I’ve always had a physical response to stress. I remember hearing people argue when I was a kid and feeling my spine tighten, heart speed up, and shortening of my breath. I can remember the same thing happening when my teachers would do “popcorn” reading in the classroom. In fact, I can recall multiple occasions where I called home “sick” at lunch time because I feared being called on to read out loud. In Jr. high I would hyperventilate in stressful conditions; times when I couldn’t find my homework, times when I’d get in an argument with my parents, siblings, or friends, and especially when I would fail at something I expected myself to excel in. As I went through high school I experienced these overwhelming teary episodes in my room, alone, that would last for an hour or more when I was stressed or feeling inadequate. Eventually, in college I adopted these long, deep, sighs that have now carried into my adulthood. Somehow these sighs encompass all of the wear, the physical discomfort, and the weighty acknowledgement of my defects and failures.
Most people don't have a clue what do when they encounter an emotional child or even adult for that matter. I remember being told that I was “dramatic”, “hormonal”, and “too much to handle”. Though these descriptions may have seemed accurate to the person on the outside, they certainly didn’t hold truth to what was happening on the inside. You see, on the inside I was trying to make sense of all that was broken. I was desperately searching for answers as to why the world contained so much pain, sadness, and injustice. Why did my parents divorce? Why was I behind in learning to read? Why have I always felt like I’m on the outside or better yet, a member of the back-up team? Why did I struggle with loneliness when I grew up in a gigantic family? Why is there so much pain in my body? If God is just, loving, and merciful, how could all this brokenness be my reality?
The world loves to respond to these questions with cheeky clichés. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”. “The only disability in life is a bad attitude”. “Everything happens for a reason”. “Practice makes perfect”. “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try, again!”. “God won’t give you anything you can’t handle”. “Where there is a will there is a way”. ”Cheer up buckaroo” … And the list goes on! Sound familiar? Out of the goodwill of so many hearts have come these phrases in attempt to comfort and encourage others; myself included. And yet, when I sit with the integrity of these statements I feel angry. I feel hurt. I feel lied to. Practice has not made me perfect. My most diligent efforts have not made me successful in multiple cases of hardships. There have been moments where there was more on my plate than I could handle on my own. There are areas in my life where my strength has actually weakened! Over time I have tuned these phrases out and have disqualified them from my “words of encouragement” category.
I have been in a state of panic most of my life. I received the Holy Spirit when I was in 7th grade. Therefore, I started wrestling with the Spirit of God with these questions about 19 years ago. He was with me in the anxiety, pain, and fear. He held my worries without judgement. He provided pit stops along the way to process with safe people. He protected me when I was at my worst. He forgave me when I participated in the disfunction and chaos. He saw my heart and understood the complexity of it. His grace was abundant. It wasn’t a perfect journey, but it was the most raw and honest of journeys. Somewhere along the way I stopped trying to “fix” what was broken. I began to invite Jesus into what was broken. I stopped trying to get rid of my problems and have started seeking Jesus in the midst of them. (Mark 4)
After I had my first baby I was diagnosed with postpartum depressions. I began taking medication to help with the transition of being a new mama. That transition turned into a 3-year process. After I had my second baby I struggled again. I felt so much shame for not being in control of my emotions. All of what I had been feeling on the inside for so long was spilling out of me through these tiny little ducts on my face. (How can such a small part of the human body produce so much water?) I had an incredible nurse practitioner who payed attention to my symptoms and was committed to helping me figure out what was going on. Through various tests we discovered that I have Graves disease, myofascial syndrome, and eventually learned that I struggle with PMDD. All contributors to pain and anxiety. My initial response to these diagnosis’ was anger. Why me and how long had I been struggling without answers?
Enter Jesus.
Over the years I have sat with Jesus and processed these imperfections; these inconveniences. I have expressed my anger, grief, and sorrow around topics such as these. And over time I have allowed myself to experience the overwhelming love of the Father in these hard places. I have started asking God how He feels about me often. I have asked Him to teach me how to love myself; my very inadequate, imperfect self. It is out of that time with the Father that I am beginning to have compassion for my story and my struggles. It is out of that sacred space that any bit of contentment is birthed and it’s that relationship that allows me to walk alongside others. My life is not a story of failure and brokenness. It’s a story of God's grace and redemption. Your's is too.
A few weeks ago, I picked up my 5-year-old daughter from her ballet class. She was in tears because she could not do something in class. I think it had something to do with balancing on one foot. She was so upset with herself. I asked her what was wrong and with a burst of tears she said “well mom, I guess I’m just not going to be good at everything”. And just like that it was as if I was looking in the eyes of a younger version of myself. In that moment I had a choice. I could use a cliché’; “practice makes perfect”, OR I could sit with her in her story the way the Father has sat with me. I took a breath and I asked her the same questions I have heard God ask me. “When you couldn’t stand on one foot were you kind and patient with yourself?” She looked at me and said “No”. I then asked her “Sweetheart, what do you think would have happened if you were kind and patient with yourself when you’re not good at something?”. She thought for a moment and said “Well mom, I think I would have been happy for all my friends in my class who were good at doing it.”. I don’t know about you, but that right there is what I long for. A joy that comes even in our weaknesses and compassion for our sufferings. This right here is my story being redeemed folks. My daughter was able to see the BIGGER story within her own. When she extended herself grace her eyes were open to opportunities of celebration; her friends who "could do it".
God doesn’t “fix”, He redeems. He makes beauty from ashes. I invite you to pay attention to the fractured places in your story that God is in the process of redeeming. I guarantee there are places and I assure you that there is a joy that surpasses all understanding that accompanies grief in them.
"Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and the rivers in the desert" -Isaiah 43:19
"He who is seated on the throne said, "Behold, I am making all things new." -Rev. 21:5
