Well… it’s been… awhile.
I’d like to say that I’ve been storing up stories and profound parables of life with God and all the many lessons I’ve learned. But that’s quite untrue. Instead of digging into the marrow and meaning of life and God, I’ve been unravelling. Hence, the title of this piece.
As I begin writing again, I can feel the ache in my fingers — motion that must be practiced again, and muscles that will take time to work properly… like a runner who has been injured trying to run again. I know it will take a long time to really say what I really want to say, and many of you may read my words and not feel the weight I so desperately want my words to impress upon you. That’s okay. This post is mostly for me, if I’m being honest. It’s a little space for me to try to make sense of what the past two years have been.
If I could say it all succinctly, I would say it like this: I’ve been hanging on by a thread most days, and the only thing holding me together is the love of God. I think that’s the most honest thing I could say.
If you’re a Christian who has somehow bought into the insidious lie that life is perpetual movement upwards and that you are shielded from deep, deep troubles because of Christ, I’d like to smack you in the face with reality. In love, of course. Like, a smack of truth in love… this is all metaphorical. I won’t go all Will Smith on you (too soon?).
If you’re a Christian who has been acquainted with suffering and feels completely out of your depths with how to suffer as Christ did, welcome to the club. We have T-shirts.
If you’re a Christian who has suffered and moved through it all still holding onto Jesus, thank you. I know it wasn’t easy. We weaklings and thread-bare fragile ones need to know how you walked through dark valleys and continued to cling to Him.
If you’re not a Christian, and you’ve stumbled upon my words by happenstance, coincidence, or because you know me from some time and place, then I hope you read my words with suspended judgment and genuine openness to the reality that Christians struggle to make sense of life sometimes too. The thread we hold onto isn’t our will to live, really… it’s that somehow, someway, all of this is a part of something remarkably good and glorious. It’s not the idealized utopia of society or the self-actualization of being… it’s the hope that the One who made us, became like us, and died for us, will bring all of the unravelled bits and pieces of our untethered life together and show us that it mattered and that it’s going to be made right.
This post is really just a smattering of vignettes worth externalizing onto a page — scenes from my life recently that I’m not overjoyed to share, but ultimately have a profound truth woven inside — and even though I’m frayed and hanging on by a thread, I’m seeing the love of God somehow.
Feel free to pick and choose which theme resonates with you. There is a lot that might not be worth your time right now. I won’t be hurt. Honestly, I won’t even know, so I don’t know why I’m saying all this. Do your thing.
Rejection I think rejecting someone could be one of the most painful human things we do. Rejecting a person, especially one that you love, is the antithesis of everything that is Christ. I faced a significant rejection this year. Not a romantic kind, but a familial one. Someone I loved my whole life turned on me without warning, notice, or clear cause. And I don't know what to do with that most days. The rage I feel as a result of this injustice done to me (and many members of my family) is really ugly. I wish I was a better Christian and held this pain with soft hands, but I clutch it and squeeze it and scream at it most days. My mind barks out the reasons to be angry. I have pretend conversations with this person daily (yep, like a really looney tune). I want to punch this person in the nose and then hug them tight and never let go. This pain is a dull ache that persists, and it shoots through my whole body when I think that this person may never come back. So where is the love of God? It is hidden deeply in the humanity of Christ. I never understood how painful Judas' betrayal of Jesus probably was until this all happened to me. Someone that Jesus loved so deeply rejected him without clear, justifiable cause. It was a weak, human, and completely selfish rejection. I imagine that Jesus didn't supersede or transcend above this pain, because he emptied himself and took on a human heart. The emotions of rejection were felt and are strongly felt by Jesus. He understands personally, and he didn't have to. He chose to. It is in his power and promise to reconcile all things. God said that he reconciled the world to himself through Jesus. A world that actually killed Jesus because of fear, hate, and no just cause. He also said that he has given us that same spirit of reconciliation. All is not lost because this spirit indwells.
Separation I don't know how to talk about this area of my life tenderly, considering all the people involved in it. For their sake, I will be brief and say only what is necessary. When your parents hurt each other and leave each other (no matter who ultimately chooses this), it leaves you suddenly looking around feeling scared and sad. Something that was a security is suddenly absent, and you're left feeling around in the dark. Life becomes more complicated. Being an adult doesn't make it easier. This kind of suffering is a helpless sort of suffering -- watching two people who modeled life for you in your formative years trying to figure out how to live differently, maintain respect for each other, and tend to their own wounds inflicted by the other person... it's messy. So where is the love of God? It is inside people who embody Christ. Sometimes we need real live arms to hold us, hands to wipe our tears and stroke our head, ears to hear our pathetic sobs and eyes to look at us with tenderness. God knows how much we need this, and sent Jesus to be a body with arms, hands, ears, and eyes, but in his physical absence, he sent the Spirit to indwell in the us - people who embody Him; people who have also suffered; people who also know what it's like to experience a severing; people who may not get it but can listen without judgement. It is in Jesus, the bridegroom. This is a marriage that will never end. Marriages on earth are shattered shadows of what they will be when we are completely united with Christ. Jesus using the language of "wedding" and "marriage" was not random - this is exactly what he came for - to unite us, His beloved, back to him. This is his deep expression of covenantal love for us.
Anxiety Exactly 2 years ago this week, I had my first anxiety attack. It was completely foreign to me. I thought I was losing my mind (I mean, technically I was...). Without warning, my mental capacities actually weakened me, and I couldn't function normally. All I could do was pace around, cry, pray, and talk to people about what I was experiencing. Some of you know exactly what I'm talking about. The sort of "out of body" yet complete "mind tornado" experience. Chanting psalms or self-help phrases like: "I'm here. I'm okay" over and over. Grocery shopping on an average Tuesday and acting normal, when internally you're quaking and imaging yourself passing out or throwing up in the breakfast cereal aisle. It ain't pretty. No one really warned me that this could happen to me. In my arrogance, I thought I was completely immune to it. But then a pandemic hit and I lost my overseas community, home, and all sense of what my future would be. Anyways. I won't beat a dead horse here. This was awful, and it hasn't really stopped. I met with a counselor (love ya, Cindy), and she guided me through grief beautifully... but anxiety continues to pervade. So where is the love of God? In therapy and counseling. I swear if I hear any Christian person declare therapy/counseling useless I will probably... take deep breaths and remind myself that God still loves fools (kidding, but also very much not kidding). The fact that God has gifted other humans with tools and knowledge to help brains heal and function better when they're sick and broken is absolutely stunning. God is healer, and he has given us medicine, professionals, and knowledge to help the process of physical and mental healing. In quiet places. I realized recently that ever since I was a little girl, I always felt drawn to being outside when I needed to process life and find God. Being outside in the quiet is the space for God to speak and comfort me. He shows me how much he loves me by taking me on a tour of his natural world, giving me metaphors and meaning through nature's architecture. To see beauty is to see God's great love for us, I think.
I have much to learn about God’s love. I’ll probably say more about it later. Right now, my fingers are tired and need a break from their run over the keyboard.
Thank you for reading this. God is gracious and abounding in steadfast love for all of you.