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.”
“Live a good story.”
I’ve heard that expression a lot the last few months. I’ve seen it posted on facebook and recently, I even saw it tagged on a billboard. (Told you the streets of L.A. are mean.)
The thing is, every time I see this trendy “Live a good story” catch-phrase, I can’t help but cringe a little bit. I’m afraid that in our efforts to live a good story it’s becoming really, really easy lose sight of living a life we love, for one that’s a great anecdote. And this ideology seems to fit snugly into the digital world in which we’re living- encouraging us to curate a good story for people- which is not at all the same as enjoying your life humbly and authentically…even if others aren’t gawking in admiration or worse, envy.
Oh, in case you missed it, I am talking about myself here. Guilty. As. Charged.
As a writer, occasional speaker, and advocate, this can get muddy and weird. Not to mention, hard to navigate- so much so that I often balk, whine, and want to quit altogether. I’m constantly trying to figure out what needs to be written, what stories need to be shared, and which of life’s moments should be safeguarded as sacred and personal. I’ve made a lot of mistakes.
Continue reading “Pardon Our Dust.”