WARNING: This post has not been edited by anyone other than myself, it’s my stream of consciousness straight from the worn out pages of my journal and therefore there are surely improper comma usages and such, as is my default. I’ll tell you what, I could not live without a proper editor, but YOLO, am I right?!
I’ve done a lot of thinking today, wondering what Holy Saturday was like in the life of Jesus’ followers. I scoured the gospels and to my dismay, found nothing to be said of the in-between time that is this 24 hour period before Easter. I mean, I can’t help but think that surely if I were one of Jesus’ roadies that of all days this would be the one in which I’d be pounding out my thoughts into my journal. Maybe, like I often do, they felt like these words were too intimate, too fractured to be shared with the world. But come on guys, couldn’t you have given us something?
I am someone who firmly believes I hear God speak to me – sometimes it’s loud, ringing in my ears, while other times a soft whisper into my gut. It seems that every time I hear Him I am confident in that moment, certain it was Him – only to question my own sanity days, hours, sometimes minutes later. The following weeks or more often, months, I wait vacillating between extreme hope/excitement for what’s to come and utter confusion/frustration, as I question my faith and mental state.
Was that this what Saturday looked like for them? How did it feel for the people who’d walked right next to Jesus and yet still often doubted him in uncertainty?
I want to freaking know.
Continue reading “I Want to Freaking Know.”
Keep showing up to your life, I whisper in a borderline prayer, coaxing myself from the safe haven of my sheets.
There are mornings I don’t want to get out of bed. There are mornings when my anxiety feels like it will overtake me, mornings when it feels like hope is a lie and peace is a dreamy fairy tale only for the lucky few. There are mornings when it seems there’s no end in sight for the knots that threaten to twist my insides so tightly I am unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to whisper words of surrender to the God I long to believe hears me when I cry out to him.
As soon as the meal was finished, he insisted that the disciples get in the boat and go on ahead to the other side while he dismissed the people. With the crowd dispersed, he climbed the mountain so he could be by himself and pray. He stayed there alone, late into the night.
Meanwhile, the boat was far out to sea when the wind came up against them and they were battered by the waves. At about four o’clock in the morning, Jesus came toward them walking on the water. They were scared out of their wits. “A ghost!” they said, crying out in terror.
But Jesus was quick to comfort them. “Courage, it’s me. Don’t be afraid.” (The Message, Matthew 14:22-27)
Where are you, God? I cry aloud through tears. Why won’t you just heal me? Why won’t you fix this? Are you mad at me? I’m sorry. Are you listening? Hello? Do whatever you want with my life, use me…or don’t. I don’t care anymore, I just need you. I just need your peace. I can’t live like this for another day. Continue reading “Keep Showing Up to Your Life.”
I can’t do it alone.
This isn’t a fact that I prefer to readily admit, although I am certain at least 89% of you whispered “duh” under your breath…while perhaps the other 11% remain as disillusioned as me and think “sure you can!”
Well I can’t.
In the last several years working with different homeless people and populations one thing has screamed out to me on more than one occasion; life was meant to be lived with others and true change rarely comes through one solitary person.
Teamwork makes the dream work, y’all.
It’s for this reason alone that I’ve come to learn I don’t hate raising support for my new job on Younglife staff. I’d be lying if I said I love the work that goes into it (excel and I don’t get along all too well), but I am learning that I LOVE what it represents; that we all have a role in this effort to care for kids without homes and that it isn’t a one (wo)man job. Continue reading “I Can’t do it Alone.”
“Explain it to me; in those moments, that feeling, what is it? Is it more physical or mental?” he asked over dinner one night. “I’ve never experienced anxiety, it doesn’t make any sense to me.”
I was crushed.
This was my best friend I was talking to- if he didn’t get it, get me after all that I’ve allowed him to be privy to, than surely nobody else ever would.
“It’s both,” I replied. “Like somehow my brain might implode and explode at the same time. Like I’m about to climb the bare walls. Like I need to sprint seven miles without stopping in an attempt to exorcise what feels akin to poison in my veins- running through me, making it impossible to sit still…and yet I find myself unable to get out of bed because the tightening in my chest, coupled with nausea and fear are so bad I can’t move. It feels like I am crazy and will never recover.”
Continue reading “Do You Want to Get Well?”
The fact that you’re reading this means one thing: I’ve lost my battle.
What battle? …This battle:
“I will never, ever go on Young Life staff again.”
I cannot tell you how many times I’ve sworn those words. And not because I dislike Young Life. The truth is- I love it. It’s been a huge part of my adult life. But for the last 12 years I would have confidently report that God would never (ever) call me back on the payroll.
“Fine. The only way I’d even consider being on Young Life staff is if I could serve homeless kids- and while Young Life does really amazing things for teens, that’s not one of them.” Continue reading “I Surrender: THIS IS HAPPENING.”
February 20, 2014
(From a letter I wrote to a friend)
The last couple months- and specifically, the last couple of weeks- my heart has been very burdened for the poor and marginalized in a way that feels… different (for lack of a better word) than it has before. I have felt a monumental level of angst that’s led me to feel like there has to be something more than where I am now- which in itself feels weird…where am I more needed than Skid Row? This place is on fire. I mean, I have always been burdened in this way to some degree, but something in me is very unsettled. To clarify, I am not unhappy, rather I feel sort of comfortable…even in my discomfort feels comfortable…I’m not sure if that makes sense.
I don’t really know what this means, but I just keep hearing God say “I have more for you.” I feel sort of like He has given me a vision for the radical, but my eyes can’t seem to focus or see any further than just a combination of colors and shapes — no real clarity.
— Continue reading “Moving Forward.”