The Steadfast Heart

exulansis
n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land.

Copyright John Koenig; The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows
http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/post/96261999250/exulansis

My mind has a tendency to feel a lot like the Atlanta airport. You might laugh at my specificity with the Hartsfield-Jackson airport, but to say I picture St. Louis’s Lambert or Chicago’s Midway just wouldn’t be true. The Atlanta airport feels peaceful and yet chaotic all in the same breath for me, like there are so many emotions to feel and not enough time to press into each one as it is rightfully owed. There are what seems to be a miles worth of moving walkways on either side of their massive hallways that should be classified as tunnels instead that will get you from one end a terminal to the next in a matter of minutes.

Even now, I can hear the sound of luggage wheels skidding onto the carpet before rolling back onto the metal ramp and its conveyor in the space between each walkway. There’s a certain rhythmic feeling, a specific pace that needs to be kept to stay in the flow of busy travelers. Each concourse has their own decorative vibe, my favorite being the dimly-lit stretch where you have to be careful not to miss a step from staring straight up at the lights. I get so mesmerized by the textured ceiling of color and the ambience that feels subdued and aquamarine.

While there is exhaustive noise from the shuffling of feet and a buzzing spirit of hurriedness, all I hear is silence while I’m lost in my own line of thoughts.

Life to me feels like everyone is hustling onto the moving walkways and I’m wandering my way in the in-between. On my own time, I’m carefully choosing to take the stairs. Not so much to avoid the congested elevators, but because I’ve never carried the sense that there is room for me on them. I don’t assume that people would think to make room for me if I were to ask.

And so I take the stairs. I stick to the far right of the hallway and allow others to pass. Sometimes I hold onto the hope that if I spend enough time sifting through the complexity of my feelings and ideas, I’ll be able to articulate them authentically if I’m ever asked. Offering them freely rarely feels rewarding. Instead, sharing my thoughts tends to feel like an inconvenience. Wrong timing. Things happening in the background. Minds failing to focus.

What I find to be important or eccentric to contemplate scarcely has the same effect on others. So I find my thoughts drifting through the Atlanta airport. I excuse the people I want to share my reflections with most of all with the idea that doing so would make them miss their next flight. Sure, I could give them the 5 minute version, but to simplify from the 30 minutes it may take to express the small stirrings inside of me would seem disingenuous.

Timing really is everything. I have a tendency to have the layover time while everyone else needs to get to Gate C.

One of my favorite things to do is to daydream. I spend half of my thoughts having conversations with people I’ve never met and taking adventures I’d never plan in real life. That’s fun for me to imagine and to picture myself doing incredible things. I love to create things in my mind as an outlet to my own reality.

The only problem with this, is at some point, I have to resurface for air. Practically speaking, I have an incredibly challenging time separating realistic outcomes to my desired expectations. I can envision myself making waves and living life to fullest in the eyes of Instagram. I can spend hours daydreaming and never day-doing.

Day-doing is not as easy. Day-doing means that I can’t control all of the outcomes of my efforts because day-doing does not exist in the imagination. Maybe I’ve lost you here. Maybe you’re one of those incredible people that is incredibly goal-oriented and you go after whatever you set your sights on. Maybe you are totally satisfied with your life and are just along for a good time. Maybe you have created a twelve step program for yourself and how you’re going to get from where you are to where you want to be, and it’s all worked out perfectly for you.

If that’s you, I’d love to be the first to present you an award for all of your achievement. Consider this your trophy for nailing your goals and knowing exactly what you want out of life and being successful in all of your endeavors. You are very deserving of a big wooden plaque with your name on it and gold letter balloons to celebrate you, because that is a spectacular accomplishment on your behalf.

But maybe–maybe you’re like me. Maybe life wasn’t handed to you on a silver platter and the world has not been your oyster up to this point. Maybe you’re wondering about yourself and asking questions and needing validity in what you’re doing. If you’re like me, you have doubts. May I be so bold to call some of those doubts, fear?

When I was in college, I was so positive that my major was going to launch my career into all that I needed it to be. I majored in business and absolutely loved it for many reasons. Not only did I understand it in a general sense, but I enjoyed studying business. I loved that it was a transferrable degree that would never box me in the way a Bachelor’s in Underwater Basket Weaving would. I really relished in the status it gave me, being one of the few women in my male-dominated classes–and killing it with my Strategic Management presentations every Wednesday Spring semester.

Most importantly, my college major was going to skyrocket me in my small business endeavors. Post-grad, I abandoned the dream of opening up my own salon/boutique after feeling the burnout of the industry. Sometimes I wonder if it was truly burnout, or hard work disguised as adversity that I couldn’t handle. Regardless, when I was handed a fresh start in a new town, I feel like I failed.

Applying 31 places with a business degree and enough leadership experience to at least qualify me for an entry level position, only to either hear silence or rejection from all 31 places was tough at 23. I had daydreamed about climbing the corporate ladder in a short amount of time, leather tote in hand (briefcases aren’t as cute). I’d be revered as a thriving woman in the business world.

I pictured myself in the pencil skirts and cute H&M blazers calling the shots from behind my giant office desk. In my wild imagination, I even had an assistant who not only was honored to have my coffee order memorized as one of her duties, but was my friend who loved spending all of her time with me. Somewhere, I am confident that my mother is laughing at my creativity. This hallucination was of course, accompanied by my fat salary that provided amazing benefits and all of the vacation time I needed.

That’s not how that happened. The only thing that transferred with me into reality was the cute H&M blazer that is now hanging in my closet with grease stains from deep-fried chicken. Yep, I went on to make my alma mater ridiculously proud to know I used my degree at a fast food chicken chain in the dairy lands of the Midwest. Humbly, it was never my resumé that impressed anyone. It was my family connections to someone who knew someone from somewhere that got me the interview.

I’m not sure why I’m still not over not being good enough for those 31 other places I applied to. I guess it was never about being “good enough.”

It was about showing up to the place where God wanted to do his refining within me.

That place just so happened to sell chicken and pay an hourly rate. I’ve spent the last three years wrestling with my status and my purpose, that I’ve at times easily missed opportunities to honor God where I feel unseen. It’s when I spend too much time daydreaming that I don’t let God show me where I can be day-doing.

Better yet at times, my eyes are opened to the opportunities I have to grow my character, but it just doesn’t always seem exciting. If it’s not extraordinary or signifiant or special, I rule out that it could ever be meaningful. That’s what I really want out of life: to experience deep meaning. To do things that have meaning and to mean something to people.

I just think I’ve had it all backwards. Let me articulate better for you. I struggle with the mundane tasks at my job. I mean, I truly have felt like my personality slowly approaches the slaughter house every time I open my email. So often, I have seen my work as insignificant because my co-workers don’t appreciate me the way I think I deserve to be esteemed or my boss doesn’t divert the meeting to announce five ways Natalie is indispensable at this company. That’s truly ridiculous to expect. And even after I say that, I still would really love that to be reality because simply put, I am motivated by recognition.

But it’s not reality. That is a daydream. It is however, my opportune moment to begin day-doing. One of the best things to ever come across my Pinterest feed was a quote that said, “If you don’t like where you are, move. You are not a tree.” I laugh because it’s very true and practical guidance. But I’d like to add an additional thought.

What if we were to see our disappointment in our circumstances as an open invitation to celebrate all that God is doing behind the scenes of our efforts?

What if I woke up every day and encouraged at least one person in my workplace by sending a two-minute email, praising them or thanking them for something positive they’ve done (See Shawn Achor’s book The Happiness Advantage, where he writes these very words)?

What if, in doing the small things, what was ordinary turned into a joyful experience? I think I spend too much time focusing on how to get out of my present circumstances and not enough time choosing gratitude for what they’ve provided. Beyond that, I may never, ever know the ways in which my work encouraged other people around me. If I’m more motivated by being recognized for what I do, then I’ve lost. I’ve totally missed the mark. I’ve daydreamed about the wrong the wrong dream.

But if I can wake up to the fact that I was given meaning and significance before I ever took a breath on this earth, I can not only get over the fact that my resumé didn’t land me a high-level corporate job, but I can ultimately get over myself.

This morning I was in the car with Hunter and between the two of us, we have big dreams. And they are awesome ambitions, and I think God honors people that dream because I know God wants the best for our lives.

But if we define success by achieving our goals the exact way we plan, success will always be a moving target. Hunter and I thought life would look vastly different than it looks to us right now, and we’d be lying if we said we haven’t felt a heavy amount of disappointment in the last three years.

He turned to me as he was driving and asked, “What if all that you are learning right now in this season is the very thing that is going to be what you need for the next chapter? What if you miss it and you’ll never know what God has for you right now because you’re thinking too hard about how you’re going to get where you want to be?”

I’m nowhere near arriving at the person I want to be, but I am awake to the fact that just like the seven dwarves can whistle while they work, I can daydream while I do. And even the smallest tasks, the most minuscule gestures can build our character on our way to who we were meant to be.

Take care & take heart,
Natalie

“When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the rock that is higher than I.” Psalm 61:2

Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe people when they tell me that things will get better.  Life can’t promise us that it will—and I also know that often times Jesus allows us to go through things or experience the absolute depth of a situation for our good.  I was listening to a podcast this week and out of the entire forty-five-minute segment, I came away with one line from the speaker: “Looking out of the windshield of life, the things that God allows may not make any sense, but undoubtedly they do reflecting in the rear view mirror.”

I’ve been reminded in the last thirty-six hours that all of my best efforts to fully understand my circumstances in the moment simply cannot compare to God’s sovereignty.  My thirty-minute drive to work yesterday took close to fifty-minutes because of the snow.  I drove under the speed limit, with two hands on the wheel, giving plenty of space between vehicles the entire twenty-three-mile stretch.  At my very last turn, braking five-hundred feet in advance and taking one of the slowest turns of my life, my car lost it’s grip on the unsalted, slippery surface and my driver’s side wheel slammed parallel into the median curb as I tried to maintain control.  

My thought is that even with taking the turn with all of the slowest and cautionary efforts, the slight decline in the pavement coming off of the main road gave my car more speed than I intended.  Within seconds, I had thankfully arrived at my final destination and could park my car. When I got out to assess the damage, my jaw dropped because I couldn’t find anything wrong with my car looking straight on.  I knew that the only thing that had hit the curb was my tire, but I expected the impact to have external, if not internal damage.  

While the car didn’t have to suffer through any external damage aside from a scuff on my hub cap, I could tell instantly driving my car home that there were internal issues.  I thought I knew stress, but that was before I drove down the highway for home going fifty-five with my flashers on and my steering wheel alignment looking like it’d gotten jammed at two o’clock.  It was quite the nerve-wracking and humbling experience.

To make this long-story shorter, I was able to get my car into a repair shop this morning.  My heart sank when they couldn’t find my scheduled appointment information in their system—until I saw my name on their calendar as “7:00AM – Natalie Tripe.”  At least they attempted to be detail-oriented and personable on my first visit. 

Two hours alone in a car repair waiting room with crappy coffee and faux leather chairs from Sam’s Club resulted in absolutely nothing being fixed on my car, just a $140 diagnostic assessment being run.  After giving the go-ahead to get my car restored back to it’s original condition it was in when I woke up yesterday morning, I was told it’d be ready by 5:00PM. 

Panic mode set in when I realized I didn’t have anyone to pick me up from the shop or bring me back when my car was done.  Hunter has a basketball game tonight and I think it would be bad taste to be tardy. Standing with my pregnant belly rubbing up next to the receptionist’s desk under bright fluorescent lights all while trying to recover from sticker shock and figure out how I was going to get home was one of those “low-point” moments as an adult.  

And while Hunter and I had wisely budgeted for situations like this, it unfortunately doesn’t provide any extra comfort.  Even when you’re prepared, you’re never really prepared.  Sure, we’re financially prepared.  But emotionally I don’t think I’ll ever be prepared to not have anyone that can come pick me up from the car repair shop when I need them to.  I wasn’t prepared to call my boss this morning and tell him that sorry, I don’t have a car or anyone that can take me work today.  On a day where I’m spending a significant amount of money, I unfortunately won’t be able to work for a fraction of that repair bill today. 

It’s just me and Hunter. We do all that we can to be there for each other and to make life work when things like this happen, but I can’t help wishing that our support group extended a little past the two of us.  I miss the comforts of home, having parents nearby, a church home where we’re known by name and that actually feels like home, rather than a hotel that we check in and out of every Sunday.  There are a lot of days where I wonder if we made the right choice by coming to Wisconsin.

I should be earning a paycheck right now, but instead I’m here, writing this and trying not to feel guilty about bringing a little guy into the world’s smallest community of people. Baby Price, welcome to your new home– population: just your mom and dad.  And while I know that is way over-dramatic of a statement and he’ll be dearly loved by our family and get lots of visitors, our little world feels very small right now. I walk past our guest room every day wishing it was used more often or that our calendar looked a little fuller with social events.

But if I’m being incredibly real with you, sometimes experiencing so much silence this season has made me terrified to get invited to social events.  Or nervous to have people interested in us.  Quite the hypocritical comment, right?  What I’m trying to say is, I have stirred up this belief that maybe I’m not worth getting to know and so if or when I get invited to be apart of something, there are a few things that may occur.  

One, I could set incredible pressure on myself to perform, to hopefully connect with someone who would want to be my friend.  Friendship ain’t about any kind of performance so let’s try again.  Two, I legitimately may not be able to attend. Basketball season with my husband and the health of my baby boy are always going to come first because they will always be my constants.  I’m learning with pregnancy that it’s also really important to take care of yourself and this crazy lady can get real out of whack.  And third, I have a tendency to set unrealistic expectations on people. That is seriously a whole different issue for an entirely different post, but I’ll trust you can guess at what I mean. 

Before my panic mode could set in at Silver Lake Auto, the angel of a receptionist offered their complimentary concierge service to me so I could not only get home, but picked up so that I could come get my car.  I may have been the first person they had ever seen cry out of joy in the middle of their lobby after being told their bill was their entire two-week paycheck.  So no, my current season of life doesn’t feel or seem very ideal, but yes, God is providing for all of my needs as they occur. 

I wasn’t lying when I said it is hard for me to believe people when they say that things will get better, because I’m not sure what’s better than absolutely needing Jesus like the Israelites needed manna.  To be honest, there’s no place I’d rather be.  My dad has often said that he’d rather be alone with Jesus than in a crowded room without him.  My prayer as I wait for five o’clock to roll around is that I can continue to want the character building moments in this life more than I want the crowded room.  

What I love about God’s provision is that when we acknowledge him, he always provides for us. Just like the Israelites, I too have asked for manna to get me through the day.  There is an album that has been that for me during this season.  I won’t lie to you, I clicked on the link to this album because it said “The Belonging Co” and as someone who’s biggest desire is to always belong, this spoke to me.  The album title is called “All the Earth” and some of my favorites for moments like these have been: 

• Peace Be Still feat. Lauren Daigle
• Beautiful Story feat. Mia Fieldes
• You’re Not Finished Yet feat. Maggie Reed
• Hunger + Thirst feat. Henry Seeley

Many of you know how much I connect with Louie Giglio’s communication style.  He’s absolutely right when he proclaims that faithfulness always wins in the end.  It so does. Looking out of your windshield today, you may be a lot like me wondering what’s going on and why you.  The auto repair shop did legitimately tell me that my windshield wipers were streaky but I know spiritually they can easily get the exact same way.  Maybe today you need to be reminded not to quit.  Don’t stop fighting for integrity in your life.  

It’s so easy to let our minds get out of tune and believe that we are the victim in our less than ideal situations.  I tend to volunteer to be the victim because it’s been a role I’ve actually enjoyed playing. It’s easier to be the casualty from that situation than to choose to have character.  Character takes mental and spiritual sweat and sometimes I don’t want to have to re-do my make-up after, if you get what I’m saying. 

But if anybody can tell you that you put a stop to being the victim when you choose to let all that Jesus has done for you define you rather than all of your failed efforts at perfection, it’s me.  People of character respond to life’s adversities out of fortitude, steadfastness, and grit and not out of complacency, bitterness, or low self-worth. Faithfulness always wins in the end. 

Take care & take heart,

Natalie

Originally written January 2018