.


I love words. I always have. I love to read and write and envelope myself in the mysteries of language. It is soothing, inspiring, and emotional. Something written can be much more poignant than the same thing muttered. Often, the direction that I lack in life can be easily bandaged with the direction that comes from well thought out words blended together. This affair that I have, with the emotional side of life- makes it hard for me to let go of things. Holding on is much more dramatic and emotionally drawn out than turning the page and moving on. It simply makes for a better story.

I waited a long time to be in a relationship. Both purposely and accidentally. Growing up I tended to be too mature. And then it simply became because of pride. I had decided that my first would mean something. It would be purposeful and worthy of a story.

And, oh- it was.
It has been.

Because this thing that I had waited for- it did mean something. In fact, it has meant everything. It became my whole story.

As time has passed, the foundation of sand I built, compiled of all my hopes and dreams has crumbled. Epically.

Because this worldly love and angst isn’t what my story was ever intended to be. And the only way to escape from the bondage I have created through the belief that I am capable of designing, writing, and creating-  is to let go.

And I am too proud.

Letting go means putting the pen down. My fists clench simply in thinking of it. Because oh how much I fear this love I have for him. Oh how much I am terrorized by loss. But this story, this hope, this flimsy sandcastle I’ve hodgepodged together—I’ve let sustain me. Fuel me. Empower me.

Yet nothing, that I could ever arrange will ever sustain me. Ever. There is no way that I could patch this story up with us ending up together that will ever make me feel triumphantly complete.
Thinking that my God isn’t hearing me right, or caring for me correctly, or that He isn’t fast enough or good enough-- it has ruined my story. I am cheating myself out of the goodness and fullness that He has waiting for me.

And I know it.

I know how stupid I am. How petty I am. How ridiculous I am to think that patiently waiting on Christ, even with this broken heart could ever result in failure.

Because God does not fail.

Only I do.

So I’m trying, Lord. I promise. I’m letting go of this foolishness that I have been holding on to. In thinking that I am so much more capable than you are to navigate my life, this life that you have given me. Because I am failing. And instead:

I will hold on to your promise. You are true.
I will hold on to your grace. I will need it.
I will hold on to your presence. You are here.
I will hold on to your deliverance. You will provide it.

And I will hold on knowing that you hold the things that I could never even fathom. In your promise of peace, you promise to tell me things that I do not know. The things that I am not capable of knowing and writing for my own story, the places where I fail- I trust that you know and that you will take the lead. I don’t have to anymore. I don’t have to fumble to create my own happiness, my own ending- because you’ve got this.

humpty dumpty

everything in my life has become louder than God. 

the quest for the perfect hair waves, television, texting, paychecks, relationships, vacations, sleeping...  basically picking at my toenails has become much more important and exciting than Truth. 

i rolled out the red carpet and allowed these things to take over my time. my energy. my life. allowing them to help me determine the choices of my life- making my life more fun and interesting and assuring that people will like me. 

.... like pulling the last shaky wooden pillar from the Jenga tower, it has all come tumbling down. 

there is a personal level of desolation that is part of my story. this is the part where my brain comes to a standstill. and in the blink of an eye, i am physically and emotionally stuck in a mind trap of quicksand and suddenly this life becomes completely and exhaustingly overwhelming. 

like a snail attempting to climb Everest, there is no hope. impossible. it is all impossible. everything is terrifying. and for the life of me i cannot seem to remember how it was that i was able to function, literally less than one minute ago.

"i used to do that? just go about my day-  driving, working, talking and living?"

and i am isolated in my fear. this fear and angst that very few can comprehend. 

so i say to myself, "you can do this. God has led you through this many times now. With Him you are strong."

but maybe not this time.
maybe this time, He's done with me. 
because frankly, I'm done with me. 

And with that terrifying declaration i sit down in a quiet place. with my bible and my journal and my desperate plea for safety and i stew upon Paul's letter to the people of Corinth in 2 Corinthians chapter 1. 

Paul tells them that it came to a point during his travels where he and his team were "crushed and overwhelmed  beyond their ability to endure", and they believed they would  never live through it. He states that "in fact, we expected to die. But as a result of this, we stopped relying on ourselves and learned to rely only on God, who raises the dead" 

raises the dead.
normally when I hear this phrase I'm like "Oh, good ole' Lazarus-  cool story. unfortunate name"

But raises the dead
This is everything. This is the most powerful thing one could ever fathom happening. I can't think of anything more amazing. And when you put it in terms of God raising us from the death of our sins- to live freely with Him forever--  I. Am. Blown. Away. 

And since we know He can and has done these things, how is there any room for doubt? How can we sit here and declare the end? 

I certainly haven't ever raised the dead, who am i to declare anything final? 

Paul concludes that "the God, who raises the dead- did rescue us from mortal danger, and he will rescue us again. We have placed our confidence in him, and he will continue to rescue us."

continue 
continue
continue

regardless of what i at times try to convince myself, ocd is part of my journey while on this earth. 
and i hate it. 
i hate admitting it
i hate typing it out
and i especially hate hearing those three letters voiced aloud.
i am terrified of being defined, labeled or limited by something so powerful and consuming. 

but i rest in this truth: this is something that He hand selected for me. and if the God of the entire universe took the time to appoint this in my life, I will choose without a doubt to believe that it is for a purpose. and even better than that, it is for His purpose. 

so with each swallow i slowly attempt to gulp down these feelings of inadequacy and isolation. and with patience, i wake up each morning slowly and cautiously putting together the Jenga pieces of a God glorifying life. Thanking Him for every opportunity and obstacle. Even the ones I so despise- because I know that He is Greater. He is Better. He raises the dead. And He will continue to save me.

and this process of quieting everything else so that He can become greater is consuming. Because it should be. He is consuming. There is nothing but Him. His love, His grace, and His eternal sacrifice. 

So Lord, consume me. 

[special shout-out to my Dad, who single-handedly has been assisting me in my Humpty-Dumpty-esque attempt to be put together again. happy father's day? i knew this would be exactly what you wanted. love you]

shaped

i am a conversationalist. 


an analyzer.


a theoretical appreciator. 


and someone who believes that everything has meaning. 
(sometimes the meaning is just that it's stupid. but- seriously. yes.)


occasionally i have trouble accepting change because it requires an entire process for me
other times i welcome change with unparalleled grace- admiring the fact that change is possible  and happily seeking the greater purpose. i'm so awesome. (except for, not really). 


but- i'm not really sure which approach i'm trying to adopt now. 


i'm about to be the kind of person that irritates me. the person who acts like all life's greatest treasures are hidden in a song. for the record, i don't believe that. i think life's greatest treasures are actually excavated from words having been chiseled together; whether spoken or written. ironically that is what song lyrics are. 


"we are shaped by the light that we let through us"

oftentimes my attitude towards life is that every decision, accident, change, or choice that enters our lives bears with it the sometimes overwhelming opportunity to transform us, shaping us into something new. sometimes better. sometimes worse.


but as of right now, i don't think i believe that. 


i think we invest too much belief in the perception that the variables of life hold the responsibility and power of evolving. and they don't. 


i'm starting to think that we are wholly changed by opportunities where we engage in letting light shine through us. in being vessels for Him. that is where transformation lies. where anything which actually holds any power to change us can be found. 


life is molded and transformed by the Greatest Creator, but we have to let him. 
we have to be willing. 
i want to be willing. 





friday









this is a good book. 

my recommendations are the cusp of popularity, i know. 

but this is like... a personalized recommendation for you

so, you're welcome.