Looking my best doesn’t always convey the raw truth of what is going on internally. Fresh makeup and hairspray have always been of utmost importance to me. (Perhaps a bit of the southern girl in me) consuming my thoughts even at times, wondering if I looked ‘okay’ or ‘acceptable.’ Even though I never quite knew what that ideal really looked like.
But today, I felt like the lack of makeup and hairspray actually was depicting quite an accurate picture of what is going on in my soul.
I haven’t ran in a while, actually since last summer. Something about spending 30 days in the hospital with Rylie over 4 hospital admissions, with one in which I thought she was dying- well, it did something to me. Mentally, emotionally, and physically. It has taken months for me to sort of get back on my feet (figuratively and literally) because I just needed time to recover. It wasn’t how I necessarily wanted to recover, and it has been slow and painful at times. But necessary.
The amazing thing is, that in some of my darkest moments this last year, Jesus has brought healing in the most unexpected of ways.
And, it’s not that I still don’t struggle with those petty thoughts, but I have found ways to not think them as much, and to try to focus on the really important things. You know, like things Jesus talked about. I’ve found that there really is freedom in letting go and trusting I am good enough because he said I am. I’ve become more self aware, and in doing so found how to better see how the grace of Jesus is truly sufficient in my weaknesses, instead of just drowning in them.
These things do not come easy. But what he continues to remind me daily is that the pain IS worth it. And that I’ve actually come to a place where I begin to look for Jesus in the pain instead of reacting in fear and despair. It has been through a culmination of prayer, counseling, psychiatry, a few books, some prophetic conversations, words of healing, and very specific scriptures that have carried me through this most recent season. I say that to say: There is not always one specific way to find healing from the pain you have endured. And Jesus is not always quick to alleviate the pain or heal it instantly and I am beginning to have a deeper understanding of the why…
Somewhere along the way the last few months I found myself repeating the phrase to God, “Please don’t waste my pain.” And I begin to hear it and read it in places where I felt like it wasn’t something I needed to ask him to do because it isn’t in his nature to waste our pain. I came across the book Radiant Midnight by Melissa Maimone in the process. She says, “I need to know that, true to Psalm 56:8, the lord has collected all my tears in a bottle and that nothing has been wasted. I am desperate to understand the things that have brought so much confusion to my heart. I need to know that God’s grace is not diminished in the midst of affliction. Because if the darkest times of my life have less significance than the brightest times, then a lot of life is lost to hopelessness.” In her book she talks about having seasons of Midnight, a sort of a dark night of the soul. It was really relatable to me in recent months as I struggled to find my way through PTSD, depression, mental and physical exhaustion, and a sense of hopelessness some days. It has been a season more intense than previous, as it has forced me to realize I really have no control. But in coming to terms with that, it has lead me on a journey of seeing the healing and faith that comes with letting go and letting Jesus. “Part of Midnight is surrendering what you think should happen in your life.” And, “But since Midnight is for those whom Abba invites into a deeper, stronger, more mysterious faith, then surrender plays too important a role to ignore.” Surrender is immensely difficult for humans who struggle to want to control all the things. Think about it: when do you feel most hopeless and despairing? When things happen beyond our control that we do not like. Especially in painful circumstances or seasons where something is taken away or there are permanent implications to a circumstance that change the very trajectory of what we wanted for our lives. I probably know a little about that… And it is because I have lived it that I can tell you just how miserable it has been to sit and wish things were different and focus on how painful everything is, instead of refocusing and looking for Jesus in the midst of it. He is there. And if you are feeling cynical as you read these words, I have been there too but this is what I know now – He never left, and He hasn’t forgotten about you, or the person you are close to who is going through tremendous pain and/or suffering. But when we refuse to acknowledge his presence, it is difficult to see or hear him. When all of the noise in our head is focused on bitterness and hopelessness, that is exactly what we will be: bitter and hopeless. Jesus is love. He is not bitterness and hopelessness, but He does have the ability to transform those things. He is a healer. A maker of new things. The healing may not come in the way you want it to, or how you think it should but from experience I can say that it is always beyond anything I could have ever imagined.
Now, since I’m feeling transparent, I am going to share something about myself you may find surprising: I love rap music. I always have. If you know me you may find that interesting considering my personality and tendency to be on the quieter side. But it is something about the intensity of the beats in the music married with deep, meaningful lyrics that draws my Enneagram 4 heart. So many talented artists have taken the beauty of creating music with lyrics that have the ability to evoke deep emotion when you listen. I recently discovered the artist NF. His lyrics are some of the rawest I have heard. Telling stories of tragedy in childhood and struggles with mental health, I found myself able to relate a lot with the latter. “See, we’ve all got something that we’ve trapped inside That we try to suffocate, you know, hopin’ it dies Try to hold it underwater, but it always survives Then it comes up out of nowhere like an evil surprise Then it hovers over you to tell you millions of lies… Just think about it for a second, if you look at your face Every day when you get up and think you’ll never be great You’ll never be great, not because you’re not, but the hate Will always find a way to cut you up and murder your faith” (Then you know, there is like a beat drop, and some other deeply profound lyrics.) -‘The Search’ by NF
I feel like I have spent half a lifetime running from who I was created to be. From how I was created. I spent years trying to re-create myself or search for ways to be a better version of me. But it wasn’t until I stopped long enough to recognize the hate I subconsciously felt about myself, and the lies that I would daily fight to keep ‘underwater,’ that I fully recognized how I was in effect drowning in my own negativity and self hatred. It was allowing it to take up space in my mind, leaving little space for things that were life giving. And so over the years through various avenues of healing ( like the ones mentioned earlier in the post) I have learned how to fight for my soul, to embrace myself in the way exactly God created me to be, the importance of replacing the lies with truth, and in doing so finding true freedom.
So, today I choose to share a raw picture of myself, because so often we just see the photos we have carefully selected that accent our good side or the recent trip to the salon. Because, who wants to see a picture of someone pre-shower, right after they ran a couple of miles, sweaty and red faced? Today I thought some of you might. Because it is real life. It is me without a filter. And just like we are often strategic about how vulnerable we are with our souls, I think our outward appearance can sometimes serve as a metaphor for the ways we try to avoid pain and the uncomfortable things. Just like running was not comfortable as a beginner, if you are not used to sharing the things in your soul it can feel uncomfortable and even painful at first. But the more you are able to share openly, the easier it becomes. In part, because of the freedom you feel when you do begin to really look at the hard things that you so often try to ignore. And over time, the more vulnerable we are with ourselves and others, the more God can heal the wounds and transform us through the pain.
Recently I was reading Chasing Vines by Beth Moore. She weaves an interesting connection between grape vines and our spiritual lives, while drawing the reader’s attention to just how much vines are referenced throughout the Bible, in addition to giving the facts about actual grape vines and how they grow. I wanted to give you an exact quote but I already returned it to the library so I will give you my best regurgitation: “We cannot grow well and bear good fruit in our lives without crap.” Now, I do know for certain Beth did not use the word crap in her book, but I really like my interpretation and since I do not have the ability to directly quote her at the moment, and because this is my blog, we are going to go with that. Anyway, she explains the process of vineyards and how precarious a process to cultivate a healthy vine. The climate, type of soil, and even elevation go into consideration to produce the finest grapes. She went on to talk about how with any good, healthy soil that significant amounts of earthworm poop are required. Something about the way the worm digests its food that it comes out with rich nutrients needed for the finest soil. And so, what is key for the most delicious, plump grapes on a grape vine goes back to the poop from an earthworm. The worm’s waste. This is also common knowledge in the general gardening world for many things, so if you are knowledgeable in this area this is nothing new. But have you ever stopped to really think about how symbolic this is? To recognize the beautiful ways God integrated physical growth with the spiritual? And to really pay attention to all of the ways growth is referenced in scripture? God loves growth. He loves the process of transforming things, and especially people. But so often we get lost in the pain and tragedy of life. The crap. We become so focused on looking at the pain, the heart wrenching tragedies – the crap, that we forget to look up and ahead for how the crap is going to be used to grow us in the richest of ways.
“No pain, no gain,” some say. It is often associated with exercise. Because everyone knows how much work exercise can be, and how sore your body will be after. But it is necessary to gain more strength and improve health. The phrase is so acceptable in society but somehow we have compartmentalized the meaning to only apply to things we think it should apply to- like exercise or hard work. Probably because those things provide obvious, physical results. We can see our muscles grow, our blood work improve, and our paycheck increase. But we are not as quick to apply this idea to general struggles in life. Tragedies, heartache, and disappointments to name a few. Those things just feel unbearable and we seem to forget that just as lifting weights produces physical muscles, living through the pain of losing someone, or chronic illness will increase our soul muscles, and if we allow – our faith muscles. When we choose to look for Jesus in all the things, we become increasingly aware of his presence and the way he brings beauty from ashes.
In my humanness I know it will continue to be a struggle to surrender; a daily one. But because I have experienced Jesus truly transforming my pain in the most beautiful ways, I have a hope I can cling to in future pain. It is worth it. HE is worth it.
The book and documentary “I’ll Push You” is about two best friends, one whose progressive rare disease has left him completely dependent on others for all care needs, including being pushed in a wheelchair. It documents their journey across the Camino De Santiago in which the one friend who can walk commits to push his friend who now uses a wheelchair, across the 500 miles of the trail in Spain. Patrick who pushes his friend Justin shares his struggle with feeling angry about his friend’s disabilities and desperately hoping for healing. He says, ”That’s when I realized that, more often than not, the miracle isn’t the absence of struggle, disease, or pain; it is the presence of grace and certainty, the ability to face strife, the unknown, or a slow death, without fear. My obsession with divine intervention had distracted me from the truth that God had already intervened.”
Just because God doesn’t intervene in the way we think he should, doesn’t mean he hasn’t.
“For this light momentary affliction is is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” II Corinthians 4:17-18
Comments