I wrap up these words on day 364 of living in San Diego, California.
My 20-year-old self would laugh out loud at the sheer ridiculousness. If only she knew. I want to share with you just a few things that my faithful One has whispered to me this past year. In the midst of what felt like the desert, He was a River of living water. Jesus said -
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Romans 8:28 - And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.
How do you put these words up against death? Pain? Darkness? Injustice? Grief? How can it still stand when precious life is cut short? I know it stands. Somehow, it always does. I know it as truth, and death can’t even hold a match to I AM’s truth, to His fail-proof, fool-proof promises to us. But today, though my mind knows, my heart doubts. It's unsure. Of everything, really. All I know to do is declare over my own heart and the hearts of those grieving that He is sovereign and that he holds us close, even with our arms out and stiff against His chest. Grief. What a word. It steals your breath. Steals the rhythm of your beating heart. It is a vast sadness that makes everything seem dimmer, darker somehow. And it can make you spitting mad, too. Steeped in anger that burns more bright and hot than you know how to express. Thrown off-balance because how can sadness and anger coexist so completely? This is where I land today. The injustice and unfairness and evil that seems to saturate this world - this life, this era, some peoples' minds - leaves me stunned and confused and reeling and reaching out for something to grab onto. Where’s the steady ground to stand on? Where's the arm rail that keeps us from tumbling? I know it’s Him. Know it as a fact. But today I am still not sure. Not sure how to hold all the truth and reality in two weak and trembling hands. So I’ll simply let it all fall out of mine and into His. And I think He’s okay with that, because somedays all we have to give Him is what we’re not strong enough to carry ourselves. Why on God's green earth do we say good grief? What kind of grief could possibly be good? I'm thinking about this today, chewing slowly. I think that maybe it's the kind of grief that reels freely and weeps for our lost beloveds as Jesus did for Lazarus but knows there is finality and justice and completion and perfection and righteousness within God's sight, within His reach, even if it's not within our own. Today, I am reeling freely. All I know to do is try to get it all written down. If you know me, you know my time at Homestead Ministries this past spring was filled to the brim with beautiful, strong women: warriors, to say the least. We’ve lost one, and it’s unbearable. Our sweet Ashley - you had so much goodness ahead of you still. You walked through such a deep darkness and somehow came out radiating such light as I have rarely seen. The kind that everyone wants to bask in. I know it’s all because your love for our Jesus was a flame that burned brightly deep within you and leaked light out of your whole being. He carried you through the darkest years and you gave back to Him all the rest the best way you knew how: loving the people He gave you. And oh, how He used that love. You had an unmistakeable impact that began echoing into Eternity far before you made it there. Your willingness to share your story, to tell of how He rescued you out of the depths of darkness and despair...it had a ripple effect that leaves us speechless in gratitude, in wonder. I remember the first time I met you at the Homestead - you were the first to come out and greet me with all your sweetness - and we found out we graduated high school together. I knew by your bright eyes and eagerness to connect with me that we would be fast friends. I instantly wished we had been that way sooner, for those years we walked the same halls. We are less whole without you. We feel darkness and we sit in it and we wonder how we will smile or laugh or carry on. Jeremiah 8:18 - My joy is gone; grief is upon me; my heart is sick within me. We are reeling mad. Hungry for justice where there is none yet. Spitting-blood-angry at whoever would have the gall to steal your precious life from you, from the two of you. Sick-and-dizzy furious. The kind that burns behind our eyes. Job 19:7 - Behold, I cry out, ‘Violence!’ but I am not answered; I call for help, but there is no justice. And yet, there is a glimmer of light somewhere in the distance. We can't tell how far out, it might even be farther for some of us than others. It's a light nonetheless, a spark that burns away all the dross and all the despair and makes all this grief somehow good. It's there. Oh, it's there. It's there because we know your heart was always ready to meet Him. Though you faithfully walked out His call on your life, you looked forward to Paradise with the pure innocence of a child. I know this with confidence unshakable because it was evident in every breath you took, every smile and laugh you shared with the people you loved. John 4:14 - but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life. It's there because you’re with Him right now; He’s holding you and your precious child you were so overjoyed to one day meet. Now He’s overjoyed to welcome you both into Eternity with him. It's there because the Lord has capital-p Promised justice to his beloved. He has Promised not to forget. Job 37:23 - The Almighty—we cannot find him; he is great in power; justice and abundant righteousness he will not violate. I know it. It's there, the light. Maybe we have to squint for a few weeks, months even. Maybe we can only see it when we focus all our sight on that spark in the distance. But it's there. It's there, and I know it because I reaped so much encouragement, so much Holy knowledge, so much hope-saturated perspective from the posture you took as you walked your path, my girl. I am so grateful that my time at the Homestead was marked so clearly by your friendship, support, and love. We love you forever, sweet Ash. The world is much less bright without you in it, but we carry on towards that light. One day we'll be close enough for it to fill our whole lives again, and then the grief will have burned away and only good will remain. 2 Corinthians 2:6-10 - Behold, now is the favorable time; behold, now is the day of salvation. We put no obstacle in anyone's way, so that no fault may be found with our ministry, but as servants of God we commend ourselves in every way: by great endurance, in afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, hunger; by purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, the Holy Spirit, genuine love; by truthful speech, and the power of God; with the weapons of righteousness for the right hand and for the left; through honor and dishonor, through slander and praise. We are treated as impostors, and yet are true; as unknown, and yet well known; as dying, and behold, we live; as punished, and yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, yet possessing everything." Soon and very soon My King is coming Robed in righteousness and crowned with love When I see Him I shall be made like Him Soon and very soon Soon and very soon I’ll be going To the place He has prepared for me There my sin erased My shame forgotten Soon and very soon I will be with the One I love With unveiled face I’ll see Him There my soul will be satisfied Soon and very soon Soon and very soon See the procession The angels and the elders 'round the throne At His feet I’ll lay my crowns My worship Soon and very soon I will be with the One I love With unveiled face I’ll see Him There my soul will be satisfied Soon and very soon Though I have not seen Him My heart knows Him well Jesus Christ the Lamb The Lord of heaven I will be with the One I love With unveiled face I’ll see Him There my soul will be satisfied Soon and very soon Soon and very soon Soon - Hillsong UNITED We all love a good story, right?
It's pretty much a normal part of the universal human experience to enjoy being entertained by stories. It's why we love going to the movies, or why we get caught up in a good book and can't put it down. It's why we will sit around a campfire for hours, laughing at the ridiculous tales our relatives tell of times gone by. But stories have power beyond simple entertainment. They have the power to disconnect us from our reality and connect us to another's. That's the reason we feel so connected with another human as we sit across a cup of coffee from them and listen to them tell the story of their life. Stories have the power to encourage, to inspire, to give hope. That's why we love things that are "based on a true story." We find strength, meaning, value in stories. Stories also have the power to shock. To horrify. That's why some of us steer clear of scary movies, but ultimately why we're all addicted to Stranger Things. Don't lie. If you're not already there, you should be. You know I'm right. But beyond entertainment, connection, inspiration, or horror, some stories also have the power to shake us awake. To sober us up. To make us aware of our present surroundings. Even to make us feel guilt, or shame, or anger. To be frank, some stories you don't really want to hear. That's why we turn off the news, hide away from reality, look away from people on the side of the road with cardboard signs, scroll past pleas for prayers on social media, ask people to keep their personal lives to themselves. That's why we tend to avoid people who seem to have heavier stories than ours, whose lives are full of pain and regret, who always have something to complain about. Unfortunately, those people are the ones with stories people often turn away from. They are the ones whose voices are never really heard. Their stories are stifled, stuffed away. They are made to be quiet. They are made to feel small. They've been told their stories are "too much." Some have even been told their stories cannot possibly be true. These are the stories we must be willing to listen to. These are the stories that need rewritten. I've heard a lot of stories in my twenty-two years. I've sipped at lots of mugs while listening to storytellers of all kinds pour out their tales. Each of them has been just as important and valid and beautiful as the next. But I spent a whole five months listening to stories like the ones I just described - ones that desperately needed their endings (and beginnings and middles) rewritten. Stories that had been minimized and told to quiet down for years. Stories that were finally breaking through the chains and finding freedom. These stories rewrote mine. My time as an intern at Homestead Ministries in Manhattan, Kansas will forever be etched on the tablet of my heart. I heard stories I never asked to hear, stories I never really wanted to hear, to be completely transparent. Who wants to have someone in the passenger seat of their car speaking candidly, explicitly even, of the abuse done to them, of the torture they endured? Who wants to know that the woman they are sitting next to on the couch was forced to sell her body for money? Nobody wants to hear those things. Because we don't want to be awakened to that kind of reality. We don't want to know that those kinds of stories exist. We don't want to live in a world where those things happen, where people really do hurt like hell. But I heard these stories. I learned to not just hear them, but to really listen. To validate. There is such power in this kind of affirmation. Even if we can't exactly say, "me, too," there is power in the kind of empathy that isn't afraid. That doesn't shy away from the stories that are toughest on our ears and hearts. That seeks to understand and comfort and just be present in a story most people would turn their ears from. There is unmeasurable power in looking at the person filling the space across from us and saying, "I hear your story. And I know that it is true." The power in this kind of hearing, this listening with intention, leads to freedom. When stories of this kind go untold, they perpetuate captivity. I've heard it said that there is great power in simply telling. Telling of our darkness - our struggle, our anxiety, our fear, our whatever - shines light on it. When another person looks at our struggle and says, "Okay, I hear you. I'm with you. How do we walk forward?" the light of freedom is shone brighter than any of the darkness that's been stifling us. But there are people who are still enslaved to their stories. Who haven't told, who cannot tell. Millions of people, in fact. There are nearly twenty-one million victims of human trafficking worldwide, according to the Polaris Project. Fifty-five percent of those victims are women and girls. Twenty-six percent are children. They are in bondage - to exploitative humans, yes, but to their untold stories. They have been duct taped, bound, beaten, manipulated, deceived, raped, clobbered into silence. There are so many efforts being made to free them, so many rescuers pursuing them, so many stories of hope being told. Unfortunately, there are many, many more who are still hidden away. I am ready to change that. Are you with me? For a long time, I knew about these hidden stories but had no idea how to try and make a dent in them. Advocacy is wonderful, awareness-raising is wonderful, and it all helps. But how to tangibly make a difference in such a massive, all-consuming darkness? I felt helpless. One of the most recent ways I am trying to push back the darkness is by patterning with an amazing organization called HiddenGenius. They provide an excellent platform by which change makers can connect to create technology that solves problems in our messy world. My sweet friend Savannah Sherwood reached out to me and graciously asked me to team up with her and HG to lead a campaign in search of someone who can help create technology to combat human trafficking. We would love to see software created or an application developed that helps identify human trafficking offenders, alerts authorities, brings them to justice, frees victims, and overall, reduces the scale of human trafficking globally. There is currently no such technology that has been successful. Such a development would be invaluable in today's efforts to eradicate this horrific reality. Would you join with us in being storytellers for those who can't? Would you do your part to help free the enslaved? Here's what you can do. We need connections. Big or small, we are trying to get in touch with organizations who are passionate about this issue, and companies or people who are capable of developing excellent technology. If you have connections and/or are an excellent networker, please jump in and let us know! We need support. In order to support our future tech developer, we need funding. We are being transparent about our need to raise funds because - let's be frank here - we all hate being schmoozed. So yes, we need your money. Think of it as an investment, one with potentially huge payoffs for hundreds of thousands of people. We need prayer. I might have just lost some of you, but I am a firm believer that this issue goes deeper than the reality that we can see. There is a spiritual war being fought (2 Corinthians 10:3-5) and we need to fight it with the right weapons (Ephesians 6:11-17). If you don't do anything else, please please pray. Here is the link to our campaign page on HiddenGenius. Follow along for updates and more information. Thank you so much for making it this far - you are the few and the passionate who are going to make tangible change happen. We are so excited to be on this journey with you. Please feel free reach out to myself or Savannah with any questions or if you're interesting in getting on board! With all the joy and love He offers, Wheeler Crimm I read a quote recently that has since stuck with me, and it went something like this: "What distracts you will ultimately define you." When I say this stuck with me, I mean that it hit me like a bag of bricks in the face. I have been incredibly distracted lately. Not by anything particularly “bad” or “evil.” Actually, by something that has potential to be a really good thing. A gift, maybe. But the distractedness has led to selfishness. To self-protection. To overthinking. To white-knuckling the situation. To anxiety. I have failed to be present. The people around me have noticed. I have noticed. I have avoided the issue. I’ve continued to do what I want. I’ve continued to be controlled by my desire. To be fixated on it. The funny thing is, when we’re distracted, we’re also intently focused. On the distraction. Makes sense, right? Life is a paradox, people. I've been so focused on doing what I want, on making it happen, on making it work, on figuring it out, on feeling good, that I have actually wasted time. Let the here and now slip away. Lost touch with reality. Been focused on the not-quite-right. On being comfortable. On being loved and affirmed and enough. On being told I am these things by other humans. On finally being fulfilled by the thing I think I need.
Yikes. How did I get back to this place so quickly? Did I not just pack up and move my life halfway across the country five months ago? Did I not learn this lesson the first two months I was here? Didn’t I finally realize that contentment is not found in the circumstantial, but in the eternal? Apparently not. I am not going to say that I thought I would find contentment when I moved here, that I was surprised when I found myself in a deep state of discontent upon my arrival. I honestly didn't know what I would find here. I didn't run away from or toward anything in particular. I followed a nudge. I didn’t have many expectations (a miracle, if you know me). But the last couple of months, contentment is about all I've been fixated on. And apparently I refuse to believe it’s found in the present moment. Expectations for the future are all I’ve had. I have been convinced that contentment is found in the next good thing. The next fix. The next step. The next thing to look forward to. The perfectly wrapped gift of my five-year plan, presented to me on a silver platter. The person who will finally tell me I’m enough. Have you ever been so caught up in dreaming that you forget how to really dream? Let me explain. I have dreams. I have desires. I was built for adventure; I thrive on newness. Also, I want to know what the plan is and what I need to do to get there. I want a detailed and categorized list. I actually don't really want adventure most of the time. I just want things to go my way. That's how I'm wired. I love spontaneity but what I love even more is knowing the outcome. Call me Type-A. However it manifests itself, at the core, my problem is this: I'm constantly looking for a better reality than the one I'm living in right now. And it's exhausting. Several weeks ago, worshipping alongside fellow believers on a Sunday morning, a thought just hit me. Let's call it an intersecting thought, a Holy Spirit thought. God's goodness doesn't get "gooder" than what he did in Jesus. That's right, the Holy Spirit doesn't always use proper grammar, and neither do I. Kidding. I immediately wrote this thought down in my designated write-about-this-later note on my phone (it's a thing) and made a mental note to dwell on it later. It was such a clear and potent and sharp arrow-of-truth to the heart. Guess what? I haven’t thought about it since that day. So I’m thinking about it now. Think about it with me. It does not get better than Jesus. As in, nothing. Nothing gets better than Jesus. No person, no love, no reality, no life, no story. We know this. We've been told since we were small, or since whenever we first heard of him. But we forget, don’t we? Or - humor me for a second - is our problem not so much that we are forgetful, but that we don't actually believe it's true? What happens when I am distracted, when I believe that something (or someone, or some place, etc.) gets better than Jesus? What happens is this: Those distractions become expectations, those expectations go unmet, and disappointment eventually crushes me. This repeated disappointment is enough to make me fearful. To keep me from trusting myself or others. To prevent me from taking unnecessary risks. To stop me from pouring grace and love out to others. If I’m completely honest, it’s usually the seemingly innocent distractions that become idols - things I look to for meaning and worth and joy. But what happens when I actually believe that Jesus is the best? That he is enough to satisfy all my longing, all my neediness, all my searching? Honestly, the outcome is just as scary, because it's just as unknown. The status quo is much, much more comfortable. What if I could actually be enough? What if, without our distractions as a safety net, I could be totally complete in Jesus? What if I don't have to live out of fear because even if things don't turn out the way I hope they will, I still have him at the end of the day? It would change everything. Rather than being distracted by what we think we need, we would be captivated by our true purpose - “to glorify God and enjoy him forever.” Instead of being focused on what we do not have or what could happen, we would be distracted by the beauty of our Savior and what his presence brings to our lives. In the place of disappointment when things don’t go how we hoped, we could live with a palms-up attitude, forgetting what lies behind and running full-speed into eternity. No longer operating out of fear and timidity, we could live out of faith, taking risks, taking steps toward people no matter the cost, trusting that God’s goodness is still just as good in our pain as in our joy. So we must press forward, asking Jesus to be our greatest distraction. Asking him to rewrite the scripts in our heads, the ones telling us that we must operate out of self-protection and self-service. Asking him to be what our minds turn to in uncertainty, rather than the unreliable and shallow strength of our own earthly wisdom or others’ opinions. Asking him to help us continue to remind us daily that the work that his grace has promised to complete is not inhibited, that it does not come to a screeching halt when we are unfaithful. Asking him to not just be our focus, but to be our “goodest” distraction when lesser things take over our line of vision. Because it just doesn't get better than him. “Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Let those of us who are mature think this way, and if in anything you think otherwise, God will reveal that also to you. Only let us hold true to what we have attained.” (Philippians 3:12-16) UPDATE (8/25/17) I cannot thank each and every one of you enough for continuing to press forward in this fight. 1,500 supporters? Wow. I'm floored by the support this petition has gained; I had no idea what this would become. WE are making a difference here.
Many of you have read yesterday's disappointing response from the Collegian's ad staff. If you haven't, I'd encourage you to read it - the link is here. I was contacted by the head of the advertising staff yesterday and expected to speak with them at some point; this has yet to occur. I have also been in contact with some of the most wonderfully supportive faculty & staff at K-State who are researching best steps forward. Let me be clear: This is not an issue of free speech. Relativism of opinion or belief will not stand as a valid argument, not with me. The core issue here is that strip clubs perpetuate one of the most sinister and overlooked crimes this country knows: the trafficking of human beings for sexual exploitation. We do not want a paper so closely associated with our university (or any paper, for that matter) to continue to publish such degrading material. I hope that you will continue to stand for this. Our hope must come from knowing this battle is ultimately already won. (Ephesians 6:12-13) As my dear friend Lauren said in her response yesterday, "Each time we leverage our power and privilege to actively reject the dehumanization of others, we win battles that eventually culminate in winning wars." I believe in this wholeheartedly. Keep pushing forward, friends. Every seed planted makes an enormous difference. IMPORTANT UPDATE (8/23/17): We are past 500 signatures - that is amazing. I did need to make one very important connection: the Collegian's staff is not responsible for which ads make it to the paper. Rather, there is a separate advertising staff responsible for those decisions. This petition has been newly directed at this team. My apologies to the Collegian's staff as I have been made aware that they have also made many requests of the ad staff to stop running these ads as well. Thank you, Collegian! I have also been made aware that because the Collegian is independent from Kansas State University, K-State has no ability to enforce or change the way the paper runs. The views and decisions that the Collegian makes do not necessarily reflect Kansas State's values or opinions. To Collegian Media Group's advertising staff: We stand behind this request. Please share this update so that people are aware of who we are petitioning towards! You can sign the petition here: www.change.org/p/the-collegian-remove-strip-club-ads-from-the-collegian?recruiter=533589986&utm_source=share_for_starters&utm_medium=copyLink To the Collegian's advertising committee, and to all my fellow Wildcats: My name is Wheeler Crimm and I am an alumni of our wonderful university, with a degree in Family Studies and Human Services and a minor in Conflict Analysis and Trauma Studies. I spent my time at K-State learning about what makes people who they are, and about how, unfortunately, traumatic experiences have a significant and lasting impact on the who we are as human beings. I took a class during a winter intercession as part of my minor requirements called "Advanced Trauma." During this class, I learned about many forms of traumatic stress, one being the horrors of human sex trafficking and the havoc it wreaks on vulnerable people. I learned that trafficking happens not only in the red light districts of Thailand and Amsterdam, but within our nation's borders, even in our backyards. A fire was sparked deep within me, one I knew wouldn't be put out quietly. I needed to figure out how to play my part in eradicating this terrible system. I went on to intern during the spring of 2017 at a nonprofit in Manhattan called Homestead Ministries, Inc. This incredible organization is dedicated to the transitional care of women who are exiting the sex trafficking industry in one way or another. I had the outrageous privilege of getting to know several Homesteaders - women who were participants in the Homestead's program. I was honored to hear their stories and walk alongside them as they battled addiction, hopelessness, and shame. I saw many of them walk forward in victory towards the glorious future that awaits them. They walked out of some of the darkest places - abusive relationships, trafficking rings, strip clubs - into the light of hope and freedom and grace. As part of the ministry of the Homestead, I participated in monthly trips to several strip clubs in a nearby town in an effort to spread some light to women steeped in darkness. We saw firsthand where some of our Homesteaders had come from, and it was heart-shattering. The women we met had some of the roughest stories I've heard and yet carried the most resilient spirits within them. It was heartbreaking to see such beautiful women in such dark places. Many of them were there because they in desperate financial situations, and many of them faced heavy addiction issues. They came from broken places, as do many of us. What most of them failed to realize is that they were being treated as sexual objects, as toys to gratify the desires of greedy and addiction-ridden men. There are always signs posted in these clubs that touching the dancers is unacceptable. However, there were "VIP Rooms" in the backs of these clubs where unspoken indecency occurred, and the women were given no choice whether or not to participate. They were supposedly paid extra for these experiences. In short, the trafficking of women (young women, might I add - we met several ladies who were freshly eighteen years old) for sexual exploitation is happening miles from our college town of Manhattan, Kansas, if not closer. I have seen it with my own eyes. All this being said, I am extremely disappointed to see that the Collegian frequently publishes full-page advertisements for one of these clubs, advertisements that specifically offer employment to young women. I love our alma mater. Following graduation, I moved out to the West Coast. I am proud to tell people where I went to school. But this? This is a disgrace. Collegian, you are promoting sex trafficking. There is no other way to state it. It pains me to see rape culture perpetuated in and around our university. Several recent events have caused me to feel ashamed of Kansas State. It's discouraging enough to watch members of the armed forces who are stationed at Fort Riley visiting these clubs. But to know that my school's newspaper is promoting visiting these places and even employment within them to our own students? I cannot stay silent about this. I am not interested in name-calling or blame-gaming. I am interested in change. I am starting a petition to call for the end of these advertisements in the Collegian. I am calling for all K-State students to realize that promoting the objectification of women is unacceptable. I am calling for us to shine a light on the dark places in and around our community. I am calling for us to look at the faces of these women and to see the faces of our sisters, daughters, mothers, nieces, friends. I am calling for anyone - student, fraternity member, Fort Riley resident or otherwise - who has visited these places as a consumer or otherwise to think about the consequences of your actions. Not only for yourself - that beckons another letter entirely - but for the women you encounter. On the front page of K-State's website, there is the following statement: "The K-State family is powered by world-changers, answer-seekers and difference-makers - that's the Wildcat Way." I am so proud of the family atmosphere K-State says that it stands for, but I'm not seeing the follow-through as of late. Let me be clear: We cannot minimize this issue - nor other issues concerning rape culture which have arisen as of late - and move forward as a unified family. One of my favorite animated movies as a child, Lilo & Stitch, says this about family: "Family means nobody gets left behind, or forgotten." By publishing this ad, you are leaving behind the personhood of millions of women. You are choosing to forget the humanness and the innate value within them. A family is not just a crowd of purple shirts at a football game. If that is how we define it, we really need to take a good look at what we value. Stand up for what's right, K-State. Stand up for those whose voices have been drowned out by the shouts of oppression and objectification. Stand up for what family really means. You can sign the petition here: www.change.org/p/the-collegian-remove-strip-club-ads-from-the-collegian?recruiter=533589986&utm_source=share_for_starters&utm_medium=copyLink It's the kind of thing that stops you from breathing, from thinking, from knowing where you are or what you're doing.
It'll leave you reeling. Desperately trying to recall the last time you felt ground beneath your feet. Wondering how long ago you turned left three times when you were supposed to turn right. Asking yourself when you'll catch your bearings again. Maybe you saw it coming but you ignored all the signs. Maybe it hit you like a derailed train. Maybe it's happened so many times you can't even feel it. Maybe that part of you is numb to pain. Or maybe you thought it was, but the tissue never seems to quite thicken up enough and the whole thing rips open again, leaving you standing there bleeding and raw, carving out old shrapnel you forgot was there. Then the fury sets in, and you're banging dishes around and forgetting to talk to your roommates. You're caught in your head, playing the blame game, looking for any reason to hate, to fight back, to wound. Life is excruciatingly and infuriatingly and absolutely unfair. Someone else got what you wanted. Again. Big surprise. Next thing you know, you are sitting cross-legged on your bed, desperately trying to get all the tears out, just like the foolish thirteen-year-old you can't believe you've grown up from. You wonder how you could have let this happen again. It's the same game, just with different players. You're stupid and an idiot and it's all your fault. Of course this happened again. You let it, after all. Let down the walls again and got too ahead of reality. Then heartache is the aftermath. And ache it does. There's no better way to describe it. It's a thorn in your side, a constant battle to scratch away the memory of the whole damn thing and just move on. You wake up feeling lighter three days in a row, then the fourth day slams you down like you're an empty pint glass in a dive bar. You know what, girl? All your pain - it's not fair. It's not fair that the wound that just seemed to be covered over with new scar tissue has been torn into once again. It's not fair that someone you thought was always honest with you wasn't brave enough to be honest after all. It's not fair that a boy - not yet a man - has power to make you feel less-than. It's not fair that he didn't chase you the way you deserve to be chased, that you were left feeling unimportant and neglected. It's not fair that you're left standing in the aftermath of someone else's poor communication, or lies, or absentmindedness, or shortcoming, or sin. You know what else? It's not fair that the friend from home died in a car accident. It's not fair that your mom has cancer. It's not fair that you haven't seen your dad since you were seven. It's not fair that you took a leap of faith and things aren't going how you thought they would. It's not fair that you've been taken advantage of. It's not fair that you can't crawl free from the crippling depression and anxiety that has a grip around your throat every night. It's not fair that you feel alone, like everybody has a somebody but you. It's not fair that you can't figure how to eat and feel okay or how to look at yourself in the mirror and see the beauty that's looking back. It's not fair that you look back on the last season - no matter how long it's been - and regret all the time wasted, energy spent, headspace consumed. I'm not gonna pretend to know exactly what it is that's making your tender heart throb, your stomach lurch, or your head spin. I'm not gonna try to comfort you. Because it's not fair. None of it. And I'm not going to try to fix you because I am you. I am broken and bruised and torn and tired and livid and lurching. Right next to you. With you. Beside you. Sin is the worst. It pits person against person and creates holes where there were never meant to be any. Unity was the original goal. We were supposed to live in perfect union with our Yahweh God and with one another as his created Beloveds. And we screwed it up. But you know what else? "Nothing is a waste if you learn from it." (Thank you, The Oh Hellos. Bless you.) And the only reason nothing is a waste is because Jesus was treated like a waste. God on earth. God in a body. Treated like dust, like nothing, like scum. Do you hear me shouting at you through this screen? NOTHING. NOTHING IS A WASTE. Did you hear me that time? Not the weeks, months, years you spent wondering and waiting and dreaming, only to watch that dream die. Not the ache you feel so deep you think it might swallow you. Not the wrong turns and screw ups you made when you were confused and battered. Not the relationship now lying in shattered pieces on the floor, the one you seem to be picking up all by your lonesome. Nothing. Nothing is wasted. Jesus died to redeem all of the crap that seems like just crap to you. He died to dust you off, shine you up, and set you back on your feet. And he died to sit with you in your room while you leak those rivers of salt and hurt right out till there's no more. So let it out, girl. Don't stem the tides of emotion that roll over like they're gonna overhaul your whole life. (They won't.) Take it one day at a time. One redeeming sunset, one conversation that isn't about you and frees you up so good, one day filled with joy and sentiments that seem to point to goodness all around. Then take the days you wish never started, too. The ones where everything is in vain, nothing matters, you didn't do enough, you didn't live up to your existence. Take those days to the feet of Jesus the next morning, knowing that he was with you the whole time, right in the muck walking hand-in-hand. Nothing is a waste. Just say that over and over till you believe it. And someday you will. You'll understand just what good he did with what you thought was wasted. You might not until you're good and gone. In fact, you definitely won't. Not completely. But the sweetness of it all is that it's guaranteed to be better than whatever you could come up with. 'Cause what he did with all that life people thought was wasted turned out to be the best thirty-three years ever lived. One more thought for your bleeding heart. If you haven't lately, take a little while to look or think back through your prayers the past few months. What have you been asking God for? What have you begged him to do in you? Is it at all possible that this pain, this ache, this new vacancy, that maybe it's part of his answers to your prayers? When we ask for faith, we get handed situations that need us to tear down and rebuild our faith muscles. When we ask for a heart clean of the idols that tend to build up and clutter it, we may be torn away from things, people we thought would be good for us. When we ask for greater trust, we are often allowed to experience life without guard rails - life that requires us to trust him because we are desolate in all senses except we have him. It's a beautifully bruising reality, God's tender discipline, as our friend James recognizes: "For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it." You know what, girl? Your pain has purpose because your God had ultimate purpose in the most ultimate pain there was. And while all this is part of this walk we walk with Yahweh, whether this heartbreak is God-allowed or God-awful doesn't matter so much in the end. Don't let the either-or get you stuck blaming God or anyone else. Because nothing really means nothing. And nothing is wasted. So chin up, girl, even if you have to let him hold your head up for you for awhile. After sunsets come darkness, and after darkness the sun awakes again. The fullest, most stunning clouds bring the heaviest rains. And the earth always glows again after. There's beauty and glory to be found on all sides of pain. All around it. Because right in the thick of your pain? That's where he is. Don't miss him. Waste not your breath by allowing pain to define your life. Because the One who's defined you from the very start won't ever let a single breath breathed in pain go to waste. Have you ever heard the voice of God so clear you couldn't ignore it?
Yeah, me either. Maybe you have heard his audible voice. That's awesome! I really do believe you've heard it if you say you have. But for those of us who haven't... ...have you ever heard the voice of God so clear you couldn't ignore it? But you weren't hearing anything? Yeah. I have too. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it doesn't quickly leave my usually forgetful mind. The most recent time, I was in Estes Park camping for a week with my fam. It was probably the fourth or fifth day, and it had rained every afternoon so far. And not just a light mountain sprinkle, but a full-on thunderstorm. Every day. Hail sometimes included. Oh, yes, I was excited. Many of you have heard me complaining via social media about the lack of thunderstorms - nay, any rain at all - out here on the West Coast. California is indeed in a drought, people. I've seen it with my own dry eyeballs. However, we were tent camping. I won't go into the drama of that here. Ask my dad, he'll tell ya all about it. (Good ol' Butch. Bless you for enduring that week with even a nugget of dignity and sanity.) And on this particular day, I had just nestled in my hammock (with a mountain view, might I add), opened my journal, and tried to begin to get in some quiet time to still my restless heart. The sky immediately started to spit on me. Naturally, I prayed under my breath: "Please hold it off." Almost instantaneously, this was his response: "The mountain needs rain." It practically echoed in my chest. I wrote it down without thinking. In other words: "No." Have you ever heard God tell you flat out, "no"? Because he is gentle and kind and sympathizes with our weakness, it usually doesn't come out quite like that. But you probably still know when he's trying to get that point across. Despite his gentle response, I was kind of annoyed. Like, honestly? I was literally sitting down for the purpose of spending time with him. And he made it start to rain. (WAH.) Come on, dude. (Is referring to God as "dude" irreverent? Probably.) But I was particularly irritable that day. Had a particularly wandering mind and a particularly crabby disposition. Why wouldn't he grant my request to hold the rain off? I needed to find my FREAKIN' center. (Whatever that means.) But the mountain needed rain. I later found out that it hadn't rained a single drop the previous six weeks. And then the day we arrived, the skies let loose. "The mountain needs rain." In other words: "It's not all about you." This theme came into the light multiple times during my mountain stay. My sweet cousin Erika (wise beyond her years, bless her. If you're reading this, I love ya. You're my favorite. Don't tell the others.) spoke some spitfire truth about how we are one tree in a forest of millions. That's how we're meant to see our lives. Zoomed-out, big-picture stuff. God cares about the littlest tree, alright. You can be sure of that. But he cares about the forest, too. He has a grander story in mind. Of grandeur. Of unity. Of redemption. "The mountain needs rain." In other words: "I've got a better idea." I sought shelter in one of the aunt & uncles' campers and had conversations that lifted my chin and kept my tender heart dry. Sometimes we ask God for things that we are certain would be good for us. We're certain we're on the same wavelength with God. After all, we know ourselves and what we need better than anyone, right? Maybe. But maybe not. Because sometimes, despite our best intentions and our self-assured good interests, God still says, "The mountain needs rain." And we don't understand. And we won't. Maybe not for days, weeks, months, years, decades. Sometimes hours, when an Estes native informs you that they've been in a six-week drought. God has actually said "no" to me about quite a few things since I started this post-grad journey back in May. Things that I was certain he wanted for me. And though the gratefulness stings as it rises in my heart and often leaves an ache, I am so grateful that he did. I am so grateful for those "no's." Sometimes God's "no" is better than any other "yes" you could hear. But before I realized it was God speaking, it felt like rejection. It felt like hearing, "sorry, we picked someone better," over and over and over again. It felt like my plans were crumbling. It felt like I was doing something wrong because nothing was going right from where I stood. And, if I'm being totally honest, it felt like God was abandoning me. It was as if I chose the wrong path, so he dipped out. It sounded like this: "Sorry, kid. This mountain needs rain. Maybe if you woulda picked the right mountain, you'd have stayed dry." Can I tell you something I've needed to hear every single day? Can you promise to write it down, to remember it, to tell yourself when you forget? God does not dip out. Ever. In our life with God, we take right turns, left turns, u-turns. But as long as we are pursuing him every day, seeking his will, getting in his word, there are no wrong turns. Blatant sin? That's a wrong turn. You do the opposite of what God says in his Word to do and you are surely going the wrong way down a one-way. There might be that one door you keep trying to open, but it's locked. That's probably God saying "no." But let me tell you this: he won't even let you walk through a door he's not behind. What about when there are three open doors and you have to choose one? God's on the other side of all three. He's on the other side of the doors you can't even see yet. Take a deep breath. Let that sink in. There's another side to this whole thing that can't be ignored. Did you know that Satan loves to say "yes"? I hope you took that deep breath. Give me a minute to explain. Satan's favorite lie to tell is that he doesn't exist. His second favorite lie is that God isn't where you are right at this very moment. That he doesn't care. That he dipped out. That you're not worth it, that you're better off on your own anyways. Satan's favorite lie is to respond to your fears with a resounding "yes." "Yes, God has left you." "Yes, you're alone." "Yes, you screwed up and you can't re-do this one." "Yes, you deserve to feel this shame about your sin." Pardon my French, dear friends, but we've got to cut that shit out. One of the hardest lessons I'm learning is that I have to actively fight against these lies, these "yesses" from Satan. Do you know that Satan has specific yesses he tries to tell you, usually in moments when God's trying to tell you an important truth? He doesn't just barrage you with random lies like, "you smell bad," or, "you suck at cooking." No. Satan isn't that shallow. Think about it. You know the lies that get stuck in your mind like deep splinters hidden beneath three layers of skin on the bottom of your foot. The recurring ones. The really dark ones, the ones that seem to attack your identity, trying to disintegrate you from the inside out. Those are Satan's lies. His yesses. So find them. And cut them out. Immediately. Do not gratify the enemy for one second by giving in and allowing them to fester. Cry out to Jesus when you are two weak to pull out the splinters. He has some pretty damn good tweezers, promise. Satan will try to affirm every untrue thing you believe about yourself. We need to counter his yesses with resounding no's that are straight from God himself. Whew. Take another deep breath with me. This is hard stuff. It's hard when you're dried out and bone-tired and puffy-eyed and ready to throw up your hands, pack it all up, and head home. But as people hard after Jesus' heart, we have to be willing to embrace God's no's and kick Satan's yesses to high hell. Because that's what Jesus did. The night before his brutal murder, he begged God to change his mind. To find another way. To spare him the unbearable suffering. Spoiler alert: God said "no." Jesus' response? "I will keep walking." And walk he did. All the way to the cross. For you. For me. What is God saying "no" to you about? What is Satan trying to say "yes" to you about? How can you learn to see God's "no's" as the gifts of grace that they are? How can you fight off Satan's "yesses" without giving in? I promise you, friend, because I know it from direct experience - God's "no" is so, so, SO much better than any "yes" anyone else can ever give us. And if that doesn't knock your socks right off, your socks are too tight. I want to leave you with a couple truths that will hopefully encourage you to keep walking. The first one is about being human. The second one is about being human, too. Here's the first one. It is okay to be disappointed when God says "no." It's okay to cry. To wail. To mourn what you feel you've lost. To cry out in anger, frustration, confusion, every other emotion. God can take it. More than that - he can feel what you're feeling. I had a very wise friend encourage me the other day with two things: 1) It is okay to mourn in seasons where God says "no." 2) Nothing is wasted in seasons where God says "no." In fact, when you're doing life with God, nothing is ever wasted. Nothing. Not even your worst day. Not even days like today, where it feels hard to get out of bed because there's not a lot to get excited about or too much to be anxious about. If today is one of those days where the only hope you have is in the fact that Jesus lived the perfect life you never could and died the perfect death so you could be in perfect communion with him and the Father and have his Spirit inside of you, today is better than any other day lived apart from that fact. So let Jesus cup your face in his hands and lift your head to heaven. He knows you're weak. He knows you're human, and he gives you permission to be just that. Here's the second truth. Your humanness doesn't last forever. God's toughest "no" - the one he told to his own Son the night before he was murdered, the one that caused his Son to humanly weep and sweat drops of his precious blood - led to the best "yesses" imaginable. Yes, death was defeated. Yes, Jesus rose from the grave. Yes, we are his forever. Yes, there will be a day when there will be no disappointment. There will be no struggle against the lies of Satan. There will be no devastating tide of human emotion. Yes, all of the nasty, dark, heavy, ugly parts of our humanness will be wiped away. So let's walk forward as people who know a good "no" and a bad "yes" when we hear one, as people who hope in the ultimate "yesses," the ones who come from the One whose "no's" are just as full of grace. "You taught my feet to dance upon disappointment, and I will worship you." -Amanda Cook, Heroes It's been eight weeks today - of living in a new city. of soaking up the new sun. of being roommates with my best friend. of new adventures and new relationships. of learning to trust Jesus in new ways. It's also been eight weeks today - of battling nearly constant anxiety. of waiting for the rain to come. of intense homesick- and people-sick-ness. of questioning if this was the right choice. of asking Jesus every day if he is still with me, even though every day he tells me he is. And exactly on this eight week marker, to the day, the rain has finally come. The Lord's promise to provide materialized, and I'm officially employed across enough hours each week to pay the bills. I don't have to worry where it's gonna come from or if I'm gonna have to pack it up and move back east in the next few weeks. But although my end goal has been met (for now), in no way has the process over the last eight weeks gone the way I expected or planned or wanted. It's been about a million times harder. But I will dare to say, in spite of myself, that it's been better. Because his ways aren't my ways. They're higher. Isaiah 55v9. Because what has happened to me will serve to advance the Best News. Philippians 1v12. Because this period of waiting - of wondering, of questioning, of fearing, of doubting - has equipped me to pass along the comfort I have received from the Lord to people who need it. 2 Corinthians 1v3-5. I'm so confident of these things today. But I had to convince myself of them almost every second up till now. Why is it that as soon as the rain comes, the fog - so thick and so stifling before - clears, and the memory of it almost vanishes? Oh, there are still questions, that's for sure. But the heavy weight of worry has been lifted, and I can't believe I spent multiple nights in full-on panic mode wondering how I was gonna make it work out here. His timing actually makes me chuckle and roll my eyes. I wish I could sarcastically punch God in the arm right about now. He knew that today would be the day where things would come together, where I would feel like I can finally settle down a little bit, nestle in. He knew he was going to come through, and he knew exactly how. And he knew what it would teach me along the way. So why can't I turn off the soundtrack of worry in my head that whirs during these seasons of waiting? In the wise words of the Closner sisters (go. listen. to. Joseph. now.) who have been getting me through the days and who paraphrased Matthew 6: "I don't need to worry 'bout tomorrow - all the work I need is what's at hand. I don't need to worry 'bout tomorrow - all the love I make is what will stand."
Here's the thing about not worrying that gets me: everything. I'm not too good of letting go of things, especially the things I can't really control in the first place. Because I want to control them. Ahem. You've probably heard this one before, but worrying is really a lack of trusting God. That's also the root of sin - thinking we know better. Yikes. I wish I was better at not sinning. That's where grace comes in. Because his power is made perfect in weakness. 2 Corinthians 12. Where would be the room for Jesus' perfection if I was all-sufficient, independent, able to figure it all out on my own all while never wavering in trust that he's got my back, front, and everything in-between? So you know what? (This is where you ask, "What, Wheeler?") Okay, fine. I'll tell ya. I'm going to shout out loud to the world today that I am content with my weaknesses, with my lack of trust, with my unanswered questions. Even if, in the back of my mind, I wish it would all go away. But I'm going to shout it out anyways. I'm gonna tell myself that it's all okay. Because I'm a work in progress. I'm just starting out, walking in his shadow-step. And if the last eight weeks have taught me anything, it's that this walk is a tough one. It's more like climbing a fourteener before sunrise than walking along the beach at sunset. Even if the next eight weeks are just as tough, I'll keep going. Keep climbing, because I know it will be worth it when I finally look up and remember he's always smiling, ready to take my face in his hands and tell me I'm never not his. This season of life feels like a lot of waiting most of the time. But at this point, I just wanna be wherever he is. And I know he's in the waiting more just as much as he's in the rain when it comes. If you're like me, you're a recovering worrier. Keep reading.
If you're not prone to worry, this one might not be for you. Actually, it probably still is. Keep reading. I went on a walk tonight. That's nothing out-of-the ordinary; I go for a lot of walks since the ocean is, um, less than ten minutes away on foot. Don't hate me. Someone laughed at me the other day because I live in one of the most beautiful places ever and yet I complain that there are no thunderstorms here. Can you tell my Midwestern roots run deep? The unusual part of this trek, though, is that an intersecting thought crossed my mind as I walked down the Ocean Beach Municipal Pier, somewhat along the lines of what my friend was saying. "Are you alive and awake to being here?" What's an intersecting thought, you ask? It's a thought that interrupts your current stream-of-consciousness. Some people believe it's a thought you didn't really come up with on your own. In other words, the Holy Spirit speaking? Perhaps. I have experienced a handful of these, when I quiet down enough to listen. Anyhow, that phrase actually takes me back to a song my Algebra 2 teacher taught us to keep us chugging along in the world of... whatever it is that we learned in junior year algebra. "Alive, Awake, Alert, Enthusiastic" To the tune of "If You're Happy and You Know It" Arranger: Unknown (potentially said algebra teacher) "I'm alive, awake, alert, enthusiastic *clap clap* I'm alive, awake, alert, enthusiastic *clap clap* I'm alive, awake, alert, I'm alert, awake, alive, I'm alive, awake, alert, enthusiastic *clap clap*" We rolled our eyes then because we knew we were going to be forced to get back to solving quadratic equations (???) for the next thirty-five minutes. but I think Ms. Algebra 2 was onto something. The entire month and ten days I've been in San Diego, it's felt like a dream. But not really in an "oh-my-gosh-I-can't-believe-I-get-to-live-here" kind of way. It's just fuzzy. It's like I can't really experience each day as it comes. I've been paralyzed by worry, fear, and general feeling of unsettled-ness. That kind of craving that could only be satisfied by people who know you deeply. I've learned that I'm an introverted extrovert. I know all this rest, this aloneness, this recharging is good for me, but damn do I miss my people. Sometimes the absence of all familiarity triggers a physical ache. I've been so caught up in my head, in these emotions that come in waves, in self-deprecation and doubt and pity, that I've forgotten to look around. I would say sixty percent of days I forget to be actively thankful for the place God has brought me to. One of the most beautiful places on the planet. Not only that, but I've allowed the darkness to creep in and dull my sense of purpose. My sense of passion. My longing to serve and to obey my call. To breathe breaths and take steps and pick up burdens so that others can breathe easier. I have allowed this season that feels "in between" to become a tool for the enemy to use against me. It doesn't have to be this way, but I've come to believe "that's just the way it is." No more. Tomorrow is a new day. Thank you Jesus, that your mercies are new every morning. That's one that I had to sticky-note on my mirror because it won't sticky-note in my brain and in my heart. Where are you dulled dimmed down? Where are you craving peace and comfort and settling for transition? On the other hand, where are you scrambling? Where are you digging for gold that's been dug up long ago? Where are you striving and running your lungs and soles thin? Where are you refusing to slow down, to sit before the Word, to allow the Light to give you life? The only motions of mine that has kept me going on the days where I want to pack it up and go home are my morning coffee dates with Jesus. I am fully aware of the kind of person I sound like right now, but I am unapologetic. If you haven't seen this video yet, please, take thirty minutes of your time to be encouraged by a nineteen-year-old that is probably wiser and more kickass than you. Sorry, not sorry. I don't care if she's from Duck Dynasty. Homegirl can preach it. My two points are simple: Are you alive and awake to where you are right now? It doesn't matter where it is. You might resent your current location or you might be basking in the glory of it all. Don't forget where the glory comes from, whether you see it in front of your eyes or wonder if it was ever there. Don't forget that the One who created glory - who created everything in the first place - also created you. He also created purpose, and meaning, and things that matter. Have you ever asked yourself what matters to you and why? If you haven't, do it. If you have, what are you doing about it? Where does your life and your light come from? Are you being fed enough so that when the Spirit speaks, you know what to listen for? Are you quieting your soul every single day to make space for the truth? Or are you settling for consuming a weekly worship service and saying a quick prayer before your head hits the pillow? It doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing. If you're too busy to be fed, you're too busy. I learned this the hard way as a leader in my college ministry. You cannot be alive and awake and alert and enthusiastic if you are spiritually dead. Don't take it from me. Here's Paul: "But I, brothers, could not address you as spiritual people, but as people of the flesh, as infants in Christ. I fed you with milk, not solid food, for you were not ready for it. And even now you are not yet ready, for you are still of the flesh. For while there is jealousy and strife among you, are you not of the flesh and behaving only in a human way? For when one says, 'I follow Paul,' and another, 'I follow Apollos,' are you not being merely human? What then is Apollos? What is Paul? Servants through whom you believed, as the Lord assigned to each. I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth. He who plants and he who waters are one, and each will receive his wages according to his labor. For we are God's fellow workers. You are God's field, God's building." --1 Corinthians 3:1-9 These people that Paul loved deeply, they weren't feeding themselves. They still wanted to just gulp down the easy stuff and be as mature as Paul and Apollos and all the other head honchos. But the evidence of their chronic immaturity was abounding - they compared themselves to one another and bragged and took sides and refused to focus on what was important to God. They wanted it their way, and they wanted things to be easy. Paul wasn't having it. When we're not digging through and uncovering the Word to find God's promises ourselves, we're settling. We're drinking baby formula and expecting to be able to function like adults. You can probably feel it. You get stuck in a constant cycle of comparison, self-pity, self-deprecation, doubt, exhaustion, jealousy, strife with those around you. Those are not marks of growth. Love. Joy. Peace. Patience. Kindness. Goodness. Faithfulness. Gentleness. Self-control. Do you see these welling up in you? Even from time to time? Little marks of progress are tell-tale signs of growth. But don't dare to expect them without feeding yourself with the Light that gave our wretched, unrighteous human hearts the ability to possess these fruits in the first place. God gives the growth. So find where God is. There's a pretty good chance that no matter where you are, he's somewhere nearby. So how do we move forward into the Light after weeks of sitting in darkness? Do we walk "humbly" and somewhat shamefully forward, protecting ourselves in case the Light doesn't favor us? No. "Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need." --Hebrews 4:16 In other words, be bold; be alive; be awake - in the presence of the Lord, which is with you everywhere you go. If you're a fan of badass girl bands, you probably recognized the title of this post as the lyrics to a Joseph song called "Honest" (if you don't know, treat yo self and look those gals up). Listen to their poetry:
I can't say a true thing It's hard to be that honest I know you're not asking But I told you that I promised There's always two thoughts One after the other: I'm alone No you're not I'm alone no you're not I know I'm pretending When I try to have an answer It's not what I intended And I don't know what comes after There's always two thoughts One after the other: I'm alone No you're not I'm alone no you're not These sisters put words to what most of us are scared to say. Many of us, no matter how extroverted or constantly-surrounded-by-other-humans we are, fear that we are alone. And then we get frustrated with ourselves - or other people do it for us - for feeling that way because we're supposed to be independent by now, thanks very much. We graduate college and struggle to rebuild community. I'm alone. No you're not. You're back in the same city as your family. Be grateful. We start working full time and get busier than we thought we would. I'm alone. No you're not. Being busy is a choice. Look at the Europeans. They eat dinner at 10:30. They take their sweet time. So can you. We watch another friend get married or engaged or find the S.O. they've always dreamed of but actually never knew they wanted/would jump off a bridge for. I'm alone. No you're not. God's timing is perfect! Be patient. Sit down. We move to a new city permanently or even just for a season and remember that we forget how intimidating making new friends can be. I'm alone. No you're not. It just takes time. Friendships aren't built overnight. Just put yourself out there. We once had deep friendships, but something has changed and we can't quite put a finger on it. We don't feel as known as we did before. I'm alone. No you're not. Change your circumstances. You must be hanging around the wrong people. We hear other people talk about things God "said" to them, but we haven't heard from him in quite some time. It feels like he isn't there. Is he even anywhere? I'm alone. No you're not. Don't be ridiculous, God is always speaking. Get into the Word more. Or maybe you don't even really believe in him? Well, get to believing. This is the sliver of the pie (or in my case, the giant delicious chocolate Costco cake that won't get out of my fridge. bye Felicia please get out). Just some examples I've heard recently or things I'm experiencing personally. This may not even begin to cover what you're going through, or what someone next to you is going through. These thoughts and these retorts may come from other people, but oftentimes they come from ourselves. Guys, we are not kind to ourselves. And, y'all, this world is lonely. So lonely that a few years ago someone wrote a book about why the stats for solo bowlers - people not part of any sort of recreational bowling league - have been shooting up. It's not an easy time to be anybody these days. And while I don't pretend to know the antidote (every human bean is made different and we all need different things. be gentle now), I want to offer three arguments that I have been earnestly pushing on myself lately. Number one: When you feel alone, get alone. With Jesus, that is. Our minds are fickle and our thoughts unholy. Sometimes they crash like waves and destroy every semblance of reason and fact. I expect that God will interrupt this regularly scheduled programming with the absolutely encouraging and peacemaking Word of Truth without me even asking. I want him to make it all better lickety-split. But he's not an invasive kinda guy. Oftentimes the only thing that will settle my anxious toiling little brain is sitting down with a hot cup of coffee, legs crossed in front of that holy Book. I knowww, I used this earlier as an example of a potentially annoying response someone could offer. Some of you are reading this and you're frustrated because you don't want to do that, for various and totally valid reasons. The only thing I can say to you is just to try it out. You may be surprised. I have to force myself to do it sometimes, too. It is literally against our basic human nature to desire this most of the time. But think about it: Silence and stillness are pretty useful tools when you're trying to listen or watch close. Pain, failure, loneliness, struggle, whatever it is you feel trapped under - they are all teaching tools in the hands of the Good Father. Don't forget that he is the one who loves to give good gifts, who loves to put joy and light in the paths of those who are willing to dig around in the dirt a little to find them. Number two: Your lonely may look different from somebody else's, but we all catch it from time to time. Comparison: The ultimate life-sucker. The devil's favorite tool of deception. If you can be convinced that you're worthy of a pity-party because you don't have what you deserve and someone else got it, you'll be totally paralyzed. You'll push crucial relationships away. You'll retreat and be rendered useless. Do not make the mistake of falling into contempt for your fellow brothers and sisters because they seem to have what you've always wanted but can't quite reach - that relationship, that job, that group of friends, that stuff, whatever. I promise you that God has gifts for you that you don't even know you need. We have to be willing to seek out what they are rather than continuing to ask for size 8.5 shoes when really we need a 9. Do you get what I'm saying here? The devil hates both joy and God-honoring relationships and he will try to ruin both with this trick. Remember that even Jesus faced loneliness. One of his best friends in the entire world betrayed him for a couple of dollars. You don't have it worse. Get on your knees and ask the Lord for what you need rather than directing your pain and anger towards others because they have what you want. This is hard. Which leads to my last tidbit of potentially unwarranted advice. Number three: Be kind to yourself. Another sweet, sweet song by Andrew Peterson (Thank you times a mill, Discover Weekly. Everyone should pay for Spotify because it is one thousand percent worth it). I get stuck in ruts of dark loneliness, frustrated because I can't find an exit door. But I'm often the one blocking it. Am I helping myself see clearly when I'm saying things - audibly or not - like, "You're being so stupid. Just stop thinking about it," or, "It's because you're acting weird. People aren't going to like you if you don't work to fit in with them"? No. I know it's become a cliche, but seriously think about this: Would you talk to your best friend, your kid, your grandma, the way you talk to yourself? If the answer is no, patterns need a-changin'. Think about the way Jesus talks to people. He says things like, "My burden is light," and, "Your faith has made you well," not, "Try harder next time, stupid." Oh brothers and sisters, this is so hard for me to even write because I know that many of you are hurting and sad and confused and you feel like God played a trick on you. I've been there real, real recently and I just want to give you a hug. Maybe it's not even loneliness you're facing. I could name off a thousand struggles and some of you would still feel like no one understands. But I'm here to tell you, in the wise words of Amanda Cook, "When [you're] misunderstood, [His] love understands [you]." Lean into the pain. Sit down with Jesus and tell him about it. Scream and cry and punch him a little if you need to. He can take it, promise. Just don't stay alone with yourself. Because if you're alone with yourself, there's no room for him there. And I can swear to you with all my being that this loneliness you feel does not have to be the last thing. In fact, it will not be the last thing if you place your hope in Christ. Whatever kind of season you're in, there's a better one coming. There's a God whose name means light and life and hope and joy and peace and you can trust in that name if you so choose. Hold on. Keep going. Search for what's good. Loneliness is a lie unless you decide it's not. "This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all." --1 John 1:5 “Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel” (which means, God with us)." --Matthew 1:23 "But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death is at work in us, but life in you." --2 Corinthians 4:7-12 One of my favorite moments when I travel is when I arrive at a destination when it's dark outside. My head hits the pillow with a restless kind of satisfaction, anticipating the dawn shedding new light on an unfamiliar but surely beautiful place. It is the most wonderful thing to wake up and have your breath taken away by whatever's on the other side of the windows. Sort of like when a friend you've been missing lately comes in town to surprise you and the hug from behind catches you waaaay off guard, in the best way.
My most recent travels have, of course, been full of these moments - Airbnb stops in little mountain towns and waking up from passenger-seat naps to the Glenwood Canyons. That type of stuff. But my final destination? San Diego? I've been here before. Twice. You know that, because of my obnoxious social media presence. (Let me live.) I even arrived last Wednesday with some daylight left. I know exactly what it looks like. Except I don't. The past week and a half has been like those nighttime arrivals around the clock. I'm here, I can see the beauty around me. But the metaphorical sun hasn't quite risen yet. Not all the pieces are in place. I'm not quite settled. It feels like I forgot to put my contacts in and everything's a little fuzzy. I can't quite tell what things are actually going to look like. Who will I be friends with? Where is the money gonna come from? What lessons does God have in store for this summer? When will I get to go back home? Will I ever go back home? I can't see it. I'm squinting hard, asking daily, hourly, every time a worry crosses my mind. God, where? God, when? God, how? God, who? God, why? I'm not kidding, every minute I ask another question. Usually one of the same ones. You'd think God would have put a do-not-disturb sign on the door by now and called security to drag me away. But of course He hasn't. I have had multiple moments where I feel physically dizzy from the uncomfortableness. I want to pack up my little car and trek home. After a week and a half, I'm ready to throw in the towel every other hour. All I can do is breathe and ask Him again, Are you sure you're going to provide? Are you sure I'm supposed to be here? Are you sure you haven't abandoned me? His unwavering, gentle yet firm answer: When have I failed you? Welp, I've got nothin'. So I rest in His words, lean into the uncomfortable reality of my present location, and ask for the strength to keep pressing forward. I had a gut feeling as I planned to embark on this journey. I knew it was unlike anything I'd done before, and I knew that God wasn't going to let me get away with a four-month vacation. This was going to be no walk on the beach. Pun intended. But I had no idea it would be like this. I've never known utter dependence like this. It's humbling, it's scary, it's uncomfortable. But you know what it is most? Good. I am reminded every day that the best thing about me is the Holy Spirit inside of me. That if He's all I have, I am living in abundance. "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly." (John 10:10) Jesus doesn't say He wants us to have life easily or comfortably or where we know everything that's around the corner. But he does say abundantly, which I think is better than all those other words. He is always working, always speaking, always paving the way for abundance. The questions I really should be asking are more like these: Am I watching? Am I listening? Am I responding? I'm just trying to pay attention to Him and not much else for now. I'm trusting that one of these days, I'll wake up and see the sun shining on all of my newly-answered questions and everything will be clear. Until then, I'm resting easy with my head on His shoulder while He's at the wheel. We'll get there soon, I know it. And I've found that He's a pretty damn good driver - much better than I am. Maybe I'll let Him drive me around for the rest of my life. Yesterday I found myself wishing it was Friday. Thursday just wasn't quite good enough. Too much to do. Too many obligations. Too much to worry and be anxious about. And then when I woke up this morning, I found myself ready for it to be Friday at 2:00 pm so that I can hop on I-70 eastbound and head to the K for my first ballgame of the season.
It was only after hopping on social media and scrolling through peoples' posts and checking notifications that I realized what kind of Friday it is. Good Friday. The day that the only perfect man who has ever existed willingly had the tender skin ripped off his back by pieces of fractured bone tied to leather. Then he willingly dragged hundreds of pounds of splintered wood on that torn-up back up a staggering hill to his own death. That death was the slowest and most painful kind, where this sweet man Jesus had his arms stretched out and nailed to both sides of that cross. His feet nailed, too. And eventually he was too weak to lift his body up by those nails, so he suffocated to death. Before he died, he experienced what was even more brutal than death itself. That perfect man Jesus - God's own boy - he willingly took on the wrath of God. He was completely separated from his Father's presence. He felt the oppressive weight of being abandoned. He was alone. Scorned. Mocked. Forgotten. And think about it - Maundy Thursday, he was sold by one of his closest friends. Over to the people who wanted to kill him for no good reason at all. You could say that these were the most painful two days in human history. Maundy Thursday, and then Good Friday. How could this day possibly be called "good"? Do you know what the sweetest man Jesus was thinking on that Friday? You. Your name. Your face. Your story. He could not stand the thought of being separated from you for eternity. He could not imagine you having to experience the anger of God. So he did all of this with a completely willing heart, and he called it good. Can we all let that sink in today? Can we sacrifice ten or twenty minutes to just consider this? Honestly, friends, how could we continue to live our lives as though everything is normal in light of this astounding truth? I squirm to think about living as though this did not happen, as though Jesus' perfect, excruciating sacrifice does not matter that much. As if it was just another Friday. It makes me sick to think that I live neglectful of this outrageous act of love. I am frustrated at this moment because I cannot put it into words. "The spotless Lamb, for every sinner slain. Our victory, our hope beyond the grave. He has overcome." Why do I continue to search for perfect love when it exists nowhere else? When the ultimate display of outrageous, obsessive, unreserved, unrestrained, wild, totally complete and uninhibited love has been written on the stones of history for me to remember and dwell on and bask in every. single. day. if I so choose. I am convinced that if the Friday when the perfect man was ripped to shreds and hung from a tree can be called "good," that any other day, any other circumstance, any other pain - no matter how excruciating - can also be good. Romans 8:28 would back me up. So let the truth of what this Friday means fill all the caverns of your heart. Don't numbly walk through this Easter weekend. Stop worrying about the things his promises cover. And let yourself be loved by the pain and sacrifice of Jesus. "If [God] gave you Jesus, he will give you along with him everything you need." -Paul David Tripp “All of our temporal concerns are sweet if intermixed with godliness.” -Matthew Henry Life update ahead. Read on at your own risk because I'm currently a blubbering mess of grateful and friggin' pumped and also continually saying "wait, what? This is actually happening?" over and over and over again. I think my roommates are ready for me to leave already. Sometimes dreaming big is worth the risk, and you need to just go. Sooo this Kansas girl is heading out west!!! I will be moving to San Diego, California after graduation. (Celebrate with me because you don't have to hear me talk about figuring out the next step anymore! Aren't you blessed?) I get to work with the City of Coronado, a perfect tiny "island" (peninsula) off the coast of SD, to help kiddos have the most adventurous summer of their lil lives. I'm also gonna be volunteering with GenerateHope, an organization very similar to the Homestead. And then maybe be a barista or something because that's just fun. That being said, I don't have words to express how I feel about leaving Manhattan, Kansas, even temporarily. My time in Manhattan has shaped me and brought me abounding joy that sometimes makes me get all shaky and teary and I freeze up and go mute because it's actually unreal. These last four years have been unbelievable. I am more loved and blessed than I ever could have hoped. Seriously, I could write novels about what God's done in me here. I am undeserving of the ways he's radically changed my life and my heart, the ways he's used me, and the ways he's just loved the crap outta me. Literally. I am not who I was in 2013. Hate me for saying it, but these have been the best and most difficult four years of my life. I'm a walking cliche, I know. There's no doubt that I'll be making the most of these last six weeks here, remaining fully present to the best of my wandering little heart's ability. We all know what it's like to come to the end of chapters in our lives and feel like we're running out of time to wrap them up well. But not all chapters end perfectly. Oftentimes they end with a lot of ugly crying and hugging and even some screaming, if you feel like it. But if I've learned anything through this season of chasing after a dream, it's that God has us right where we are when we are there with the people we're with for very specific purposes. The present is part of our destiny just as much as our dreams are. Which is why it's so important to soak up the times that feel "in between" because really, they aren't. A piece of this heart o' mine has been planted here, real deep down under the prairie soil. I am thrilled for the adventures to come, but MHK has been the greatest adventure I could ask for. Maybe you'll catch me back here...who knows? (AKA, do not ask me about next fall because I don't know, okay? I just don't. AND I DON'T NEED TO KNOW, OKAY?) I'm excited to turn my sights on this new adventure. But if I'm being honest, as these dreams have solidified, I find myself freezing up. My breath has been catching in my chest. My heart skipping its usual rhythms. It's been pissing me off because THIS IS WHAT I WANTED. Come on. Why would I not just be thrilled? What's the matter, autonomic nervous system? Can't you like, just chill for a sec? (Freaky Friday, anyone? No? Okay.) I love personality tests. I love them. Because I really don't feel like I know anything about myself. I'm not the best at being self aware. And so the RHETI Enneagram test saved. my. life. No joke. Pay the twelve bucks, people. It's worth it. You will be frightened in the best way because this test knows you better than yo momma does. According to my results, I love comfortable. I love safe. I love familiar. I love my people. (Any other Sixes on the Enneagram? Raise yo hands proudly.) And I am leaving all of that. For a West Coast city I've visited twice. I think I know a total of seven people out there well enough to call 'em up. Okay, make that like four. So basically that's my worst-case-scenario. Not knowing a place very well and hardly knowing anyone. There are a million cliches I could throw out there about why I decided to pursue this dream and also why I'm now second-guessing the whole thing. But at the end of the day, my fears do not come out of truth because God does not speak words of anxiety or fear to us. And yeah, I'm leaving the best community I've ever known, and some would say that's foolish. Maybe it is. Or maybe there's another community out there that God wants to show me. Or maybe I'll be back. Honestly, I'm not just saying any of this. This could be a foolish decision. But I need to go. I don't know why. I honestly don't. Just like I didn't know why K-State was my last-resort school and then when I visited Manhattan, I was head-over-heels in love. Just like I didn't know why I felt completely at home the first time I visited a house church my freshman year. Just like I don't know why sometimes my day is nothing like I planned it to be and then it's the best kind of day you can have. My heart is overwhelmed and I don't know how to express anything well at all. I realize I'm just babbling at this point. I have so much I want to say, so much I want to make you understand, so much I want to process. I think I just want you to hear this one thing: God is with us and for us. No matter what. Tears are welling up as I write this because I am never alone. My greatest fear - loneliness - will NEVER come to fruition. How could I ask for more than that? The Lord is leading me and guiding me and he has purpose in every single second, even the toughest ones. Especially the toughest ones. I have heard this small, comforting but truthful whisper in my ear for several months now as I have been pursuing California. "This is going to be one of the most challenging summers of your life. But do not worry for a single second." Not the most revealing statement. It gives me no specifics. And I like specifics. So I've been frustrated. Because God hasn't given me a clear-cut answer about what I'm supposed to do or why. But those are words of a faithful, loving Father who sees and knows all of me and all of my life and all of eternity. He does not promise ease, comfort, or that our dreams will line up perfectly with what he brings to reality. But he promises himself. He promises that my life is not about me. That it's about how I fit into his eternal plan for restoration and redemption. And that, my friends, is more than enough to allow me to move forward towards the unknown with the confidence of a King's kid. You guys, the Lord is not indifferent towards us or our dreams. I have been reminded through this season that He blesses whatever we do if we keep holding His hand the whole way. He is ecstatic to wake up each morning and live life with us. And now I get to do just that in this freaking unreal place - what EVEN. Not to mention I'll be living with my best friend in the whole world (enter Callie). DOOOOD. Thankful. I'm just thankful. Thanks for sticking through this ridiculousness with me. You better believe there will be more to come. xoxo, Wheels I am sitting in the homiest coffeehouse I've ever known, with mountains rising up into my windowed view all around. For a week, I'm nestled just east of Rocky Mountain National Park, surrounded by behemoths my eyes can scarcely absorb without question.
The sole purpose of this trip is to rest. That's my only agenda item. To breathe. To enjoy. To absorb. And yet, something inside of me will not go quietly. Some feeling coming on too strong again and again, not taking the hint that I'm just not interested right now, thank you for the offer. Some nicked layer of my heart-skin, throbbing with the stinging of a week-old slice that won't seem to clot. It's annoying, to be honest. I wish it would hush up and heal already. But I'm forced to pay attention to it because it just won't soothe, not for nothin'. And I am realizing that this sliver has been open for quite some time now. A breeze through the mountain tree line brushes it. A song rubs against it, feeling like when you catch a particularly bad hangnail on your shirt. Someone's back looks familiar and it throbs again, tangibly. What caused this breach in the protective cover of my heart-skin? It looks different for each of us. But we've all got a nick. Every single one of us. Some of our nicks are deeper than others. We've just pretended it's more like a paper cut than a stab wound. It may look a centimeter wide from the outside, but it's inches deep, nearing marrow and nerves that were never meant to be touched. Don't say you don't. It won't make it go away, just like staying in bed pretending the sun hasn't risen won't change the fact that the day is happening outside your window. My nick is one phrase: You're not enough. It's unsettling how many different things can irritate this wound of mine. Rejection. A snide comment. Getting left behind. Not having a spot saved. Getting no-thank-you emails from potential employers. A comment on someone else's Instagram. Someone not having the space in their day for you. Interruptions. Even the most well-intended acts of comfort. Ignored texts. For those of us that feel deeply - really, really deeply - it seems like no matter how much we smatter our sliced hearts with ointment, they always dry out and crack open again. And if you don't consider yourself a feeler, I can almost guarantee you have your own experience with nagging pain like this. Maybe you've just never been sure how to call it out. So we get stuck in ruts. We have a few really good days where we are grateful and laughing and excited and adventurous, and then we have a really tough day where all we can think about is that darn heart-hangnail. We get frustrated with ourselves because we're frustrated. At the end of the day we're a tangled mess of emotion and we don't know what to do with it. The best way I know how to describe this feeling is confused. We know we feel something, and maybe we knew how to pinpoint that feeling a couple days ago, but it's gotten lost in translation. We're sad and we don't know why. I'm here now. Well, I was earlier today. Before I sat down with an intimate friend and really hashed it all out. Oh, believe me, friend. The feeling is still there. It still sort of feels like someone poured rubbing alcohol all over a sliver I can't even see. But I called out the stinging. I took a shaking finger and with the help of my companion I was able to say, "That's what hurts. That's the source of it. There." You're not enough. You know what I think my real problem is? I am so damn forgetful. I know that this is my nick. I have known for awhile now. But I forget. I forget that Satan is gonna do all he can to make this nick feel like something worth nursing, worth saying sorry for, worth believing I'm deserving of. I forget that I can take away the power of the sting with just one simple move: Telling. I'll let Ann Voskamp do the talking for a moment. "You are the bravest when you speak your unbraveness. You are the safest when you are the realest. When you are the realest about your brokenness - that is when you can know you're most beloved." We forget that we have each other. We let feeling misunderstood carry us through our days, telling us no one gets it, telling us we're alone. When we let another human see our nicks, we open up doors for healing that we could have never unlocked on our own. Sometimes we think we should have a solution to our pain. We self-medicate, self-soothe, self-promote, self-everything. But have you ever thought about how you've never actually seen yourself? Sure, you can look in a mirror. You can look at a picture of yourself. But you've never actually seen yourself though someone else's eyes. And no matter how pixel-perfect, how crystal-clear, pictures are never quite like the real thing. They either don't do the subject justice, or they are so convoluted with editing tricks that reality is masked, covered up, changed. Think about it. When you look in a mirror, you can't see your whole self at once. You can't even look at both your eyes at once. But another set of human eyes? They see the real thing. They can call attention to the truth of it all, to the reality of the subject as it is right then, in that moment, in its wholeness, the way no picture or mirror ever could. If you're like me, you forget how not alone you really are. You go about your day, doin' your thing, taking care of business as usual. But something in you is resentful at the end of the day, because you don't feel like anyone's really on your side. But I can tell you one thing with absolute certainty right now. You are not alone. You're just not. Even if you hadn't had any interactions with any other human beings for decades, you're not alone. Because in the words of Patricia from P.S. I Love You (just watch it okay), "So now, all alone or not, you gotta walk ahead. Thing to remember is if we're all alone, then we're all together in that too." Someone out there needs who you are. Someone out there has been looking for you for a long time now. Someone out there wants to wrap their arms around you and call out your broken places and help you get them healed - not just hold them together for the time being. If you haven't experienced this, as tough as it is, you've got to go find it. You've got to go find it and you've got to believe it's out there. You've got to believe this life needs you to live it, and that people need you to be a person alongside them. I can tell you something else with one hundred and twenty-seven percent sureness. You will not heal without Someone. Yes, I mean other people. And yes, I mean the ultimate Healer. One more thing I know to be true. A million times over. You will not truly find Him without them. There is hope. There is healing. Our nicks are what makes us human. And they are meant to drive us to relationship. So when you don't know what to make of it all, just find someone. Ask if they have a little bit of time to listen to you. And then go find someone who needs listening to. I guarantee, your nick will be a little less noticeable and a little less controlling. "But He saves the needy from the sword of their mouth and from the hand of the mighty. So the poor have hope, and injustice shuts her mouth. Behold, blessed is the one whom God reproves; therefore despise not the discipline of the Almighty. For he wounds, but he binds up; he shatters, but his hands heal. He will deliver you from six troubles; in seven no evil shall touch you. ... You shall know that your tent is at peace, and you shall inspect your fold and miss nothing. ... Behold, this we have searched out; it is true. Hear, and know it for your good." (Job 5:15-19; 24; 27) I wish I could tell you that it’s usually the good days that make me feel like I want to put words to a page. But I would be lying to you.
It’s been a tough go-around, pals. I have found myself crumbling under the weight of monstrous insecurity, the kind that sits on your shoulders and makes your whole being ache with doubt. I have found myself leaning into fear and away from trust. I have found myself longing for a different life, a different self. A different number of breaths strung together. I’ve questioned my worth, wondered if the Wheeler that people see is the one I want them to see, or the one I’ve tried my best to keep tucked away. Worst of all, I’ve found myself looking at God and saying, “Why are you withholding things from me?” Pride, rearing its ugly head in the form of entitlement and ungratefulness. But this is not how I want to live. My roommate caught me in a pensive mood yesterday and asked what I was thinking about. The only reply I could adequately express: “I think I need to be more grateful.” And this is true. Gratefulness is one of the major themes we see in God’s word. Tired? Be grateful! Lonely? Be grateful! Sad? Be grateful! “A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.” Proverbs 17:22. But what about when my spirit is already crushed? What about when I can only think of things like “coffee” and “this day” to thank God for? (Not bad things to be thankful for, by the way.) This is where I get stuck. I think many of you are there with me. There’s a song you may have heard me mention lately – “Doubting Doubts” by Citizens & Saints. This is the part that strikes me every listen: “I’m His kid no matter what I’m feeling. I’m doubting doubts. I just cannot help believing – I am loved no matter what.” Honestly, I do not believe this. I just don’t. I don’t know how to internalize unmerited love. And you know what? I think I need to stop trying so hard. I was sitting with the Lord today, just listening. And I heard a still small voice that said that He is sweet to us when we let Him be. I think I just need to let Him be sweet to me. So I’m re-learning the art of slowing down, of letting Him call me away, of quieting my little world to remember that it is much more important for me to be part of His. And He will slowly, gently, steadily, over the course of my entire time on this planet, knead me into the Wheeler He created me to be. I’m already righteous. I’m just maturing into that version of me. (Read The Cure, people.) Insecurity is ravaging, like an infection. If left untreated, it will slowly kill all your life and leave you devastated and raw. It can be soothed, though. It can be healed, closed up, smattered with ointment. It’s treatable. But the love of Jesus? It is a raging, scorching, fire during a shriveling drought. Nothing can stop it once it gets started. It will destroy every wrong thing you’ve ever thought. It cannot be quenched. The havoc it will wreak on everything you know is irreversible. It will hurt, so bad you’ll blister. (Google “Eustace and the Dragon.” Do it.) But you’ll never be the same. And you won’t wanna be. Just like you can’t stop this Fire, you can’t start it on your own. He’s got to do the prep work, too. He’s going to burn you up, alright, but in His timing. He has a way of doing that. It’s just like the fires that are set on the Konza each spring. There is more purpose in that scorching than we even know. And when He’s done, you’ll shoot up like the grass in early, early spring – still brown at first sight, but if you look close enough, you can see the green shoots at the bottom. Life. Now you’re living from and not for. You’ll be living, alright. From who He has made you to be. Not for the person you need to become. From the love He’s lavished out. Not for the approval of others. From the inside out – true joy springs forth. Not for the appearance of happiness. Another song I’ve been playing on repeat: “Mountain to Valley” by Housefires II. “Desires You have placed in me, faithfully You will complete.” I’m trying real hard to believe this, even on the tough days. Psalm 139 helps a bit. And I feel the truth of it deep down, in a place that’s hard to reach, on days like today – breathing in 75 degree Kansas air in February. The desires that matter are the ones that I have to really dig out sometimes. Many of my wants on the surface aren’t getting to the root of it. All of our true desires come from one massive, giant, core craving – to be with God. And we are promised that one without a doubt. He is the fullness, the all-consuming blaze. He is the satisfaction we have been waiting for. Don’t wait another second. You have all of God you’re ever gonna get, right here in this moment. Nothing else is enough – not even you, not even all the good things in the world you could think up about yourself. Not even your best effort to be better, to be more like He wants you to be. Let Him be sweet to you. Let Him burn you right up where you stand. Nothing else is enough. Stillness. Sometimes it makes me think of a quiet cup of steaming coffee by a foggy, late morning window. Sometimes it makes me think of standing at the crest of a golden Konza Hill just before sunset, nothing but the breeze to brush my eardrums. Sometimes it makes me think of the thick quiet that settles over a town before a snowstorm, or the drowning hum of an airplane flying east after midnight, full of sleepy passengers. We need this stillness. We crave it in the midst of our chaotic little worlds. Too much movement and we get worn out. Our bodies say "no" and we fall to sickness and fatigue. Too much noise and we lose our hearing too early. Too much stimulation and we crumble under the pressure of it all. Stillness is good. Stillness is peace. It is trusting we can somehow get by for five minutes or a day or a month without "doing." It is necessary. Sometimes, though, stillness makes me think of stagnancy. It makes me feel restless - itchy, almost. Like I can't sit still or stop wiggling my toes (a bad habit). It feels uncomfortable, confining, stifling. It feels like punishment. It's no new revelation that without movement, living beings cannot survive for long. We must move, of course, to sustain ourselves. We must move to gather and prepare food, to have the means to survive, to keep our bodies strong. But movement itself is a sign of life. Even the smallest tremors - the steady, slow throbbing of blood through the carotid artery, the shallow rising and falling of working lungs - are things that give our loved ones hope to whisper "she's alive!" when the rest of our bodies have seemingly ceased all activity. We need movement. But we need stillness. So how do we know which to choose, and when? Let me say it now: I am in this predicament in a more tangible way than I ever have been before. For me, it's developing into a question of staying or going. Graduation Day is approaching (May 13, mark your calendars!!!), and it feels like being late for a dentist appointment and your dental hygienist is always cranky to begin with but there's a train coming and there's no way you're going to make it before the bar lowers, so you just wait because that is quite literally all you are able to do. Maybe if you would have left your house seven minutes earlier like you were supposed to, this wouldn't be happening. Maybe if you would have just gone through the yellow light, or not stopped for coffee (who stops for coffee on the way to the dentist?), or not forgotten about your appointment until that morning, you'd be more on track. The metaphor's a stretch, but you get what I'm saying. When you're in a place where you feel uncertain you'll make it to your destination, or you don't even know where your destination is, or you feel like you're falling behind, it's incredibly easy to question every step you've made before and decide you need to take thirteen extra steps as soon as possible to make up for lost time. To get caught up in your head, your failed plans, your decisions. And as much as I would like to say that taking this predicament (stillness vs. movement) to the Lord has made all the fuzziness go away, it hasn't worked quite like that. Every day, I'm waiting for Him to flash a sign in front of me saying "Y-E-S" or "G-O" or something of the sort. A kind and honest friend reminded me recently that that's not usually how God chooses to do things. And I'm reminded of Moses. Moses asked to see God's glory, in all its flashing beauty. He wanted to know God's face and His fullness. He just wanted to know. He wanted to experience all of God he could get. So, God fulfilled that request and passed by - but only let Moses see his backside. Why? God knew Moses couldn't handle His face. He couldn't handle it. He would literally die. Mercy. Let's remember David. He made some wrong decisions while he was running for his life, he's discontent, he doesn't trust God to fight for Israel or to fight for his life. So, looking for purpose, he joins ranks with the Philistines, fighting against God's people (which he has been anointed to lead). He doesn't seem to even register that this is what going on. It doesn't phase him that he's on the side of Goliath's people - the Goliath that he defeated himself with a mere pebble years before. But God knows David's heart, and He has ordained David for a greater purpose. So He, in His mercy, doesn't let David fight alongside the Philistines. The lords of the Philistines don't trust David, and David's Philistine boss tells him to get out of there while he can. He doesn't understand at first. He's frustrated. He's been honest! Why wouldn't he be trustworthy? But he will not be trusted by these people. So he leaves. And there is undoubtedly more stinging hardship to come, more times that David screws up in even worse ways. But in the end, who is David? The greatest king of Israel, ancestor to Jesus. Coincidence? Absolutely not. God's provision. God's protection. God's understanding. David just doesn't know it yet. Mercy. Moses and David were just as human as you and I. We ask God to know things too, things that He knows we aren't ready to handle - future plans, complete understanding in the midst of hardship, a glimpse of our eternal destiny. We do things sometimes that go against God's basic will for our lives - to love Him above all and to love Him with our lives by loving others. And then we expect that we know exactly what we're doing and are perfectly capable of making wise decisions on our own, thank you very much. But God is merciful, and He gives us just enough information so that we could not possibly pretend to have control. We have to take steps of faith in the dark in order to move forward at all. If we saw what was really ahead, we would either be paralyzed or rush on ahead and miss out on what's right in front of us. So we hit rock bottom and have to let Him correct our steps when we mess up, when we don't understand. Pretending we have it all figured out doesn't fly with God. He knows we don't. "We plan the way we want to live, but only God makes us able to live it." (Proverbs 16:9, MSG) Mercy. Friends, sisters, brothers: Let's embrace not knowing, not understanding. Let's remember that the only thing we need to know and understand is the grace of God, His Word, His capital-T Truth. When we know that deeply and find identity and security in it, we are freed up. When we are rooted in the truth, we are free to see decisions that are honoring to the Lord as right-left rather than right-wrong. We are free to be confident that He is crazy about us, thrilled to be with us each morning, ready to shower good gifts on His kids, ready to pull us back on to the sidewalk when we walk straight into traffic because we think He told us to. He is too good, His mercy is too consuming, His grace is too freeing . So be free to be still, be free to walk forward, be free to know deeply and to not know at all. Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there! If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me." (Psalm 139:7-10) XOXO, Wheels *If you're wondering where I got the title of this blog, shame on you. Go watch this video right now.*
I'm really bad at keeping up with this writing thing. But with the encouragement of a couple of friends, combined with a fluttering in my chest that says 'Wheeler, you can't not write anymore,' I am going to make this a regular thing. Weekly, even. Hopefully. So I don't know how it happened, but I'm in the midst of the last three weeks of the first half of my senior year of college. You guys, I still feel like I'm sixteen years old. People talk a lot about how time moves quickly, but it's not a cliché. It's a reality. I posted a life update on Facebook a few weeks back, so read that if you care to know what's up. That's not what this post is going to focus on. I'm gonna dive right in and let you in on something I have been wrestling with since I can remember: comparison. In my Instagram bio awhile back, I had a quote that is attributed to Theodore Roosevelt: "Comparison is the thief of joy." What a paradoxical thing to have on my Instagram page, since social media basically exists to allow ourselves to compare our highlight reels to other peoples'. I put it there to remind myself and whoever looks at my Instagram for more than two seconds that while we are still comparing our stories, lives, things, looks, dogs, whatever to each other's, we will be severely lacking in the kind of joy we were created for. So why do we still compare, when we know and experience that quote to be true? I found an article on CNN.com that said we do it to measure our own levels of happiness. But if Teddy was right, we are actually doing the opposite of what we set out to do in the first place. By setting our lives up against others' to see how much happier we are than they, we essentially take half a step forward and five steps back. How foolish. Let me talk about my own experience with comparison for a second. I have an immense amount of trouble making decisions. I think it has something to do with the fact that I'm an ENFJ or a 6 on the Enneagram chart or something. Anyways, I've always looked to others to validate my decisions, or even to make them for me. I am always afraid that by making a decision one way, I'm going to be missing out on something on the other side. The grass is always greener, or whatever. So I often think about what someone else will do, not what I want to do or what I feel is right. This happens in literally every situation you could think of: when I'm deciding what clothes to buy, how to spend an hour of free time, whether to go buy Chick-fil-A for dinner or eat leftovers, ev. very. thing. That way, I have something to blame if I make "the wrong decision." In other words, I don't have to accept responsibility for my own failures. Yikes. There it is. The root of the issue. I am terrified of failure. That is ultimately why I compare my _______ to others. Insert whatever noun you will. As you might expect, this constant comparison/indecisive game has caused me an immense amount of anxiety, because I am trying to reap solid guidance and truth and counsel from places that are inconsistent, flawed, constantly changing (people). The fact that these people are inconsistent, flawed, and constantly changing is not bad, it's just a fact of humanity. And I know that. So why do I continue to put my whole weight on something that could crumble at any moment? Oh, right. Because that option seems better than failure. There's that word again. Fun. The other day, I was driving home from work or walking or doing something and this phrase popped into my head, literally out of left field. I wrote it down because I thought, 'Hmm. Maybe I'm supposed to write about this later.' Here's the thought: "My identity is not in my successes or what I can 'do.' And guess what. It's not in my failures - what I can't do - either." Is that a breath of fresh air or what? So how come the sticky note version of that thought won't stick in my brain as well as all the other ones that say things like "You weren't as productive today as so-and-so. You should feel bad about that," or "That woman is more beautiful and fit and shiny-sparkly than you are. That's why she is getting married at 22 and you aren't," or things that are even darker and more sinister than that? This semester has been riddled with circumstances that have caused me to reflect on my actions and label myself a failure - being overwhelmed by leadership responsibilities and at the same time feeling like I'm not doing anything, ending a relationship after less than a month of 'official' dating and six months of trying to get to a place of being 'ready' (whatever that means), having to say "no" to a lot of people because senior year is like the craziest, dealing with old family issues that I thought should have been resolved by now - the list goes on. It feels like 'FAILURE' has been tattooed on my damn forehead. Okay. Let's remember real quick that we have an Enemy. And his name means "accuser and deceiver." PEOPLE. Satan's name literally (essentially) means "I am going to lie to you all the damn time." And just because we have the Holy Spirit inside of our little hearts doesn't mean Satan just stops being Satan. If anything, it means the opposite. The devil freaking hates that we know and pursue God, so he'll do anything to get us to stop. Also, we are human. By nature, we are imperfect. We don't do things the way God would have us even most of the time. But we have weapons. They are called "the Word of the living God," and, "the Holy Spirit." All we have to do is consistently surrender ourselves to the truth about who God is and who He says we are. Oh boy, here Wheeler goes again, talking about God stuff. I thought I was going to read about ways that I can stop doing the things I do and do them better. I want to have control of my life. What is 'surrender,' anyways? Boo. I know, friends. I'm with you on that one. Because those are the same thoughts I have when I do things like search Google or desiringgod.org for advice that will make me feel better immediately. (We all do it. Don't pretend to laugh at me without laughing at yourself, okay?) But trust me, the surrender is worth it. We reap immensely from it. Here's just one example from scripture to prove it. I was reading Ephesians 1 this morning - a wonderful chapter to dive into if you need to remember how outrageous the Father's gifts to us are. Verses seven through ten say this: "In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of His grace, which He lavished upon us, in all wisdom and insight making known to us the mystery of His will, according to His purpose, which He set forth in Christ as a plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in Him, things in heaven and things on earth" (ESV). In other words, part of God's gift to us is His wisdom and insight, and understanding the mystery of His will. Obviously we will not have full understanding of His purposes until we are with Him in heaven (Isaiah 55:8-9), but He gives us access to His counsel and understanding through His word and His Holy Spirit. The only person we should be comparing ourselves to is the person God says we are. Am I living as He intended, with joy overflowing and peace surpassing all circumstances? Am I finding satisfaction in who He is, not what others can do for me? Am I living as one deeply beloved, sins covered with the blood of Christ? Or am I letting Satan's accusations and lies and shame overshadow these things? Listen, we are human. We are imperfect. We will forget these truths time and time again and return to our own filth. We are weak and vulnerable. And that is okay. That is why Jesus lived His perfect life and died His complete death and rose again in fullness of life. That is why His grace is immeasurable and enough, because we cannot be and we were never meant to be immeasurable or enough. We are finite and limited. But we have been given access by faith into this grace in which we now stand (Romans 5:2). We are meant to be childlike and dependent on our all-powerful Savior. My challenge to you and to myself today is to let go. Stop striving and working to receive grace. Stop living your life as though God depends on you. News flash: That's not how it works. The next time you find yourself caught in a comparison cycle, stop and gently direct your thoughts to the One who already knows them fully. Know the Word so that you can replace those self-deprecating thoughts with truer ones. Don't buy into the lie that you need to worry or that you should compare yourself to others so that you can be 'better.' Remember the words of the great theologian A.W. Tozer: "How completely satisfying to turn from our limitations to a God who has none." Authors' note: I had no friggin' fraggin' clue what to title this one, so I named it after one of my favorite songs on an album that has literally been speaking to my soul for the past three months. So go check out Low by Andrea Marie (Will Reagan's wife/my current girl crush). Please just do it. You'll have #allthefeels (lol get it???) #sorrynotsorry
This is a long time coming. The last months can best be described as hasty, moving much too quickly for my liking. But finally summer is come and I sit, away from Manhattan and back in Overland Park in a little townhouse, sliding back door open so that the quiet, consistent whoosh of the rain and the crisp scent of Mother Nature's spring cleaning drift in through the screen panel. My only companions are this third cup of coffee and the two little mutts at my feet; I'm dog-sitting while pops is out of town on business. Today is precisely what I have needed for months. It is inescapably peaceful and quiet and lonely, but in a sweet way. My extroversion is taking a break and I am grateful that the normal echoes of lonesomeness that accompany Sabbath-time have quieted themselves. And then I got that undeniable itch to write. Thus, the words you are reading. For those of you who know me, you are wondering why and how this stillness and isolation is hitting me so gently. You know that I am always on the run. You know that I have a coffee mug that was gifted to me that reads "I AM REALLY BUSY." You know that I love being with others and I don't care much for being with myself for longer than an hour or two. If you've talked to me recently, you also know that I have been in desperate need of a break from the reality of this past nine months. The other day I explicitly asked the Lord for Him to bless me with good gifts over these summer months. I am absolutely positive that today is the first nugget of His tender answer to that request. There are many details concerning the past several months that I will spare you. Many of you have walked with me through the trials that have ensued. You have been the most faithful of friends and my heart throbs fondly towards your loyalty and graciousness. For you less-informed readers: No tangible tragedy has befallen. Rather, there have been a multitude of internal battles - between legalism and grace, contentment and restlessness, joy and pity, hope and despair, loneliness and fellowship. I almost feel as though I have been taught more since March than I have in the last three years combined. I think that points to how small-minded our concept of time is next to God's. Here are some lessons I've been learning boiled down into semi-readable prose. Lesson #1: The Father loves us. Desperately. It's the simplest of all truths, and yet the most intricate and complex. I'm not sure exactly when this lesson plan began, but around March I began to realize that nearly all my perceptions about God were completely incorrect. Of course, this means I had been living based on these false ideas. I had been living out of legalism and fear for years. I had been living as though God was a constantly disappointed Father who only tolerated me out of "love" but didn't actually like or enjoy me. I imagined He was irritated by my sin and stood at a distance shaking His head and asking me to do better next time. Several things brought these lies into the limelight, the most poignant of those being a book called The Cure. I won't spoil it for you, but it will wreck all of your false perceptions of God in the kindest, most refreshing way. So finally, beautifully, the truth about the God Jesus loves is beginning to sink in and affect the way I live. I've been trying to practice seeing Jesus as He really is - standing with His strong arm around me, chuckling at the pile of crap in front of us: "'That is a lot of sin. A whole lot of sin. Don't you ever sleep?' He starts laughing. I start laughing." (The Cure, p. 22) This is an accurate view of Jesus' character. Lesson #2: His ways are higher than our ways...seriously. I never really got Isaiah 55:8-9. It made God seem like some aloof puppeteer. But what I've come to understand is that although God is never-changing and always faithful, He is not predictable. He remains the same in the goodness of His character and the outpouring of His grace, but He uses different mediums to show us those things about Himself. He used a trip to California to teach me that He is crazy about me and therefore He wants me to actually enjoy this life He's set out before me. He is using the unexpected move of a dear friend to teach me that He is the only constant and that "anything which drives us to God is a blessing, and anything which weans us from leaning on the arm of the flesh, and especially that weans us from trying to stand alone, is a boon to us" (Spurgeon). He is using my shifting desires and changing plans to show me that "the heart of a man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps" (Proverbs 16:9). These lessons are not ones which can be listened to or read over once every few months; they must be learned bone-deep. Oftentimes, in order for Him to reach deep enough, there may be lasting scars that remind us of those lessons learned. Otherwise, our lives will show no evidence of the Truth. Lesson #3: Life is messy. We are messy. We need to be our messy selves in front of other people. In other words, vulnerability. I truly thought I was good at this stuff, people. I've been dead wrong. Through the process of learning these other lessons, I withheld so much of what was really happening inside of me from the people who wanted to help. I, along with many others, hate feeling like a burden. I thought maybe it's because I'm a leader in my Christian community, or because I'm a highly sensitive and emotional being and people have given me smack for that in the past. But I listened to a podcasted sermon recently that talked about how we are bad at receiving freely (and, therefore, giving freely) because, at our core, we believe everything we have received has been earned by us. I can't freely receive anything because I've had to work for it. Again, this comes from a misunderstanding of the truth about God and His good news. When understand properly that everything we have been given comes from the Lord and then flows through us to others, we are freed up to love and be loved. I could keep going. Really, I could. For a long time. But these are the most fundamental truths that are sinking in of late. And along with these, I thought it might be appropriate to update you all on the tangible events of my life that have emerged as I've been learning all this. BIG FAT LIFE UPDATE: I have just finished my junior year at Kansas State, which was the most difficult and most wonderful year so far. I moved out of "The Sandlot," a house on Leavenworth Street full of eight other girls whom I already miss desperately. They have become my sweetest friends over the past nine months. The fall will bring me back to MHK to the same house, with six new gal pals moving in. I have one semester of classes and then a semester-long internship left in my degree program (Family Studies and Human Services - or #famstuds as I often refer to it - with a minor in Conflict Analysis and Trauma Studies, which I love with a passion). Through a class I took over winter break in the CATS program, I made a connection with a fantastic woman who works for an organization in Manhattan which provides holistic care for women who have exited the trafficking industry. I am beginning to do research with her about what these women need when they leave their former lives and continuing to build a connection with this incredible organization. I am looking ahead to volunteering there in the fall, potentially interning with them next spring, and maybe even working for them post-graduation. I have also been working on another research team in FSHS with two dear friends of mine and a stellar faculty member. We have submitted our findings (concerning resiliency between adolescents and non-residential parents following divorce) to the National Council on Family Relations and are waiting to see if we will have a chance to present at their annual conference in Minneapolis in November. I applied for and received a generous travel grant to attend that conference should our work get accepted (nerdy academia stuff, woop woop). I am still leading a house church in Manhattan (we meet in KC over the summer) and I am once again going to be an apprentice in the Midwest Fellowship/Ichthus summer program (Midwest Summer Institute) after returning back from a couple of weeks of weddings and travel that I'm gearing up for now. I'm also gonna be working at The Upper Crust in downtown Overland Park, the cutest pie shop imaginable. Come see me on Saturday mornings at the farmers' market starting May 28! Thanks for hangin' in there, assuming you've made it this far. I hope to write more regularly from now on so that I am exercising my writing muscles (and externally processing) in a healthier way. I believe writing is one of those things the Lord has been nudging me about for years, but I'm only just now figuring out how to respond to those sweet nudges. Isn't He just too good to us? xoxo, Wheels I love hugs. I love what they communicate between two human beings. I love how it feels to hug someone you haven’t seen in months or years, someone who you missed with every fiber of your being. It’s almost unbelievable how deeply comforting it can be to have someone hold you while your tears flow freely onto their shirt. To hug someone is to fully accept all that they are in that very moment and to communicate unconditional love and care regardless of what the circumstances are that led up to that hug.
Another word for a hug is an embrace. There’s one definition of this word that means to hug, but in case you’ve forgotten, the word embrace is a homonym. The other definition for embrace is as follows: “to accept or support (a belief, theory, or change) willingly and enthusiastically.” I’m learning to embrace and even to engage with some of the God-given things about myself, like unruly hair and a strange affinity for chilly weather and the ability to put words together on a page and make them sound nice. Also, I have just decided to make the word embrace my word for 2016. I’ve never done this before, honestly in part because I think it’s kind of full of corny poop. But it hit me differently today – that’s exactly how I want to spend this year: embracing it. I want to learn how to fully embrace people and things and opportunities my sweet One sets in front of me. I’m tired of being tired. I’m tired of wasting time. I’m tired of getting to the end of the day and feeling frustrated and depressed because I don’t feel that I’ve stewarded the things the Lord has given me very well. I’m tired of settling: for mediocrity, for apathy, for un-creativity, for lackadaisical relationships and a lethargic prayer life, for half-assing instead of whole-assing things (thanks Ron Swanson). I’m tired of waking up and failing to realize how wonderful it is to be alive and active in Manhattan, Kansas on any given Tuesday. I’m tired of living as though things could be better. I’m tired of waiting around for joy to come to me through material things or other people or a relationship or a comfortable, happy life instead of embracing the One who promises to provide the only real kind of joy, no questions asked and no hesitancy involved and no need to try to earn it. Romans 8:28 reminds us that everything – every moment, every life event, any flavor of circumstance – is God-breathed and purpose-filled. I think some of what Paul is saying to the believers in Rome here as he’s talking about the power of the Spirit and God’s plan for humanity is that they need to stop being so dang fearful. And I also think that the opposite of being fearful or anxious about something is to embrace it. If you’re able to really wrap your arms around something – even something or someone that might have at one time seemed like a threat to you – you’ve realized that it’s not worth running away from anymore. It’s not worth the bitterness and resentment and anger and sadness and even depression that comes with fearfulness. So, instead of settling for anything less, this year I’m embracing a faithful and loving Jesus and everything that He offers me with outstretched arms. We’ll see how it goes. *If you're wondering where I got the title of this blog, shame on you. Go watch this video right now.* I'm really bad at keeping up with this writing thing. But with the encouragement of a couple of friends, combined with a fluttering in my chest that says 'Wheeler, you can't not write anymore,' I am going to make this a regular thing. Weekly, even. Hopefully. So I don't know how it happened, but I'm in the midst of the last three weeks of the first half of my senior year of college. You guys, I still feel like I'm sixteen years old. People talk a lot about how time moves quickly, but it's not a cliché. It's a reality. I posted a life update on Facebook a few weeks back, so read that if you care to know what's up. That's not what this post is going to focus on. I'm gonna dive right in and let you in on something I have been wrestling with since I can remember: comparison. In my Instagram bio awhile back, I had a quote that is attributed to Theodore Roosevelt: "Comparison is the thief of joy." What a paradoxical thing to have on my Instagram page, since social media basically exists to allow ourselves to compare our highlight reels to other peoples'. I put it there to remind myself and whoever looks at my Instagram for more than two seconds that while we are still comparing our stories, lives, things, looks, dogs, whatever to each other's, we will be severely lacking in the kind of joy we were created for. So why do we still compare, when we know and experience that quote to be true? I found an article on CNN.com that said we do it to measure our own levels of happiness. But if Teddy was right, we are actually doing the opposite of what we set out to do in the first place. By setting our lives up against others' to see how much happier we are than they, we essentially take half a step forward and five steps back. How foolish. Let me talk about my own experience with comparison for a second. I have an immense amount of trouble making decisions. I think it has something to do with the fact that I'm an ENFJ or a 6 on the Enneagram chart or something. Anyways, I've always looked to others to validate my decisions, or even to make them for me. I am always afraid that by making a decision one way, I'm going to be missing out on something on the other side. The grass is always greener, or whatever. So I often think about what someone else will do, not what I want to do or what I feel is right. This happens in literally every situation you could think of: when I'm deciding what clothes to buy, how to spend an hour of free time, whether to go buy Chick-fil-A for dinner or eat leftovers, ev. very. thing. That way, I have something to blame if I make "the wrong decision." In other words, I don't have to accept responsibility for my own failures. Yikes. There it is. The root of the issue. I am terrified of failure. That is ultimately why I compare my _______ to others. Insert whatever noun you will. As you might expect, this constant comparison/indecisive game has caused me an immense amount of anxiety, because I am trying to reap solid guidance and truth and counsel from places that are inconsistent, flawed, constantly changing (people). The fact that these people are inconsistent, flawed, and constantly changing is not bad, it's just a fact of humanity. And I know that. So why do I continue to put my whole weight on something that could crumble at any moment? Oh, right. Because that option seems better than failure. There's that word again. Fun. The other day, I was driving home from work or walking or doing something and this phrase popped into my head, literally out of left field. I wrote it down because I thought, 'Hmm. Maybe I'm supposed to write about this later.' Here's the thought: "My identity is not in my successes or what I can 'do.' And guess what. It's not in my failures - what I can't do - either." Is that a breath of fresh air or what? So how come the sticky note version of that thought won't stick in my brain as well as all the other ones that say things like "You weren't as productive today as so-and-so. You should feel bad about that," or "That woman is more beautiful and fit and shiny-sparkly than you are. That's why she is getting married at 22 and you aren't," or things that are even darker and more sinister than that? This semester has been riddled with circumstances that have caused me to reflect on my actions and label myself a failure - being overwhelmed by leadership responsibilities and at the same time feeling like I'm not doing anything, ending a relationship after less than a month of 'official' dating and six months of trying to get to a place of being 'ready' (whatever that means), having to say "no" to a lot of people because senior year is like the craziest, dealing with old family issues that I thought should have been resolved by now - the list goes on. It feels like 'FAILURE' has been tattooed on my damn forehead. Okay. Let's remember real quick that we have an Enemy. And his name means "accuser and deceiver." PEOPLE. Satan's name literally (essentially) means "I am going to lie to you all the damn time." And just because we have the Holy Spirit inside of our little hearts doesn't mean Satan just stops being Satan. If anything, it means the opposite. The devil freaking hates that we know and pursue God, so he'll do anything to get us to stop. Also, we are human. By nature, we are imperfect. We don't do things the way God would have us even most of the time. But we have weapons. They are called "the Word of the living God," and, "the Holy Spirit." All we have to do is consistently surrender ourselves to the truth about who God is and who He says we are. Oh boy, here Wheeler goes again, talking about God stuff. I thought I was going to read about ways that I can stop doing the things I do and do them better. I want to have control of my life. What is 'surrender,' anyways? Boo. I know, friends. I'm with you on that one. Because those are the same thoughts I have when I do things like search Google or desiringgod.org for advice that will make me feel better immediately. (We all do it. Don't pretend to laugh at me without laughing at yourself, okay?) But trust me, the surrender is worth it. We reap immensely from it. Here's just one example from scripture to prove it. I was reading Ephesians 1 this morning - a wonderful chapter to dive into if you need to remember how outrageous the Father's gifts to us are. Verses seven through ten say this: "In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of His grace, which He lavished upon us, in all wisdom and insight making known to us the mystery of His will, according to His purpose, which He set forth in Christ as a plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in Him, things in heaven and things on earth" (ESV). In other words, part of God's gift to us is His wisdom and insight, and understanding the mystery of His will. Obviously we will not have full understanding of His purposes until we are with Him in heaven (Isaiah 55:8-9), but He gives us access to His counsel and understanding through His word and His Holy Spirit. The only person we should be comparing ourselves to is the person God says we are. Am I living as He intended, with joy overflowing and peace surpassing all circumstances? Am I finding satisfaction in who He is, not what others can do for me? Am I living as one deeply beloved, sins covered with the blood of Christ? Or am I letting Satan's accusations and lies and shame overshadow these things? Listen, we are human. We are imperfect. We will forget these truths time and time again and return to our own filth. We are weak and vulnerable. And that is okay. That is why Jesus lived His perfect life and died His complete death and rose again in fullness of life. That is why His grace is immeasurable and enough, because we cannot be and we were never meant to be immeasurable or enough. We are finite and limited. But we have been given access by faith into this grace in which we now stand (Romans 5:2). We are meant to be childlike and dependent on our all-powerful Savior. My challenge to you and to myself today is to let go. Stop striving and working to receive grace. Stop living your life as though God depends on you. News flash: That's not how it works. The next time you find yourself caught in a comparison cycle, stop and gently direct your thoughts to the One who already knows them fully. Know the Word so that you can replace those self-deprecating thoughts with truer ones. Don't buy into the lie that you need to worry or that you should compare yourself to others so that you can be 'better.' Remember the words of the great theologian A.W. Tozer: "How completely satisfying to turn from our limitations to a God who has none." Authors' note: I had no friggin' fraggin' clue what to title this one, so I named it after one of my favorite songs on an album that has literally been speaking to my soul for the past three months. So go check out Low by Andrea Marie (Will Reagan's wife/my current girl crush). Please just do it. You'll have #allthefeels (lol get it???) #sorrynotsorry
This is a long time coming. The last months can best be described as hasty, moving much too quickly for my liking. But finally summer is come and I sit, away from Manhattan and back in Overland Park in a little townhouse, sliding back door open so that the quiet, consistent whoosh of the rain and the crisp scent of Mother Nature's spring cleaning drift in through the screen panel. My only companions are this third cup of coffee and the two little mutts at my feet; I'm dog-sitting while pops is out of town on business. Today is precisely what I have needed for months. It is inescapably peaceful and quiet and lonely, but in a sweet way. My extroversion is taking a break and I am grateful that the normal echoes of lonesomeness that accompany Sabbath-time have quieted themselves. And then I got that undeniable itch to write. Thus, the words you are reading. For those of you who know me, you are wondering why and how this stillness and isolation is hitting me so gently. You know that I am always on the run. You know that I have a coffee mug that was gifted to me that reads "I AM REALLY BUSY." You know that I love being with others and I don't care much for being with myself for longer than an hour or two. If you've talked to me recently, you also know that I have been in desperate need of a break from the reality of this past nine months. The other day I explicitly asked the Lord for Him to bless me with good gifts over these summer months. I am absolutely positive that today is the first nugget of His tender answer to that request. There are many details concerning the past several months that I will spare you. Many of you have walked with me through the trials that have ensued. You have been the most faithful of friends and my heart throbs fondly towards your loyalty and graciousness. For you less-informed readers: No tangible tragedy has befallen. Rather, there have been a multitude of internal battles - between legalism and grace, contentment and restlessness, joy and pity, hope and despair, loneliness and fellowship. I almost feel as though I have been taught more since March than I have in the last three years combined. I think that points to how small-minded our concept of time is next to God's. Here are some lessons I've been learning boiled down into semi-readable prose. Lesson #1: The Father loves us. Desperately. It's the simplest of all truths, and yet the most intricate and complex. I'm not sure exactly when this lesson plan began, but around March I began to realize that nearly all my perceptions about God were completely incorrect. Of course, this means I had been living based on these false ideas. I had been living out of legalism and fear for years. I had been living as though God was a constantly disappointed Father who only tolerated me out of "love" but didn't actually like or enjoy me. I imagined He was irritated by my sin and stood at a distance shaking His head and asking me to do better next time. Several things brought these lies into the limelight, the most poignant of those being a book called The Cure. I won't spoil it for you, but it will wreck all of your false perceptions of God in the kindest, most refreshing way. So finally, beautifully, the truth about the God Jesus loves is beginning to sink in and affect the way I live. I've been trying to practice seeing Jesus as He really is - standing with His strong arm around me, chuckling at the pile of crap in front of us: "'That is a lot of sin. A whole lot of sin. Don't you ever sleep?' He starts laughing. I start laughing." (The Cure, p. 22) This is an accurate view of Jesus' character. Lesson #2: His ways are higher than our ways...seriously. I never really got Isaiah 55:8-9. It made God seem like some aloof puppeteer. But what I've come to understand is that although God is never-changing and always faithful, He is not predictable. He remains the same in the goodness of His character and the outpouring of His grace, but He uses different mediums to show us those things about Himself. He used a trip to California to teach me that He is crazy about me and therefore He wants me to actually enjoy this life He's set out before me. He is using the unexpected move of a dear friend to teach me that He is the only constant and that "anything which drives us to God is a blessing, and anything which weans us from leaning on the arm of the flesh, and especially that weans us from trying to stand alone, is a boon to us" (Spurgeon). He is using my shifting desires and changing plans to show me that "the heart of a man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps" (Proverbs 16:9). These lessons are not ones which can be listened to or read over once every few months; they must be learned bone-deep. Oftentimes, in order for Him to reach deep enough, there may be lasting scars that remind us of those lessons learned. Otherwise, our lives will show no evidence of the Truth. Lesson #3: Life is messy. We are messy. We need to be our messy selves in front of other people. In other words, vulnerability. I truly thought I was good at this stuff, people. I've been dead wrong. Through the process of learning these other lessons, I withheld so much of what was really happening inside of me from the people who wanted to help. I, along with many others, hate feeling like a burden. I thought maybe it's because I'm a leader in my Christian community, or because I'm a highly sensitive and emotional being and people have given me smack for that in the past. But I listened to a podcasted sermon recently that talked about how we are bad at receiving freely (and, therefore, giving freely) because, at our core, we believe everything we have received has been earned by us. I can't freely receive anything because I've had to work for it. Again, this comes from a misunderstanding of the truth about God and His good news. When understand properly that everything we have been given comes from the Lord and then flows through us to others, we are freed up to love and be loved. I could keep going. Really, I could. For a long time. But these are the most fundamental truths that are sinking in of late. And along with these, I thought it might be appropriate to update you all on the tangible events of my life that have emerged as I've been learning all this. BIG FAT LIFE UPDATE: I have just finished my junior year at Kansas State, which was the most difficult and most wonderful year so far. I moved out of "The Sandlot," a house on Leavenworth Street full of eight other girls whom I already miss desperately. They have become my sweetest friends over the past nine months. The fall will bring me back to MHK to the same house, with six new gal pals moving in. I have one semester of classes and then a semester-long internship left in my degree program (Family Studies and Human Services - or #famstuds as I often refer to it - with a minor in Conflict Analysis and Trauma Studies, which I love with a passion). Through a class I took over winter break in the CATS program, I made a connection with a fantastic woman who works for an organization in Manhattan which provides holistic care for women who have exited the trafficking industry. I am beginning to do research with her about what these women need when they leave their former lives and continuing to build a connection with this incredible organization. I am looking ahead to volunteering there in the fall, potentially interning with them next spring, and maybe even working for them post-graduation. I have also been working on another research team in FSHS with two dear friends of mine and a stellar faculty member. We have submitted our findings (concerning resiliency between adolescents and non-residential parents following divorce) to the National Council on Family Relations and are waiting to see if we will have a chance to present at their annual conference in Minneapolis in November. I applied for and received a generous travel grant to attend that conference should our work get accepted (nerdy academia stuff, woop woop). I am still leading a house church in Manhattan (we meet in KC over the summer) and I am once again going to be an apprentice in the Midwest Fellowship/Ichthus summer program (Midwest Summer Institute) after returning back from a couple of weeks of weddings and travel that I'm gearing up for now. I'm also gonna be working at The Upper Crust in downtown Overland Park, the cutest pie shop imaginable. Come see me on Saturday mornings at the farmers' market starting May 28! Thanks for hangin' in there, assuming you've made it this far. I hope to write more regularly from now on so that I am exercising my writing muscles (and externally processing) in a healthier way. I believe writing is one of those things the Lord has been nudging me about for years, but I'm only just now figuring out how to respond to those sweet nudges. Isn't He just too good to us? xoxo, Wheels I wonder how many Valentine's Day blog posts were written today by single, Christian white girls.
I'm not gonna Google it to find out. Whatever. However obnoxious the cliches within them, these paragraphs need to be written. Selfishly, I need to read the words as I write them and attempt to swallow what is actually true and push out the falsity. Honestly, this post is mostly for me. If I seem like a hypocrite as you read these words, it's because I am. It's because I'm still learning and I'm not perfect and this is actually one of my weakest areas and sources of deepest insecurity and this post takes a lot of guts and vulnerability. I'm scared. But writing these things down helps me pay attention to them and maybe start to believe them a little bit. Maybe you'll benefit in some way, too. Either way, I've externally processed the tangled mass in my brain. Good enough. Consider yourself warned. Today. Sucked. Like, a lot. I'm not even going to try to smile away the suckyness and come up with B.S. "But I mean..." statements. It was just plain bad. It started out like a normal Sunday for me: immediately busy and full of people, but in a pretty good way. The weather was a little balmier than on your normal Valentine's Day in the Flint Hills, so that was nice. Got my morning coffee with Jesus in. Met with a sweet friend of mine for our weekly discipleship stuff, which was wonderful and light. Plus we drank more coffee (in our PJs!!!). Attended a workshop for my Greek-letter organization (#srat). Went to an engagement party for some beautiful friends whose union will be God-honoring and hilarious. Headed to a cell group meeting with my family-in-Christ for our monthly covenant night where we talk and listen with each other and our good Father and sing to Him a little bit and eat together and laugh through it all. It was a rich time. Sounds like a good day, at least on the surface. That's because it was. This Valentine's Day was one where I got to be an active player in the game of celebrating l-o-v-e. And not even just one kind of love. There was brother and sister-ly love, pee-laughing-because-my-best-friend-and-I-both-nearly-gave-each-other-fake-signed-pictures-of-Harry-Styles-for-Valentine's-Day-love, romantic love, texts-from-mom love, notes-and-candy-from-beautiful-roomies love, and of course Biblical, Godly, all-encompassing love. How wonderful! I rejoice with my lips at the opportunity to engage so freely and completely with love today. Even if my heart hasn't quite caught up. So then. Why am I sitting in my little roost upstairs at 10:27 pm on a Sunday evening writing this post (when I should be doing real homework, by the way) and feeling so downtrodden and worn and somehow unloved after such a day of merriment? Well, I'm single. There it is. Ugh, that word just reminds me of fake (but delicious when melted over some beef or something) cheese. Being twenty-one and a junior undergrad student, it's not hard to get caught up in the timeline that so many friends seem to follow. Start dating as sophomores or juniors, spend approximately 0.8-1.7 years together, ring by spring. Oh no - that puts me at least six months behind! Crap. This must be the problem. The questions arise. "What's wrong with me?" "Will I get married before I'm thirty?" "Maybe God is calling me to a life of singleness... Does He even do that anymore?!" "Surely I won't be in the nine percent of Americans who don't get married." (How ridiculous and nearsighted, Wheeler. I'll get there.) Then the questions stop and the statements start. These ones are even better. "I just need to get back in shape." "I should stop being so annoying." "No one I know now would want to date me, anyways." "I'm not promised marriage, so I just need to stop holding out for someone." "You're in the friend zone pretty much forever with pretty much anyone who's breathing in Manhattan, Kansas, so get over it. Stupid girl." These thoughts surface almost daily. Today, they were especially present. Probably because couples were everywhere. Engagements are abounding. PMS is also very, very real (apologies to any brave boys who may be reading this). Sprinkle in some snide comments made by guy pals who really do have the best intentions at heart but sometimes don't think before speaking, and you've got a pouty (not to mention hangry), quite miserably-intrenched-in-her-thoughts Wheeler by the end of the day. My guess is that you can relate to some of these thoughts, assuming you are indeed a single woman in her early twenties and you participated in society today. I wish that weren't true, that you couldn't relate. I wish no one had thoughts like these - and there are worse ones, too. Why are they so hard to swat away? I literally just took a break and opened a Dove chocolate and the inside of the foil reads: "Get swept away by love." MAYBE I WOULD IF I HAD THE CHANCE, YOU DUMB CHOCOLATE. You're full of s***. Who would love me? I'm too _____. I'm not ______ enough. These are my immediate reactions. To a "fortune" inside of a chocolate wrapper. Something is off here. If I am claiming to live as if the things that my Creator says about me are true (which I am trying desperately to), something is seriously wrong with my self-concept. With our self-concepts, women. I am continuing to pay out-of-pocket for a lie. And here it is, the big kahuna, the stinky, fat, sneaky fib that we all listen to no matter how much we hate to admit it: What will make me the most happy, what will make me feel the most beautiful, what will give me the most contentment and satisfaction... that thing is a human being. I am only valuable if a boy calls me his girl. I am invaluable as a single person. I am defective. I am lesser. I need to be fixed. I need to be better. I need to be more of whatever it is that boys want. This. Is. Completely. Wrong. It is upside down. This way of thinking about ourselves cannot coincide with the gospel. Go on, read Psalm 139. Do any of those self-deprecating thoughts listed above line up with who the God of the universe says we are? Someone show me a place in Scripture where it says "a woman is only valuable if she is betrothed or married or if men are interested in taking her on dates often" and I will shut my mouth. Where in any of the gospel books or epistles do Jesus or His beloved followers talk about trying to create our identity by finding a romantic partner? All this infuriates me. I'm mad at myself. It's foolishness. Not only are we thinking about ourselves in a way that is dishonoring to what God says about us, but we actually have the wrong definition of love if we are pining for someone else to fulfill our desires. 1 Corinthians 13 provides us with the ultimate definition of this word we toss around like a hot potato. This time, it's God's definition, so I think it's pretty infallible. "Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." Love is not self-seeking in any regard. Women: does this line up with the way we think about love? Take an honest and brutal look at your thought life. I was told once to replace the word "love" in this passage with Jesus' name. It sheds a whole new light on this one. Are we trying to model our lives after our King? He never asked for love from any human. No one except His Father. He never expected it from us. He desired that people love one another, but He was well aware of our imperfection. Bob Goff tweeted awhile back: "We're all amateurs when it comes to love. Don't be too hard on each other." Jesus knew we were amateurs. He knew that the love of the Father was the only love that would ever, ever, EVER satisfy Him enough to allow Him to live the life of servitude and sacrifice that He lived. Heck, He allowed people (some who claimed to love God) to nail His hands and feet to some pieces of splintery wood - after they whipped him raw with pieces of sharp bone and jammed a crown of thorns on His head till His scalp ran red. Does the love that Jesus had for those people when He said “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do” sound like the "love" our culture seems to be saturated with? I don't think so. This world seems to want nothing to do with that, and we have blindly and ignorantly trusted the world over our Savior time and time again, like sheep gone astray. And yet, this Jesus-love is the best love we could ever seek. I would argue that it is the only true kind of love. Church, women, humans everywhere: let me make this clear. Our beautiful God made beautiful desires for beautiful things like marriage and deep, abounding human relationships and placed them in our beautiful hearts. To desire to get married is such a God-honoring desire. It is wholesome and worthy. If you are in a relationship or if you are married or engaged, that is truly wonderful. These words are in no way meant to shame you or back you into a corner or put you in a box or anything of the sort. I hope that whoever you are with is pointing you not to themselves, but to the King of both of your hearts, day-in and day-out. Also, the Lord's heart breaks when we give in to cheap lies and place our worth and our hope in something that will not withstand the test of time or trial. He weeps with us when we are struck by piercing loneliness. He has so much grace and mercy and compassion for His kids, and I think He is especially tender towards His daughters. He knows how He made us. He doesn't shame us for craving the things He made us to crave. But this desire for marriage is secondary. Or at least it should be, in comparison to our desire for an eternal relationship with Christ. It is not a necessity. The only necessity is knowing Him and glorifying Him. And that's His main concern. The Westminster Shorter Catechism puts it this way: "Man's chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy Him forever." My prayer is that we can seek first the Kingdom. Only there, at the feet of Jesus, will we find our soul's satisfaction. And, if it's in line with His will, He will provide us a partner in ministry in due time. But let's stop living in the mean time. Start seeking Christ and what He says about who you are. He wants to use you to reach the far-off and the lame and the sick and the poor. He wants to change you from your insides out so that His joy shines right out of your pretty little pores. He wants to see you confidently and boldly embracing who He has made you to be. So I guess the point of these 1800 words is basically just to say that our problem on Valentine's Day is not that we are unloved by others or by men or boys or Harry Styles or whoever. It is that we are unloved by ourselves. In order for us to love ourselves, we must first allow Jesus to love us radically and respond by loving Him with our lives. So how the heck do we get that stamped on the inside of a chocolate wrapper? XOXO, Wheels I love hugs. I love what they communicate between two human beings. I love how it feels to hug someone you haven’t seen in months or years, someone who you missed with every fiber of your being. It’s almost unbelievable how deeply comforting it can be to have someone hold you while your tears flow freely onto their shirt. To hug someone is to fully accept all that they are in that very moment and to communicate unconditional love and care regardless of what the circumstances are that led up to that hug.
Another word for a hug is an embrace. There’s one definition of this word that means to hug, but in case you’ve forgotten, the word embrace is a homonym. The other definition for embrace is as follows: “to accept or support (a belief, theory, or change) willingly and enthusiastically.” I’m learning to embrace and even to engage with some of the God-given things about myself, like unruly hair and a strange affinity for chilly weather and the ability to put words together on a page and make them sound nice. Also, I have just decided to make the word embrace my word for 2016. I’ve never done this before, honestly in part because I think it’s kind of full of corny poop. But it hit me differently today – that’s exactly how I want to spend this year: embracing it. I want to learn how to fully embrace people and things and opportunities my sweet One sets in front of me. I’m tired of being tired. I’m tired of wasting time. I’m tired of getting to the end of the day and feeling frustrated and depressed because I don’t feel that I’ve stewarded the things the Lord has given me very well. I’m tired of settling: for mediocrity, for apathy, for un-creativity, for lackadaisical relationships and a lethargic prayer life, for half-assing instead of whole-assing things (thanks Ron Swanson). I’m tired of waking up and failing to realize how wonderful it is to be alive and active in Manhattan, Kansas on any given Tuesday. I’m tired of living as though things could be better. I’m tired of waiting around for joy to come to me through material things or other people or a relationship or a comfortable, happy life instead of embracing the One who promises to provide the only real kind of joy, no questions asked and no hesitancy involved and no need to try to earn it. Romans 8:28 reminds us that everything – every moment, every life event, any flavor of circumstance – is God-breathed and purpose-filled. I think some of what Paul is saying to the believers in Rome here as he’s talking about the power of the Spirit and God’s plan for humanity is that they need to stop being so dang fearful. And I also think that the opposite of being fearful or anxious about something is to embrace it. If you’re able to really wrap your arms around something – even something or someone that might have at one time seemed like a threat to you – you’ve realized that it’s not worth running away from anymore. It’s not worth the bitterness and resentment and anger and sadness and even depression that comes with fearfulness. So, instead of settling for anything less, this year I’m embracing a faithful and loving Jesus and everything that He offers me with outstretched arms. We’ll see how it goes. It’s 12:31 am on Labor Day (technically), and here I am on this weird, foreign thing called tumblr, trying to figure out how this darn thing works because I have finally given in to this occasional and yet quite nagging urge to write again. I have not written something for other people to read since my sophomore year of high school when I wrote for the school newspaper. It wore me out, and so I stopped. But all my life, I have loved to write. I’ve been told I’m a decent writer. I don’t really care if that’s true or not. I just know that it’s time to start trying again.
This makes me a lil’ bit nervous. Even as I write this, I wonder things such as, “Will anyone even read this? Will people think it looks cute? Nobody cares, probably.” These are all silly, shallow-seeming issues that actually stem from this thing I have come to call my identity crisis. You see, some things have been building up inside of me over the past few weeks. And very recently things have all come to a head. I’m an external processor, which means I need to either talk things out or write them down to actually understand what’s going on. So, over the course of a few weeks, I’ve been talking to some people and writing some things down. And this is pretty much the summation of what I’ve come to realize. If you’re reading this post, it means that you probably know me on some level. So you probably are aware that I identify myself as a follower of Jesus Christ. Well, that’s the irony of what I’m writing about. I claim Jesus as the source of my identity. But the more I strive to live as if I truly am who He says I am, the more I realize that I really suck at doing that. Here are some specific examples. He says I am His beloved. That He loves me because He loves me. I live like I need to win His love. He says I am free from my sin. I live under legalism and perfectionism. (That means I’m a rule-follower and I want everything I do to be perfect.) He says His grace is a free gift, and the best one He can offer. I live like there are better things out there. He says I’m a new creation. I live in my old tendencies. He says He is pleased with me. I live as if He is constantly disappointed with me. All of these come down to one fairly simple thing: I don’t yet know how to fully embrace my identity as one who belongs to the King. I’m pretty sure that many other people struggle with this kind of thing, because I have talked with them about it. It’s one of those things that many people who love Jesus don’t want to talk about, because it’s uncomfortable. It’s not the most fun time when you realize that you don’t live in the kind of freedom you’re encouraging and leading others to live under. Don’t get me wrong here. Jesus is absolutely the best Thing to ever happen to me. He is my Most Favorite, my biggest Encourager, my Everything. Or at least I want Him to be. I am trying to chase after Him with all I’ve got. And, I mean, really, He’s all I’ve got. But it’s just a new season. A learning curve. Another obstacle to overcome, one where I will hopefully come out stronger on the other side. He is faithful, you guys. He’s the truest and most constant One I’ve ever known. So I know that this will be okay. Maybe just not right away. One other thing you should know about me: I am a fixer. If it’s not a quick fix, I’m already frustrated with the idea of having to wait for it to be fixed. But this time, I’m trying to be okay with these imperfections, these things that aren’t quite finished in me yet. I’m not looking for a quick fix this time; I’m honestly just looking to write some things down again. Because I believe that vulnerability is important. And maybe if I share some things about my journey, someone else will read my words and be comforted. And even if no one ever reads this, it’s at least the first time I’ve written in awhile, and that’ll just about do it for me. - Wheels |
Meet the writer.Hiya. Wheels, here. I enjoy all forms of espresso & days spent in the mountains of Colorado or the prairies of Kansas or the beaches of SoCal. Also, Royals baseball. Archives
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