word to encapsulate my emotional state, I arrived at the word “flounder”.
(Let me briefly add that transition does something to a person. And I mean it does what slowly peeling off a whole roll of duct tape from a hairy man’s arm can do… cause intense, grueling amounts of pain. Not that I have ever actually experience that kind of pain. I am not a hairy man.)
But back to floundering. I relied on this word to help me make sense of my life. Why couldn’t I have a comfortable conversation with old friends? Why did prayer feel useless? Why couldn’t I muster up the courage to invest myself in anything? Because I was floundering, of course. Pretty soon, I was not only accepting this woeful state of flounder, but I was giving it authority. I allowed it to step in and justify my lack of motivation, my heartache, and the continued grief of losing a college and overseas community. Being unstable and defeated was becoming my new normal, and I hated it.
So I began to combat it. I decided to DO something to get myself out of this floundering mess I was in. I had to ACT. So I started saying yes to everything. Yoga? YES. Weekly Bible study? YES. Coffee dates? YES. Soon, my week was full of activity. “Okay,” I thought to myself. “Activity is the key. Just keep busy. You’ll fix it.” Most of you can probably guess what happened next. NOTHING. Absolutely nothing. My heart still ached, my anxious thoughts continued, and I couldn’t fix it.
Then something finally happened. I was at my lowest one evening, when I distinctly heard the voice of God. I’d like to say that as a seasoned Christian I hear His voice on the regular. I don’t. I’m still a silly little spacey, stubborn lamb learning the voice of her Shepherd (that was full of unintended alliteration, by the way). But this night, I heard the still, small voice of my Jesus say: “It’s simple. I love you.” *insert the hysterical sobs of a highly sensitive human being who needs a constant stream of affirmation in her life*
It’s simple. I love you. Five words that hit me like a truck. How could I have missed it? The God of the universe is wild for me! He LOVES me. Unconditionally. Irrevocably. Undeniably. With GUSTO. He pursues me. He endures me. He is mindful of me. He speaks to me. He desires to be with me. He DIED FOR ME.
So what’s the moral of the story, Abby? He said He loved you and suddenly everything changed?
Yes. And let me tell you why, friends. When you are reminded of this mad love, you are reminded of the foundation in which your life is built upon. As a follower of Jesus, I have claimed to recognize this love my entire life; yet when the time came for me to stand firmly upon it, I stepped off. I attempted to build something in which my own blood, sweat, and tears could be glorified. The result? Floundering. I guess you could call it a “flounderation” (I amuse myself far too easily with word play).
Honestly though, how many of us are quick to combat pain with our own devices? Instead of running to the cross, falling on our faces and resting in the love of our sweet Jesus, we attempt to fill every inch of space with something that should satisfy. But it doesn’t. We scratch and claw at the assumption that unless we fix it, it can’t be fixed.
You’ve read a lot of words from me, so I will leave you with a few more: In the midst of a great flounder (if you haven’t had one yet, you most certainly will), trust in the precious, enduring love of the One who is love. Always remember that you were formed in the image of love. Rest in it.