Often times the way we view ourselves does not reflect the way others see us. Some people prefer it that way, to keep their cards closer to their chest. It’s easier to not expose our whole selves because it’s less of a heartache if trust gets broken. Some people choose to portray a false version of themselves out of fear of rejection of their true self. There are countless versions of ourselves we can offer to the world in an effort to make friends.

In the last few years, I’ve questioned if who I am was truly created for friends and for community. I know what the Bible has to say about it. I know what the mental health studies report. I understand the lie that’s at the root of my thinking. It doesn’t change the ache in my soul that I’ve battled for a significant part of my life.

Part of the wrestling for me is feeling like I consistently overshare myself with friends. What seems wholly authentic and true to me, I share. In the best of times, it draws out meaningful conversation that offers growth. In the disappointing moments, I’m received with silence without an explanation. In typical conversations, there is unbalanced vulnerability.

And if I can just release this frustration here: I am exhausted from hearing about how friends forgot to respond to me. It’s been such a pattern in my life, that I come to expect a 2-week turn around time from hearing back after I reach out. I’ve heard all of the reasoning as to why. I have grace for life that happens. I’ve been in my own darkest hours, I’ve been a new mom, I’ve moved multiple times, I’ve been a working mom with two kids and a husband that works incredibly hard at coaching. I can understand and empathize. But I believe you get around to what’s important to you. And I’ve gotten to a point where my spirit has felt so disheartened for so long that I am giving myself the grace to stop striving so hard to hold onto half-hearted friendships.

Ask me who my best friend is, and the answer will never change. My mom. Ask me who I feel gets me the most and my dad is the automatic response. There was a period of time where I felt like I was defective for this, that I’m supposed to have friends my age, in my own walk of life. But the truth is, I sense more wholeness in these friendships than I do anywhere else on earth. The beautiful thing I’ve also worked out being friends with my parents, the people that unconditionally love me, is that even they can’t fully satisfy my longing for friendship. But Jesus can.

And it’s in their friendship, of showing me that my longing for more is a heavenly thing, that I can lean into Jesus’s presence and trust it. Often times when I find myself writing, it’s because I’ve had a heartache of a week. That’s no less real now. The week has been challenging, exposing, raw, and messy. It’s also been full of opportunity to try again, to get out of my own way, for growth and redemption. I find myself longing for my promised eternity in heaven, without any of this. I’ve been trying to cut through the noise of my own thoughts and reflect on what Jesus is trying to say to me.

What I think he wants me to keep believing is that he is the truest friend. My truest friend. When I feel like I’m too much or never enough, he asks if he can steady my soul. When I want to pack up my feelings and never share them with another human ever again, he asks me to keep unfolding them before him. In my all of my unhealthy and unhelpful thoughts, he shows me what’s not from him. Jesus then replaces my stress with his truth.

Often times I believe the Lord shows me things through my three-year-old. Next to Griffin’s bedside one Sunday night was a crown he had made at church. I asked him to tell me about it, thinking we’d talk about the stickers that covered the rim. Instead he declared, “Jesus is the King! And, and the King is our friend!” I hope I never get over the fact that the King of the entire universe has declared himself my friend. On days when it can seem like I’m the kid that’s picked last for the team, Jesus has chosen me first.

I don’t want to write my life off as a constant disappointment, or that I’ll keep believing I’m the odd man out. That’s a lie from the enemy. But what I do want to proclaim is even if, and even when I don’t experience the reciprocity my heart fully longs for, it won’t rattle me. It won’t change the friend I choose to be to others. My identity won’t get tangled up in the amount of people I can call on when I need the encouragement. I believe Jesus will go before me and provide the community he calls me to be apart of if I put in the work. I’m grateful that I can trust him. I’m indebted to his grace.

The song below has been manna for this season of life. It has vindicated my downcast spirit on countless days and spun the message of truth in my heart that Jesus is the truest friend. Our truest friend.

Take care & take heart,

Names | Elevation Worship & Maverick City Music feat. Tiffany Hudson
[Verse 1]
You are the medicine
The only cure for everything I feel within
Redeeming what was lost and all that could have been
Oh, this is a healing kind of love

[Verse 2]
You are the truest friend
Staying through the night when I was at my end
Comforting my heart till it was light again
Oh, this is a faithful kind of love
Yes, it is

[Chorus]
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace
Immanuel, God with us, You're here with me
Wonderful Counselor
The government is resting on Your shoulders

[Verse 3]
You are the final word
You alone decide when every page will turn
So I will trust Your timing, I will rest secure
Oh, this is a steady kind of love
Oh-oh-oh-oh, You are

My account of the last year could easily be lost in the millions that could be told. There are books to be filled on the events that rocked the world in 2020 and beyond. I don’t claim to signify that my experience holds any weight by comparison to the year we can’t forget. What I do know is I was under a dark, dismal cloud for months that took more out of my soul than I should’ve allowed. It caused a restlessness inside of me that I couldn’t get under control and a defensive spirit to follow my every thought like a shadow. Until grace weaved its way into my story six months ago.

As I had hoped for the holidays to return us to normalcy, the world around me started to shut down again as case counts rose. Thanksgiving for my family was spent in an aunt’s garage with masks and heated blankets. Given the circumstances, it couldn’t have been sweeter, but I missed the familiarity of being with our immediate family. I longed for closeness with my friends that felt on days as if it would never come. And while not every day felt heavy, changing holiday plans was the catalyst for the deviating disappointments that created a negative narrative in my mind.

The recurring messages that slowly crept into my thoughts during the long winter months were that I was always somewhere between too much or never enough for people. That I had made decisions in my life that were actually mistakes and that’s how I got myself into each mess I found myself in. That I wasn’t worth getting to know or people that did get to know me would get tired of me, it’d only be a matter of time. That reciprocity didn’t exist in relationships. That I had lost my creativity, my value, and my significance and that’s why it seemed like I was failing in my parenting, my job, my marriage, my friendships – you name it, I had the reverse of a Midas touch on it.

Through the hard moments of clinging to my 11 month old in the emergency room with his blood staining my crewneck one Sunday morning, to going 12 days without hot water during the coldest temperatures of the winter, to nights when I went to bed wondering if I had what it took to be a bearable wife that stretched to anxious mornings of fearing I was the worst parent no matter what happened that day. I ran on little sleep and on most days, even smaller faith. Life reached an incredible low when I truly believed that I had nothing to look forward to because something was bound to go wrong no matter what I did.

In light of all of my wariness, the amazing thing I can’t get over is that I made it through every single day of those six months, solely on the grace of God. There were people and moments that carried me through what I felt were some of the darkest months of my entire life. He gave me favor with people during that time that provided the hope I was desperate for. Family traveled hours just to step into our chaotic world on all the right weekends. Meals were brought when I couldn’t think past the next 5 minutes, let alone what to make for dinner. Showers were provided for us when we didn’t have warm enough water. A friend would call me to give a pep talk or to make me laugh when she knew I needed the levity. A neighbor would help me finish shoveling the driveway. These minor moments then have major meaning to me now.

It took months for me to see that my circumstances didn’t stop Jesus from wading into my worry, my shame, my hurt, and all of my striving for control. It took several walks around the block and hours of tearful conversation one Wednesday night in April with my parents for me to recognize the gravity of what my thoughts had done to my life. All of my internal wrestling took on external despair in my world and I had finally collapsed under the weight of my own undoing. What the Holy Spirit started to impress on me was that I had let the enemy reign in my mind and he was vying to destroy my heart. For the first time since before I could even remember, breakthrough was happening at the core of who I was becoming.

From that weekend home and for the next several weeks, I began to experience redemption in relationships that had nothing to do with any of my own efforts. Gratitude came as easy as breathing. The amount of encouragement that came my way felt unwarranted. The thoughtfulness of people astounded me and uplifted me higher than I thought I could go. The best way I know how to describe the immense amount of joy I was experiencing was as if I was thirsty and was drinking from a fire hydrant of absolute grace. It was as if I couldn’t keep up trying to reciprocate the goodwill I was receiving. In quiet moments as I collected thoughts for myself on paper, it occurred to me that this was the closest I have ever experienced to wholeness in my entire life. This was the nearest I have ever been to feeling fully known and fully understood in all of my life, not just by people on earth, but by my Father in heaven.

As I realized this, emotion crashed over me because I was convinced that I would never experience what it felt to be whole on this side of heaven. I didn’t believe I was favored by God enough to feel fully seen for who I am, flaws and all and to believe I’m accepted during my lifetime. And for 3 weeks, he let me experience his fullness. His grace. His truth. I wasn’t sinless, but I was finding out what it meant to be made new. To have exposure to full on transformation and not just minor tweaking in my life. How amazing it was that he showed his character to me when I least expected it and certainly had not earned it.

Like I had expected, the elation that came easy eventually dwindled. In a matter of weeks, several of my dearest family members announced they would be moving across several states by summer, all in different directions. Both of my little boys started to act out more strongly than they had been. I fell behind with work again and found myself frustrated with communication gaps. The favor I had held with several friends faded. Things I tried to accomplish started to go sideways. And so quickly, I found myself wrapping my identity back up in all of the things I tried to hold so tightly together. On the outside, while I have been trying to control my image in the eyes of the small audience that watches my life unfold, I realize that all of my efforts are meaningless without inviting Jesus into my introspection.

Because the truth is, his desire for my life is to be whole. I just misunderstood wholeness for what it really is: Jesus’s grace working its way through my thoughts, actions, and identity to where I joyfully surrender the lie that life is up to me. When I live out of the grace of what the cross meant for my life, wholeness is possible. Unity with the Holy Spirit can be my reality and gratitude starts leaping off the pages of my story!

There’s no real way to summarize the work progress that I’m in, but what I can say is that I am listening on a deeper level when the Lord says to take every thought captive. I am singing with greater grit and conviction when the song says that I will be content in every circumstance because He’s always enough. I have a longing to fully know Jesus in the way I experienced him wholly knowing the intricacies of me.

Tomorrow when I wake up, I may have to fight the anxiety of not knowing if the world wants to know me. I may have to fight the lie that I’m a bad parent because my child keeps repeating the same behavior. I may have to grow character by applying myself to a task I don’t feel like doing.

The unknown will always be there. The dark days may threaten to steal my joy again. But like they say, doubt is easy. It’s the faith that takes effort. And I’ll be ready to put in my very best work.

Take care & take heart,

You’ll never lose by
digging deep, staying true, not giving up,
building character in the crucible of challenge, breathing in, hanging on, & becoming
more weighty below the surface
than you are impressive above it.

Louie Giglio

Have you ever thought about how you want to be remembered? What do you want your friends or your kids to think about when they think about you? It’s a giant question I’ve been asking myself lately.

It’s been a tough year. I’m not sure anyone could have planned for 2020 like this and it’s caused us all to wrestle with uncomfortable what-if questions. What if this doesn’t get improve? What if I get sick and don’t see improvement? What if this goes on for months and months? What if more of what I looked forward to this summer or this fall gets cancelled? The hardest part of this season is that every variable is unknown and we’re not in control.

And man, does it feel like Groundhog Day. I’ve lost count, but it certainly feels like I’ve lived the same day over dozens and dozens of times. We have one of those giant desk calendars I like to put on our fridge because of how big the squares are for each day of the week. I started the year thinking this would be great for fitting our schedules into, until we got to April and now May, and the days are still left blank. The size of each empty space seems to taunt me every time I wander for a snack (which, if we’re being honest is at 30-minute intervals at this point in quarantine).

Compelled to experience a different start to my day this past week, I went for a walk at 6:30 in the morning. 27 degrees is one way to really wake up, in case you’re wondering. But as I walked, I kept coming back to the question I didn’t want to answer. How do I want to be remembered? I’m not promised anything in this life and as painful as it is to reflect on my own mortality, it’s a true reality I’ll face someday. The sun began creeping up as I walked in silence to the sound of my own footsteps and empty thoughts. I couldn’t think of anything. Not one thing.

Until this idea came. “I want to be remembered for being patient.” I literally laughed out loud. What? That’s what came out of my heartfelt search for what mattered to me? I couldn’t think of a word that describes me less than the adjective patient. But as I kept walking and the sun continued to rise, it occurred to me that if this is really true, I am a long way off from modeling the life I want to be remembered for.

• 

If I were to carry a spirit of patience, a domino effect of other attributes would follow. A patient person stands close to humility. With a patient heart, over and over you see compassion, too. When patience is present, so is peace. I’m not sure how often people around me experience these characteristics being lived out of my every day interaction with them. In fact, as of lately, I know this hasn’t been true of me most of the time. Most of the time, I’m more concerned about what practicing patience will cost me.

Patience requires self-control, endurance, and equanimity which are three things that have always felt unachievable to me. Controlling my emotions and tempering my attitude has so often seemed like I was giving up my authentic self-expression. Pressing on in light of feeling misrepresented, misunderstood, or minimized by not trying to correct someone’s opinion of me is my biggest relational struggle.

When I’m not self-aware of this, I interrupt conversations to push my own opinion through before other ideas can override mine. I live life in absolute haste. I compete with the clock to get things done exactly the way I want things done. And worst of all, I don’t slow down enough to love on my people the way they need to be loved: intentionally and unhurried.

For me, living a life of patience, of gentleness — it costs me. It costs me to surrender my selfish plans. It requires me to take ownership of being wrong. I have to come to terms with the reality that feeling misunderstood doesn’t mean I’m not seen. If anything, I’m being given another opportunity to be refined.

Even now as I continue to wrestle with my pride, I realize I’ve been focused on the wrong side of the sacrifice. Jesus, in all of his patience and perfection, counted the cost for me. He added up my selfish, habitual behavior, my resistance, my conceit. He carried the weight of my unkept promises to try harder when all he wanted was the realness and rawness of my heart. Jesus knew every bit of what my vacillation would cost him. And yet, he allowed my flaws to hold him to the cross, to take his last breath. The price he paid for me took his very life.

But — in all his sovereignty, my mess wasn’t greater than his love for me. I’m not bigger than his mercy and I’m not above grace. So when I struggle with not wanting to suffer in my small, self-centered world, I have this hope: I have what it takes to be patient because Jesus is ever-patient with me. I have been extended the gentleness and endurance it requires to love beyond conditions. By spending my years trying to live out of this kind of steadfast perseverance, I hope what people ultimately remember when they think of me is this one thing:

Loving people so intentionally is worth the cost of surrending ourselves over to Jesus. He turns our feelings of hiddenness into the ultimate hiding place where we can truly know his peace and be his peace to those we are called to love.

Take care & take heart,