just some thoughts...

into the depths

2012-02-07T09:25:00.000-08:00

I am tired.

I feel like I have been treading water, with just my head above water, hoping for my next breath to come.

With each breath I gasp for, I hope it will be enough to keep me sustained. As I tread, I pray my efforts are enough to manage the waves that rock me.

I just want to know this will all be okay. I want to know people don’t hate me, that people don’t think I stopped caring. I don’t want to feel like I split up my group of friends. I want to make it better. I want to make him heal. I don’t want to carry the weight of hurting someone and just leaving it there to haunt me anymore. I want people to know that I care, that I didn’t stop caring.

I do have a heart. I promise.

So I try. I continue to tread as I churn these thoughts in my head, hoping I’ll have enough in me to take the next breath. Hoping that at some point my efforts will be enough.

So I tread. Scared of the depths below me. Hoping God will rescue me from this place. Hoping that he’ll see me here on the verge of drowning. Hoping that he’ll see my body getting tired, hoping he’ll realize how great my fear is. Praying. Hoping.

But instead he doesn’t speak, he doesn’t move, he doesn’t remove me from this place.

And as all the remaining power is exerted from my body, I go under.

I begin my dissent to all the places I’d been fearing for so long.

I am angry at God. It is cold and dark below the surface. I asked him to rescue me and this is where I go: into the depths.

The weight of all that is above me is to great to overcome.

I am powerless. And in my lack of power, I am angry.

Why the hell does he want me to be in this place? Why can I not try to change people’s minds? Why can I not say everything I want to say to make TJ better? Why can’t I let people see that this has broken me? Why do I have to leave things unresolved like this? God, please just let me fight for my case.

But no, you take me here to this place of no power. To this cold and dark place. You take me here to show me I never had the power to make any of this better in the first place. You take me here to show me that my hands can’t heal. That my efforts don’t mend. That I can’t make people like me.

I’ve always lived like I have the power to make people happy. I think its my thing. I’ve never felt good at much of anything else, but one thing I’ve always felt capable of is pleasing people. Comforting people. Making people feel better. Hearing people. Believing in people. And in all that, I’ve always felt pretty liked. I’ve always felt like I can please.

I always thought that was a good thing, God.

But you brought me here to depths, where I am at the end of my power, to show me where I’m wrong. You take me here, to this point, so that I can finally see that my hands aren’t as powerful as yours. That I don’t have the power to heal, to mend or to make anyone happy.

I never did.

I’ve always lived under the weight of that, as if I were responsible for those I care about. And in that, somewhere along the way, I think I became proud. I became selfish. I felt like I did a pretty good job with people, God. And all of that always looked good.

So you let me go and make a mess, you allowed me to hurt people, you allowed me to feel the pain of that. And you left me unable to fix it.

But it is here in this darkness, in this defeat, that I truly know that you are God and I am not.

I’m sorry I tried to play your role.

I’d been living that way for so long, Lord. Believing I had that power to change all this. Believing I had a hand in all my circumstances.

You take me here to show me that Tj’s healing and happiness was never in my hands. It was sick that I believed it was. You ask me to stay here and trust, as I watch you take his heart into your own hands—the only hands that can heal it. The only hands that ever could.

You ask me to stay here in this place and not speak as I feel the judgement of others. You watch this break me, Lord. You let this take every last ounce of confidence I had in myself. You allow me to feel not liked.

You leave me alone in this place.

It is here that I begin to see just how sinful and how dark my heart really is. It is here that I see the weight of my sin, and just how powerless I am to make any of it better.

It is here that I see just how dirty I am, and how in need of you I am. In need of you to come do this thing in me, Lord. To come be the power that I always thought I’d had. To be that healer I’d always acted like I was. To be the pleaser that I’d always taken pride in being.

It is here, on this whole new level, that I see my need for you, God. Help me to trust you, God. The only thing I’m capable of is to trust. Sometimes I don’t even have that. So please do it for me right now God. Help me trust.

I don’t have anything else.

So thank you, God, for taking me to these deep and dark places. All the places I’d been so scared of for so long. These places that you’ve brought me to so that I can see the parts of myself I’d been running from for so long. The parts of me that have been needing you for so long.

And God, even though I know I say I’m thankful, I know there are parts of my heart that probably don’t mean that completely. But I know I want to mean it, so I ask that you would do something with that desire. Strip me of the rest of my selfishness if that’s what it takes for me to be fully grateful in this place.

And as far as your rescue goes, well maybe that began when my power ran out.

Maybe your rescue is found in the places I feared, in the dark depths of my heart. The places that are out of my reach, the places my efforts can’t bring me to.

A place only you know.

I guess its kind of like the ocean, the deeper you go the darker it gets. Going there is scary. Going there takes something from you. But it is there that more of God is found, it is there that His mysteries are revealed, in those places only he knows exist.

Please continue to take me into the depths, Lord, no matter how dark it gets, and no matter how hard I fight it. Take me there; I want to know more of you.

rest in the wreckage

2011-12-15T06:05:00.000-08:00

“God never hurries. There are no deadlines against which he must work. Only to know this is to quiet our spirits and relax our nerves.”

― A.W. Tozer

I don’t think I’ve ever really known how to rest.

I’ve always sought to mend whatever hurts and fix whatever looks broken. I’ve put band aids on lethal wounds and expected myself to be okay. I’ve built false hope for myself. I’ve allowed myself to believe the lie that life is about me, and that what happens to me is a result of something I have done, a decision I have made, or a wound I’ve failed to fix. That to find rest, I need to know the next step I’m taking, I need to know what to do and how to prepare myself for it.

Need to know, Need to be prepared: I think this is the cry of one who doesn’t trust her God.
I've never trusted You, God.

I’ve built a life upon the false foundation that I have something to do with what happens. Slowly I’ve believed it, and slowly I’ve let this foundation rise within me, as I labor to keep it from falling, tirelessly working, fixing, mending, hoping.

Hoping You would come save my work. That You would somehow enter into what I have started and add to what I’m doing, that You would create something beautiful. Something beautiful from a work that was never Yours.

Instead, You let it fall.

All I’ve fought to maintain begins its great dissent to the ground, and I still fight the whole way down, grasping for something to hold onto.

I didn’t believe you’d actually let it all crumble before me, Lord. You told me you would come. I have been waiting. And as I sit here in the shambles of what used to be, in the wreckage of the work I wanted You to finish, I hear you chiseling away every last false sense of hope I’d created in myself.
Could the pain be greater? Could my wounds be any more exposed?

I sit here in this mess, wanting a band-aid to suffice the pain. Wanting an answer amidst the confusion.

But as the smoke settles and my tired soul is hushed, though the pain is not put to ease, I hear you.

I hear you in the deep groaning of my soul. In that place I once worked so tirelessly to maintain, the places I tried so hard to fix. They cry out painfully, they groan.

Every patch I’d placed on my wounds are ripped away as I’m left open and exposed. But instead of crying for a remedy for the pain, my soul simply cries for you.
Cries for my God.
Cries for a true healing.

As I throw my hands up, in the frustration of my surrender, I cry for my creator to come create.

Here, in this place that I once called mine, in a life that was given only half-heartedly to you, Here I sit and wait for you, scared to move. Scared to move without you.

I wait for you. I want you. Never have I wanted you so badly, Lord.

This advent season is crazy. I get it Lord, I’m there. And as screwy as it may sound, I’m thankful for this place.

I am thankful you are bigger than my plans. Thankful that You don't trust the work of my hands. Thankful You allowed everything to crumble so that I could find You again.

Thankful that I don’t need a remedy for my pain, but You to be in it with me. Thankful that pain is such a vital part of your coming. No wonder its taken me so long to see you in this. I’ve been running from the first step of your coming: the pain of waiting on you.

But thank you that you don’t hurry. Thanks that you are above my deadlines and my wants and false needs for it to happen good and right in my sight.

Thanks that as painful as it is for you to watch, you let me hurt. You let my world crumble so that you can create room for your coming.

Thanks for the importance of the groaning, for without it I wouldn’t realize the depths of my need for you. I wouldn’t even know myself, I wouldn’t understand my pain. Thanks that you let me be in that, in that hard and painful place, to truly prepare my heart for your coming. Thanks for not rescuing me when I cry for it, I know that’s what would be easiest for you. I know you don’t enjoy the pain of your children. Thank you that your love goes past my pain, that it is bigger than my view of rest.

Thanks that my only true rest is found under the rubble I am buried, in the hands of a God gracious enough to save me from the pain of my labor. Thanks that I don’t have to know or be prepared. Thanks for removing that burden and the weight of all that work.

Thanks for not needing me, but still hearing me.

Thanks for making me trust you, knowing how much pain it would take to get there.

Thanks for not being found in an answer, a cure, or a plan. Thanks for not being rushed in this journey. Thanks for your patience with me as I’ve fought you over what I thought I needed and the place I kept trying reach in order to find rest.

Thanks that no amount of work of my hand will ever bring my soul true rest.

Thanks for letting me hurt, thanks for letting my world crumble, thanks for letting my soul still groan. I don't think you're ever found in the healing, but the pain it takes to get there. Healing is simply the result of You showing up in the pain.
Thanks for bringing me to this place, where I’m face down before you, with nothing left to offer, only sure of one thing.
You.
Sure that you’re the only good I have. Sure that I want to trust you. Sure rest doesn't exist apart from You.

Thanks for not giving me a cheap substitute for rest when that’s what I asked from You, thanks for the pain of the fall and the battle it took to get to this place of true, deep rest. The rest in the wreckage of me.

The Battle

2011-12-03T08:22:00.000-08:00

As I sit here wondering what I want to do with my day, thoughts of last night keep resurfacing in my mind.

I stood sideline and watched a hungry Powell football team fight for the state championship title.

Fighting for their town, their name, fighting for a dream.

I stood with a proud community of people, team of people, that were there fighting, too.

Fighting for them to know we were behind them, that we believed in them, and more than anything, that we loved them.

It was clear in the rollercoaster of emotion everyone in the crowd shared in the span of four quarters that it simply wasn’t just a game. It went deeper than that.

It was about a family of people believing in each other. It was about pride for their own. Love for their kids, caring for their friends.

It was a huge act and battle of love on every end. No matter what the role: the tireless passion of the head coach, the faint cheers of a grandmother, the tears a student… it was the body of the town as one—fighting together in love.

As the battle came to an end and the last valiant effort was put forth, I watched as all the emotion crashed down in one moment. It was the abrupt end of years of dreaming and pursuing, the end of a season, the end of a dream.

The fight was over.

But what won’t settle in my mind is what happened next.

I stood there in the midst of a heavy silence and saw the tears of the town upon the faces of its people.

I watched all the fighters drop to their knees in defeat, completely overcome.

It was like no one knew what was supposed to happen next. There was so much buildup for getting to this place that no one could see or know what would come after.

What could follow it?

As everyone was lost in the emotion of the moment, I watched Justin Bailey jump over the railing of the stands, and beg a cop to let him on the field. “ I need to tell a kid I love him” Justin said to the cop as he shook his head no.

Finally, after convincing the cop to let him go, I watched Justin run straight across the field .

Straight to dy’shawn mobley.

He was kneeling , head down, alone and lost in his own world. The weight of carrying such a role, of fighting for such a far-reached dream, had ended in the matter of seconds, and there he knelt, lost in it.

Justin ran to him. Not to give him a pat on the back or a “great season, man”, but he ran to him and fell on his knees before him. He got on his level, as low as his head hung, and took dy’shawn’s face in his hands and looked him in the eyes.

As dyshawn’s sweat and tears covered justin’s hands, he lifted his head, he looked him in the eye and said “I love you, and I don’t care about the score on that score board.”

Damn. I saw so much in that moment.

Justin saw the moment, saw the need, felt the weight of his emotion. Not only did he see it, he entered into it. He didn’t run to him with anything in mind but to let him know that he was there, and that he loved him. That he was with him in it.

He ran to Dy’shawn so he would know He was not alone. He ran to Dy’shawn still in fight mode. Fighting for him to know that was loved.

A lot of things made sense to me as I watched the moment unfold. “This is what its about,” I thought, as I watched the heavy exchange of love.

At first I thought, “this is was younglife is.” Not a ministry that only reaches the hearts of those wanting to listen, or speaking down on ones who “aren’t there yet”, or waiting for the perfect oppurtunity to "say the right thing."

A ministry that goes beyond the religious lingo, and breaks the mold of what it looks like to live like Jesus.

It went outside of comfort, ran beyond attempts for them to “get it”, but was simply a great act of love.

An act of stepping into someone else’s world with no intention other that to say “I love you”.

And once I thought about it more, i realized that that wasn't just “ what its about” for younglife, it was what it means to follow Christ.
I was looking at the life of Jesus in that moment.

Jesus’ life was a battle. It was a battle the second he entered into a world of people that were completely lost in it. A battle to fight for the lost to know they were believed in, for the lonely to know they weren’t alone. His life was a sprint to us, in our darkest hour, to enter into our brokenness so he could look us in the eye and in blood, sweat and tears, simply say “I love you. And I don’t care about the scoreboard.”

His life was a battle of love that wasn’t dependent upon the words he spoke, but the strides he took to express it.

It was simply him being there, willing to take it on, enter into it, and ultimately end the battle for us.

So Justin Bailey, I just want to say thank you. Thanks for the God I see in you.

Thanks that I saw him running to meet me in my brokenness as you ran to meet Dy’shawn on the field. Thanks that I saw the cross last night.

I am forever grateful for the life of you and your wife.

When you come.

2011-11-29T08:42:00.000-08:00

Lord,
I'm just one girl. In one cubicle. On one of six floors in one library. In one school of many. In one state, one country, one continent, one world.
On a cold winter day that doesn't hold enough hours, however stark they may be, for me to do all the things I have to do today.
I don't have time God.
I don't have time to be still, to listen, to hear from you...
But that is when you come.
When i'm mad that i'm having to do math problems for journalism. Scared that i'm about to bomb this freaking presentation. Wishing I had time to think, or cry, or "spend time" looking for you.
You come. In the middle of all my shit. However important, or unimportant it may be.
You come when I don't expect you to.
You break the silence, break through blockage I have my heart hidden beneath.
You find me here. In this place.
Not because I expect it, or looked for it or tried to make it happen.
You come because you are God, and you don't need me or my time for you to be you.
You come because I needed you today. In this moment, in this cubicle, in this mess.

You stopped me, pulled my face into your hands, looked me in the eyes and said "I love you".
For a moment it was just me and You.

That was all I needed today. Thanks for knowing what I need.
Thanks for coming in the small, mundane, don't-have-enough-time moments to remind me that you're here. That you haven't left.
To remind me that you're God, and that i'm not.
Thanks that a God like you would get on my level, that you would come so much lower that you are, just to say I love you to me today.

I guess kind of how Jesus entered the world.
On a cold night no one expected. When there really wasn't time. When no one really thought it would happen. In a way, In a place that wasn't expected.
You came to say "I love you".

Thanks for breaking the silence, breaking the barrier of time, of our wants for it to happen right and good.
Thanks for being bigger than all of that.

I love you, too God.
I hope you feel loved when you look at my life, and in the places that you don't, please come and break the the silence there too.

tearin' up my heart

2011-11-26T22:02:00.000-08:00

I was standing in target’s one and a half hour line at one AM, half pissed that I was awake, and half pissed that i was awake and standing in a line. I don’t know why black Friday shopping sounded appealing this year, never had it in the past, and never will it happen again. However, as I was standing there scanning the store, only looking for something else to hate about black Friday and dreaming of what it would be like to be in bed, my eyes stumbled upon something that may have made the chaotic, tiresome night worth it: five dollar Nsync AND backstreet boy cd’s. What a treasure. I don’t know if I would ever do that night again, but now that it’s over and I have the CD’s, I’m glad the night happened.

I got in my car that morning to make the drive from Clarksville to chattanooga, still a little bitter I only slept an hour, when I remembered the two treasures I had smothered under a target bag in my passenger seat. My mood immediately changed.

The second I heard Justin Timberlake’s voice, I became a boy band obsessed second grader again. I remembered why I was so in love with him as I sang to the top of my lungs.

This may have been a result of sleep deprivation, or perhaps it was something divinely sent, but in the midst of my reminiscing, I felt like you were there Elena, and there was a lot I wanted to say to you. My eyes filled with tears as I flipped through the songs, wishing I could be at your house, eating popcorn we’d drenched in butter watching our 5,000^th Nsync concert on Nickelodeon, talking about whatever 2^nd graders talked about.

I wanted to tell you that life is hard right now. That things are confusing and muddled. I wanted you to know I feel like I’m being torn in 400 different directions, and in middle of all of it, all I want to do is be a kid again. I want my biggest worry to be getting to your house in time to catch the Kid’s Choice awards.
I want my parents to live in the same house forever.
And I want my only conflict to be the girl at school that thought that backstreet boys were better than nsync.

She really needed help.

I wanted you to still be here, to talk about how much getting older sucks. I think you would get it. I think you would agree.

But as I was thinking about how much I really hate seeing the doors of my past close behind me as I step into adulthood, I thought about how quickly that happened for you. It all happened too fast, and too abruptly. I know this isn’t a smooth transition, but how it happened for you just seemed a little unfair.

I got angry with myself that I could be so distraught over the whole growing up process knowing that you wouldn’t even get to experience it. I wish I knew some of your dreams so that I could try to keep them alive for you.

In all the emotion, the anger and the sadness, I felt like I was getting it all wrong.

I don’t think you’d want me to be mourning you still.

I don’t think you’d want me to be mourning all those memories.

I don’t think you would want me to be so upset about change.
And that maybe change is the beginning of something else great. Perhaps something even greater.
I think you'd tell me not to fear the unknown, but to embrace it. To let myself be in it.

I think you would have told me to enjoy what I have now, and also to continue to enjoy what I had...

I think you’d tell me that nothing ever dies. That everything stays alive in you if you let it. That getting caught up in all the change that is taking place in this process keeps me from even really being in my present.

I think you’d tell me I haven’t even been living lately. I haven’t even really “been” in anything, I’ve just been running from everything, trying to avoid the change.

I think you’d tell me to move forward, to always keep my past, but not mourn its passing.

I think you’d tell me life is simply too short to mourn.

I had a sense of peace toward the end of those 150 miles. It was like something told me that I need to enjoy this process. That I may not know what the hell is going on, or what is going to happen, but that it really is going to be okay. Actually, that it’s going to be great.
I don't think great things only happen once in life. I don't think my life and childhood in Cleveland is the only stage of life that i'm going to love.

I don’t think I was so concerned about finding happiness when I was ten. I just let it happen.

I think God has been trying to tell me that in every way possible lately. Even in the form of a backstreet boys CD.

I think I’m missing everything that is happening right now because I’m too busy mourning the “end” of my childhood and worrying about missing what I’m supposed to do with my future. I’ve only been coming to God wanting the answers to all the questions I have about my future.

But I don’t think God wrote my story for me to spend a lifetime trying to figure it out. I think He wants me to simply read it page by page, loving how it began, and excited for where it’s going. I think He’d want me to fall more in love with Him with each word he writes to progress my story. With faith enough to know the pen is in his hands and was never intended to be in mine.
Thank God it's not my story, but His.

So Elena, I want to tell you thanks. For changing my life through the love of your friendship, and for the realization God used your life to show me today. I also want you to know Justin Timberlake will always be my one and only first love, and that Nsync will always trump backstreet boys.

I want you to know the memories I have with you will never die.

Some things will never change. There will always be a part of my heart that stays a child.

But whatever change does have to take place, I’m going to try to actually let it happen, with fists unclenched, open to whatever the next page of my story entails.