return and learn

A few weeks ago I was going through old posts and I came across this one, my 2014 survey, and I wept. I was astounded by the goodness of God, overcome by His lavish love and grace for me that He has shown in the SEVEN (what the heck you guys its JULY!) months since I wrote that post. Even now I can recall the sharp ache that I felt deep within me, this sense that things were getting better, but I had a long ways to go. The past seven months have been brief and fleeting, I feel like I fell asleep in January and woke up in July, but in the same breath, I feel like I've felt every single painstaking minute that took place. Growth does that to you, it's burden is hefty, it's longevity one I can only describe as hypersonic molasses and it's only when you take a step back that you see its incredible work. 

If I could describe 2015 up to this point the words I would choose for myself would be: Happy, healthy and whole. And difficult. Extremely difficult as I've come to terms with who I am, who God says I am, being satisfied in that, moving forward and throwing my fears, insecurities, hurts and worries at the feet of Jesus and saying: "It's Yours."

I have truly tasted and understood the concept of freedom in Christ and friends, let me tell you, it is indescribable and leaves me refreshed and, well; happy, healthy and whole.

So that's where I found myself a week or two ago when I re-read that 2014 survey because God had met EVERY. SINGLE. NEED. Not only did He meet them, He exceeded them, pushing every mediocre definition and idea of what I longed for and was working towards. At times it was as simple as giving up and giving it to God and at other times it was as painful as giving it to God. But it was so incredibly worth it because I got to understand and glimpse the character of the God I so desperately was seeking and pursuing and trusting.

For the most part, these months have been ones of relishing in the aforementioned glimpses and understandings, finally feeling like I was trusting God and getting to know Him on this visceral level. No longer did I feel shame or lose hope that I would never be that type of person who would experience God so candidly because I WAS FINALLY DOING IT DANG IT and I was so, so happy.

Last week was a little bit tougher. I began to doubt and worry that soon, my closeness with God would dissipate. I feared that I would, once again, become lackadaisical, lukewarm and drift away from my faith. That I would begin putting my identity and seeking my satisfaction elsewhere only to become disappointed in God, feeling forgotten or that my time had come and gone and that He had moved on and was fixing the next person. 

The little voice in the back of my head was back and it was bitter: "This won't last for long. This sweet place of retreat. This wholeness, happiness and healthiness your feeling will soon be gone, you always chase it away..."

I was so consumed and worried that I would screw this all up again that I forgot the God I was serving. 

"And I'll give them a heart to know me, God. They'll be My people and I'll be their God, for they'll have returned to me with all their heart." [Jeremiah 24:7]

As I was reading this verse two things stood out to me; one, that I was serving a God who was capable and willing to give me a heart to know Him. He desires me to know Him, He wants to be my God and I need only ask. Two, the word returned struck a chord. It further cemented the goodness and unchanging nature of the one I was RETURNING to. I was coming back to Him with all my heart because He never left.

He never left. He never left. HE NEVER LEFT.

Suddenly this verse wasn't one that summarized the past seven months, but it convicted me of the anxiety I was feeling for the coming ones. I was so wrapped up in MY fear of ME turning away and ME muddying it all up that I forgot the simple fact that it isn't about ME.

It's about God. He would give me all I needed, He was there, constant, unchanging, permanent. Just like He had been for the entire journey.

I was reminded of the word theodidaktoi which means to be taught by God. That word resonated with me to my core because it meant this: I needed to shift not only my focus (from me, to God), not only my heart (asking God to give me a heart to know Him), but I would only shift my heart and my focus if I was being taught by Him and listening to what He said in those moments. Not what my fear said, not what my worries said, not what my theology said, what HE was teaching me.

The past seven months had been ones of constant teaching, sometimes whispers and sometimes shouts, but teaching nonetheless and that was something I could rest in. He was teaching and while doing so, He was letting me be lavished by His love and grace and teaching, and I was resting my weary, anxious soul in His arms, surrendering my fears, inadequacies and hurts at His feet, putting my identity and all in all in Him alone.

I need not fear what's around the bend, whether I'm worried I'll fail and retreat from my faith or nervous that once again I'll get hit with the crippling tsunami like wave of anxiety I once drowned in, for my God is one who I can return to, He is one who will give me a heart to know Him in those moments, to experience Him and cling to Him. He is a God who teaches and I am the one who learns.

So scratch that, yes I am happy and healthy and whole and that's great, but I am those things because I am theodidaktoi, taught by God. 

approved.

I don't think it's a big secret that my biggest struggle has been to love myself completely. And not just the person I see in the mirror, but who that person is on the inside. I can vividly remember instances at even a young age feeling this huge weight upon me, at times it was unbearable and simply just THERE. Of course when you're 6 or 7 you don't know why you feel this, you don't know how to pinpoint this boiling emotion inside you, but it churns in your belly and courses through your brain and it's confusing and uncomfortable. As I grew I remember being able to identify what I was feeling like and giving them a name: Kelly was a disappointment, a failure, Kelly was someone who lacked stand up character and what not. I'll preface this by saying as far as kids went, I was pretty lovely. I did well in school, was kind to people, loving and spunky, so I'm not sure where I got the idea I was this awful person (for goodness sakes, my days were filled with piano lessons, basketball practices, books on books on books and homework!) but I constantly felt like I was never enough and I began hating myself. Not just the "hate" that we throw out there flippantly, but I truly hated myself and vehemently tried to change who I was, to no avail.

In retrospect, I think, from the beginning of time, I thrived on making others happy. As a preschool teacher I know that kids will do nice things just to hear you say the token words: "Wow! Thank you! You're great!" (and they will let you know how great they are if you don't catch them in the act, mind you.) I've also learned that we are all a bunch of adult sized 4 year olds in that regard, subconsciously floating around seeking the approval of those around us just to feel good about ourselves, our work and our general personhood. It's human nature to want the approval of those around us, especially those we love or work under; our parents, bosses, friends, boyfriends, teachers, husbands, children, etc. suddenly become those we desire to impress and receive approval from. I took it to a whole new level, I craved that approval constantly from everyone. It didn't extend to my small realm of people who were "important" to me, I wanted to please EVERYONE.

It was a perfect storm: my love language is words of affirmation (go figure!), I'm EXTREMELY empathetic, I can walk into a room, feel the vibe or the emotions and will in turn take those emotions on and try to process them as my own, I don't want to hurt or disappoint others and I'm human. Suddenly all these things were buzzing and fizzing inside me, colliding into one another and clomping around, this constant static of panicky urge to PLEASE ALL THE PEOPLE.

I was exhausted. I was angry. I was anxious. I was depressed. I began to withdraw. I journaled angst-y, angry, amplified teenage woes of how awful I was and how I could never make anyone like me. I would monitor EVERYONE and if I saw the slightest flicker of what I perceived or felt as disappointment or failure I collapsed into a puddle of tears and self hatred. Eventually I learned to reign it in, no one likes a weepy 16 year old (p.s. they called it "sensitive"), but I still hurt. I was heavy, lugging my weight of disapproval and lack of confidence everywhere I went. I put on the smiles and pulled out my jokes, but inside I was desperately pleading: "Please like me so that I can like myself."

At times, it was a dull roar. I would ignore it, paint over it, pretend it was "normal" or that it didn't exist altogether. At other times it would rear it's ugly head in a sudden obsession and desire to be wanted by all the wrong people. It was a toxic place and incredibly disheartening. I would think: "If only I could be a little bit better, this would all go away. If only this person would be happy with me, I'll be alright."

If you're reading this you're probably screaming: "GET IT TOGETHER!" But let me tell you, in the midst of a storm you can convince yourself that even the most blatantly unhealthy situations are "normal" or a "phase" or host of any other excuses to get you out of facing your fear head on. For me, that fear was that I would be unlikable.

A few months ago I was making my 35 minute commute to work, one in which I've devoted to time with God, I'll worship, pray, or wait quietly to hear from Him. This instance I was praying and asking (once again) for God to please allow me to accept myself and move past what others thought of me or were saying. I felt this gentle voice say: "What gives those words the power to define you?"

It was so soft. This gentle, loving nudge, yet it rocked my world. It was like every time my friends reminded me that my approval and identity was in Christ, that the gospel had changed me and that I was accepted as a daughter of Christ finally clicked.

A moment with God changed everything.

I remember audibly fumbling with my words, not because it was an "Ah ha!" moment but more of a: "Duh you idiot!" moment. At this point I was aware that the answer was simple: "Those words don't have power over me." But before I could defend myself, once again, God continued: "Your identity is in me. That messiness you feel, that you're not good enough, it's gone. It died on the cross. When I said: "It is finished!" I meant that you were finished with having to feel like you would never be approved. Your identity isn't in what they say about you, it's about what I say about you. I say that you're good enough. I say that you're forgiven. I say that I love you and I want you." At this point I was crying, not of shame (3 minutes prior that's why I would've cried), but because I felt this weight suddenly lifted, this freedom I had never felt before. As I was crying that gentle voice once again said, "So who's words do you want to give power to?"

That's the power of the gospel. That Jesus would carry my shame, my guilt, my sin, my desire to seek approval and in turn my feelings of failure, that He would feel that, embody it, take the punishment for it, carry the weight of it, die with it and take it to His grave. The same grave He was triumphant over. The same failure I feel, He was triumphant over.

That is what has power in my life.

Why would I give power to the words of those who are just as messy and hurting as me? Why would I give power to those who haven't triumphed death and sin? Why would I give power to the words of those who haven't accepted me, good, bad and ugly, with a perfect love?

I throw myself at the foot of the cross everyday, accepting the grace that says: "You are by nature messy and kind of awful, but I loved you enough to take that, bear it and crush it. You are free, you are a friend of mine, you are a child... You are accepted."

Those are the words I'll give power to. For they are the truest and purest words ever said.