Thoughts on Life: A Year From the Big Three-O

 Yesterday I turned 29. Even typing that number seems strange. 29--one year away from thirty. In many ways I still feel like a kid. I can see myself carrying around that beaded yellow purse I got for a birthday present, or riding in the neighborhood on my purple and green big-wheel. I can still see in myself the timidness of a young girl who has always been afraid to try new things.

In other ways, I feel old, maybe even older than 29. I can see myself going grocery shopping for the family as a young girl with my older sister when my mom has recently been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. I can see myself as a six-year-old pouring a bottle of milk for a little sister as we hurry to get out of the door for church. I can see myself as a young woman on a walk with my mom, as her legs begin buckling beneath her. I try to hold her up, then am forced to leave her while I run home to get my car to take her home.

I can see the surprise and concern on my face as I learn for the first time that my dad had tried to take his life twice.

I can see the joy and hope, mixed with skepticism when he comes back from seven years of depression

I can see myself clinging to this Psalm:

When my father and my mother forsake me,

Then the Lord will take care of me (27:10,NKJV).

Much of my life has been hard, but I've also known rest and peace, laughter and joy. And the Lord has been unwaveringly faithful. He has been my Father always, but I've known him to be especially so in the times when my earthly father was miles away, even while being as close as the distance from the back door to the garage.

The Lord has used these experiences to chisel me, and at times it’s seemed there couldn’t be anything left to cut away, not because I thought I was perfect, but because I felt scraped raw. But there is always more to chisel. Always areas where change and growth are still needed

Part of that growth for me has been through the struggle to find where I "belong." At a time when most girls my age were concerned with boys and the latest fashions, I was planning meals for my family (my mom became legally blind and couldn't look through cook books) or singing to a little sister late into the night when she had an anxiety attack and couldn’t sleep. My experiences deepened me and helped me to learn empathy.

As a young adult I struggled with understanding how the girls who act like b-words, for lack of a better word, always seem to be liked, or at least to get attention.  I was called “sweet,” but it was sarcasm that won the day.  I was quiet and reflective, but it was the loud girls, even the ones who interrupted or talked over others who everyone seemed to want to be friends with. It was the ones who had the "look out for #1" and “I’m not taking crap from nobody” attitude who seemed to garner respect. 

There have been times I felt like I would scream if one more person called me “sweet.” Sweet people aren’t cool! Sweet people are seen as door mats! Sweet people aren’t “fun!” This of course isn't true, but was what I would think nonetheless. At times I’ve been tempted to compromise who I am in order to fit in, to be liked, but that’s never sat well with me. I never set out to be “sweet," but I am beginning to accept that it's OK to be seen this way, and people mean it as a good thing. It's my distorted perception of reality that has at times caused me to twist a good thing into something negative.

I had a sort of full-circle experience the other day. A girl at work told me, “I was thinking about you the other day. I’ve missed you.” I was taken aback a bit. And then it hit me. I’ve only ever been myself around her. I’ve taken an interest, perhaps I’ve even been seen as “sweet,” and it was me, not some other version of me that she missed.

The Lord wants to use me, with all of my experiences, all of my scars, all of the ways I’m wired to be me. And it’s the real me who will be able to minister to others where they are, because people want and need authenticity.

I never thought that I struggled much with the drive to get ahead. After all,I've always lived a fairly simple life and I’ve never been very competitive. But now I see that my desire to be liked, my envy of others who seemed to get all the attention when I was unnoticed while “doing the right thing” was not only on par with the attitude of wanting to get ahead, but was steeped in pride and judgment. Some people are more sarcastic than others, and this isn’t always wrong. Some people will naturally be the life of the party. I am neither inferior nor superior for not being these things. A lot of sin can hide behind a quiet personality. And every “sweet” person still struggles with his or her own set of demons and ugly thoughts. 

Jesus said, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." Does it really matter if others see me, so long as I can see God? And the other side of the coin is that, if I am the person He wants me to be-- *patient, kind, not envious or boastful, not arrogant or rude, not insisting on my own way, not irritable or resentful--then the people who matter will notice. I don't mean the people in high places; I mean the people who are broken and hurting and need a friend. If I am the kind of person who will draw such people, then I think I may be on the right track, for this will demonstrate that they must be drawn Jesus in me. Whether you're the life of the party, or more of a wallflower like me, you can be done with the terrible burden to be liked by all, and instead be noticed and trusted by those who matter. Each with our unique scars and stories, struggles and strengths--we all can become havens for the hurting. We all can love.

A year from thirty and I’m just now learning it’s good to simply be myself, surrendered in the hands of a good Father, who still wants to make me more like Jesus. 

Better late than never, right? =)

* from 1 Corinthians 13:4-5

Tell Me Your Story

Over the weekend, Geoff and I had the privilege of helping out with a discipleship retreat for junior high and high school kids in a town about an hour away. Well, I should rephrase that; Geoff was the speaker for the weekend and I mostly just tagged along. When we arrived at the church where the event was to take place, we spent some time getting to know the college students who would be leading groups of young people in the weekend's activities. Typical questions about majors and schools were asked, but then Geoff asked one student in particular, "What made you choose to major in---?" What followed was nothing less than a brief summary of how this young man came to know and follow Jesus Christ. I was encouraged and my curiosity was piqued. I wanted to know more.

I was in luck (if you'll allow me to use the word).

We were asked if we could give this young man a ride home, since we were from the same place, and on the drive home I got to ask him more about his story. He had been an "angry atheist." Someone invited him to eat free food served by a ministry on his college campus. Someone shared the Gospel with him, and then actually stuck around to help him grow in his faith. He got baptized. He changed his major to ministry and wants to go to seminary so he can help college students like himself know Jesus. And there he was, on this weekend retreat, helping high school kids learn to follow Jesus.

After dropping our new friend off, I told Geoff, "I love hearing stories like that." It thrills me to hear that thousands of years from when He walked the earth, people are still compelled by Jesus. It amazes me to hear how He completely and utterly changes lives. I know these things to be true, but there's something about hearing real-life stories like these that excites me. If I'm honest, sometimes I'm even a little surprised by them. Because it's so easy to pray for his kingdom to come while having so little faith that it actually will. And something else happens when I hear these testimonies. I realize that even though I may not have been doubting my faith, I still find myself saying, "Wow, this really is true." And I am moved to worship. My heart is stirred afresh with affection for the Messiah who still stops people dead in their tracks and says to them, "Follow me," and then affirms to them over and over again, "You are mine."

And I trace the fruit of this changed life all the way back to it's origin. To that person who invited, who shared truth, who gave time, who loved. To that community who embraced. And I pray, "Lord, make me like that. Let me be that person for someone else. Please let the stories continue."

And I wonder, have you shared your story lately? Please tell it to me. I need to hear it. Please tell someone else too. And I'll try to share mine, even though I'm tempted to think sometimes that it pales in comparison to other more "exciting" stories. You might be tempted to think this too. But the reality remains: no matter where you were on the spectrum of God-knowledge when you began to follow Jesus, He saved you. Like the song says, "Jesus sought me when a stranger, wandering from the fold of God. He to rescue me from danger interposed his precious blood." Even if you grew up knowing this to be true, you have a story to share of how it began to become more real to you, maybe even of the struggle to un-learn false perceptions of God or what it really means to seek first his kingdom, versus all the little ideologies and kingdoms of man. You have a story of a person or group of people who helped you, or challenged you, or inspired you. I know I do, "tame" though me story is. So, can we make this little pact together? Can we, together, endeavor to share our stories more freely? I wonder if sharing our stories is part of what Jesus had in mind when He said, "You are the salt of the earth," and "You are the light of the world." Maybe your story of what Jesus has done in your life will act like salt, helping to preserve and shore up the faith of a brother or sister. Maybe your story will be the light that helps to illumine someone's steps--pointing them to this Jesus who still lovingly interrupts lives and says, "Follow Me."

We give thanks to you, O God;
    we give thanks, for your name is near.
We recount your wondrous deeds.
  Psalm 75:1
(emphasis mine)