Letter Series: A letter to someone I used to know

Dear Friend,

I sit here on my couch. Spotify is playing my favorite play list, but somehow the annoying house fly is buzzing louder than my laptop speakers will play as it rams itself into the light bulb for the thousandth time. I'm not writing to you to tell you about the dumb fly though. I am writing for my heart. Maybe your heart too. Who knows.

I don't know where you are or what you are doing. I have lots of friends now. I love Missouri. I love my life. I am genuinely happy. I realized last night that I am a really good friend. That was a huge step of healing for me. I am a good friend. I have always been a good friend. I deserve good friends. I think you were a good friend. I know you tried. You were a good friend.

From time to time I think about you. I wonder how you are. I hope you are well. I think about you at random times- like when I am reading an article I think you would enjoy, or when I hear a quote that I know you would love. I think of you when I pull out my paints and begin to create beautiful things. I remember our art day. I remember the railroad tracks. I remember laughing till we cried. I remember crying until we laughed. I remember crying alone. I remember when you told me you heard from God covenant. I remember when you changed your mind. I remember when you heard it again. I remember the hard times. I remember the happy times.

Since that day earlier this year, I have fought to forgive. I have resisted forgiving. I have refused to forgive. I have tried to forgive. And I have fought it harder. But I forgive you. I forgive you. I don't forgive you for your benefit, because you will likely never read this or know. I forgive you for my benefit. Because it hurts more to fight than it does to let go. I think I will feel better if I keep holding on to the unforgiveness, but the truth is, I won't. You have moved on. You don't know where I am. My hurt and bitterness and anger don't affect you. They only affect me. Holding on to that hurt only hurts me more, and we both know that I have been hurt enough. I know who my Father is. I know who I am. I am a good friend. And I choose to forgive. I choose to let go. I forgive you.

If you ever read this, know that I still love you. I wish you well. I am not angry at you. You are free from any weight you may feel. Father is a really good Dad.

And I forgive you.

Love,
Joy

Joyous Suffering

Suffering. 
It's a word that you cannot say while smiling.
It's a word that leaves a bad taste in your mouth.
It's a word that you don't often here in America.
It's a word that you hear even less from Christians in America.
Suffering. 
It's what I have been studying lately.
Suffering. 
Is it a reality for New Covenant Believers?
Is it avoidable?
Is it a sign of righteousness?
Is it proof of humility?
Is it a Biblically sound doctrine?
Does it make you a better Christian?
Does it make you love Jesus more?
Is it worth it?

Who the heck knows?!
Because of all of this and some recent circumstances, I have began to tear apart the Word with the Holy Spirit, my Teacher.

I have shared bits and pieces with a couple good friends and have gotten varying opinions on the subject. Each friend's opinions have been encouraging, However, my friends are not the Holy Spirit. My friends are not perfect. My friends, as well versed and experienced as they may be cannot give me absolute truth on the subject. Only the Holy Spirit, the interpreter of the Word, can give me absolute truth. It doesn't matter how convincing someone's argument one way or another might be; if I am not certain that I have heard from the Lord on a matter and have made the truth my own, when things get rocky, I will sway and stumble.

I sit here tonight sorting through what I know to be true about God, life, His voice, my identity. And right smack dab in the middle of it all is this towering thing that seems to be unaffected by good effort or pleasant thoughts. This thing is the cause of much pain and struggle in my life.

Honestly, I was going to share all of the cool things that I have been discovering in the Word relating to this. All the fun Greek and Hebrew words and meanings that I love so much, along with all the cross references that I have gone back and forth, making this beautiful, complex web between. But at this moment, the only thing I feel pressing to say has nothing to do with all I have "learned" about suffering. It has nothing to do with answering any of the above questions. It has nothing to do with comparing "suffering" in the American Christian culture to the suffering (religious, political, and economical) I have observed all around the globe.

The only thing I feel pressed to say is this:

My "suffering", the hurt, ache, longing, situation, as it is, has led me to one thing... it is an experience I will never be able to have again after I die.
Once I am gone from this life, I will never feel the ache of pain or suffering ever again. I will not cry. I will not mourn, I will not be angry with God ever again.

Suffering is an experience we only get to have on this side of eternity as believers. 

I take courage and joy in that fact.

Not joy because there will be no more suffering (while that is something to be joyous about).
I take joy because this is an experience, a emotion, that the Father has created me to be able to experience here and now. Jesus felt it. God feels it. God suffers in deep emotional pain daily as He sees His children live their lives outside of Love.
God created me to be able to experience this deep emotion with Him. If He feels it, I want to feel it too.
I want to sit with the Father in the weeping room.
I want to tarry with Him in the hours of darkness, realizing that even in the darkest dark, He is the brightest light.

If He didn't think suffering was worth it, He wouldn't have created our hearts with the ability to feel this emotion.
There is a part of my suffering that the Father is glorying in. No, He is glorying in my suffering.
And I wear the crown of one who suffers well.

Wedding Bells and Beautiful Dreams

I am a blog reader, through and through. I can spend hours in the evenings just reading blogs written by people that I don't know from Adam. It's in these blogs that I am able to momentarily see into the vulnerable heart of the blogger, and in seeing their heart, I see into mine. 

I have read many blogs women have written over the past few years that sound kind of like this:

For years I clung to the idea that my life would follow the pretty timeline of events I had planned out in my mind. In middle school I dreamed of going to get my learner's permit the day I turned 15. In high school I dreamed of graduation and moving out of my parents' house to go away to college. When I was 19 I had it all planned out. I would be in a serious relationship by 23, married by 25, and I would have my first kid by 26. Then I woke up on my 25th birthday and realized that life hadn't gone the way I planned. All my dreams were shattered, and I sat on the floor in my room (in my parents' garage) and yelled at God. I told God how unfair He was and decided that if He didn't care enough about me to get me a husband while I waited on Him so patiently for all those years, then I would just take matters into my own hands and find a husband myself. 

Usually, these blogs end up having some kind of cool revelation and the woman realizes that God was waiting for her to surrender her dream of marriage over to Him the whole time. This usually comes about by her heart being shattered into a billion pieces and several bottles of wine and boxes of chocolate being downed to drown her emotions.

I decided tonight that 3 years from now, I don't want to be that woman. I don't want to wake up and realize that the dream I have been clinging to isn't going to happen in the timeline that I want it to, and end up shipwrecked on some island of loneliness and depression for 6-9 months before I wake up and realize that God writes the best love stories.
How do I practically ensure that doesn't happen?
I have no earthly idea.
But.
I think a place that I can start is to daily choose to let Him write my story.
Friends, you can't get much more single than I am right now. But friends, this is the perfect place to be to best let God write my story.
Will I be married at 25?
I don't know.
Will I ever get married?
Well, it's definitely a desire of my heart, and the Word says to delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart. I am trying my best to live life as a woman who delights herself in the Lord. So, yes, I think that one day I will marry.
But.
Even if I don't.
Even if I die as an old wrinkly, single cat lady... (And I don't like cats)
God. Is. Still. Good.
He is my beloved.
I will die the bride of Christ.
And that my friends is the best kind of bride to be.

Auctioneer's Platform... Part 2

I am just like her. I have been bought, but I don't know how to just be. Years of slavery have left me scrambling, doing, working, striving, pleasing. I feel disqualified when I mess up. I beat myself up and search for a way to be punished when I fail. Why? Because I don't understand the Grace of God. I don't get it. When I am doing well, I feel like God loves me and wants to use me. I feel like I have done something to earn His love, to earn His goodness. Because I think that I can earn his acceptance, when I fail I feel like I deserve harsh punishment. It's like one tiny mistake sends me plummeting down to the jagged rocks below where I have to somehow pick myself back up, clean myself off, get myself healed or fixed, and make the hike back up to the top of the mountain where God loves and accepts me.
I don't understand grace.
I know in my head that I can never do good enough to earn anything from Him. He freely gives it all. But it is still in the process of making its way to my heart.
I am realizing how filthy I am. I am completely and utterly filthy. There is nothing in me that deserves love or acceptance. Nothing. I am a ragamuffin. (Yes, I am reading Ragamuffin gospel right now...) 
I am so undeserving of any good thing. I am just a filthy, worthless, prostitute.
But.
His grace is sufficient.
His grace doesn't see my rags.
Grace clothes me in a beautiful gown.
His grace doesn't expect me to do.
Grace knows that Jesus already did for me.
His grace doesn't condemn me when I mess up.
Grace covers my ugly.
His grace doesn't let me fall and slam into the jagged rocks below.
Grace is there to catch me.


I am a dumb sheep.
I take off, full speed, and dive off the side of the cliff.
Even though I know the cliff is there. Something in me just can't resist. I must run to the edge, full speed.
Two things about grace for this little sheep.
1. Grace is calling me back away from the cliff's edge, but when I dive off, Grace is at the bottom to catch me. Grace puts me on His shoulders and carries me back up the mountain. (And then the process starts over... because I don't get it yet.)
2. As I dash for the cliff, Grace, the Good Shepherd, reaches out His staff and hooks it around my neck to pull me back in. Ouch. That staff hurts. I hate it. I kick and scream and fight. But that staff, though it is painful at times, is grace at work.

I don't understand yet that Jesus paid the price for me so that I don't have to pay it.
I don't understand yet that I can do nothing to be good enough for him... or anyone else for that matter.
I don't understand yet that His grace is sufficient for me.

But I will.
Oh, I will.


I am convinced of this, He who began the good work in me is faithful to carry it out to completion.
I am convinced that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separated me from the love of God in Christ Jesus my Lord.
I am convinced that He sees my ugly, and He loves me anyway.
I am convinced that He paid the price to set me free.
I am convinced that He set me free simply so that I could be free.

I don't have to perform for Him.

I don't get grace.

But I will.
Oh, I will.

Lessons in Grace

Jesus, where are you in this? I don't understand....
These are things I hear myself cry on a regular basis.
I trust that He's got it. I trust that He knows what is going on. I trust that everything that touches my life first passed through the sovereign hand of a very good Papa.
But sometimes, it hurts more than I ever expected it to.
Sometimes, I find my self kicking and screaming and fighting the only One who loves me fully.
Who am I to question the creator of the universe?
Who am I to ask Him to hold my broken heart?
I am so good at saying "When I don't understand, I will choose You." .... but it is MUCH easier said than done.
I never thought this would be so confusing. I never thought I would find myself here again.
Jesus, I know you are still teaching me to trust you enough to rest with you in the storm. I thought I got the lesson last time around. Apparently, I didn't.
Maybe I am not one to question Him, but I can ask Him questions.
Where are you in this?
What are you trying to teach me?
Will it feel this way forever?
What do You want to do?
Will you please hold my heart closer to you?

Jesus, you were acquainted with my suffering.
Acquainted...  Yada....
You yada my suffering.
You yada the things that pain my heart.
Yada.

You mean I'm not alone in this?
You get it?

I am so selfish.

I.
Am.
So.
Selfish.

Forgive me.
Please.

Show me grace.

Again.


I throw my little fit like a 2 year old.
I scream and cry and beat at the gate that you have lovingly locked for my protection.
I beat my head on the walls and kick my feet, hoping that if I scream loud enough you will decide to open the gate and let me run where I please.
I don't realize that those boundaries were placed for my good.
I don't realize that outside those borders, great danger awaits.
I blame you.
I kick you.
I beat your chest.
My snot and tears are wiped across your robe.

But you.

You lovingly hold me close.
You gently wipe my wounds.
You reach down an pick me up out of the dirt and you wrap me in your arms.
You let me scream.
You let me fight and swear and bargain and plead.
You hold me close as all my ugly spills out.
You wipe the dirt mixed with snot and tears from my face with your precious, white robe.

Who am I to deserve such grace?
Who am I to have Grace Himself stoop down and scribble in the sand?
Who am I to be told, "You are not condemned."
Who am I to be loved so deeply.

I am lovely, because you love me.
Even in my selfish naivety... Even in my pride.
I think I know.
I do not.

The boundaries I abhor so deeply, they are your grace.
The correction I fight so fiercely, it is your love.
The discipline that I curse you for, it is your mercy.
The storm that causes me to think you are killing me, it is you teaching me to rest.

When I don't understand, I choose you.
When I don't understand, I cling to you.
When I don't understand, I. Trust. You.


Give me grace to follow well.

Taking the Fall

I don’t want to write this blog post. I don’t want to be this real. I don’t want you to know what I am dealing with. I don't want to. Because I don't want to, I know I need to. So give me grace as you read this, friend. Cause I know I need grace. Desperately. 

The past several months have been filled with huge victories for me. I have experienced freedom and healing and life in a way that I had never known possible. I can't even begin to express to you how much freedom I have experienced. Deep parts of my heart have been exposed and Truth has won. Love has won. Love is winning. Truth is winning. 

But.

Somewhere along the journey...

I let pride take hold.
I decided that I could do it on my own.
I decided that I could say no to sin on my own.
I decided that I could say no to bad attitudes, bitterness, and fear on my own.

False.

I decided that I didn't have to be vulnerable with sisters in my life.
I decided that I didn't need to confess the little things...
After all, there was grace.

False again.

God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.

There is nothing humble about where I have been the past couple weeks.

Nothing.

Nothing graceful about it either.

I have been bitter, offended, offensive, rude, unlovely, pushed people away who were trying to love me. I have done everything I can to prove that I should be rejected. I have tried to convince people that I was doing well, when really I was struggling. I have tried to find healing in things that bring no healing. I have tried to find freedom in things that only wrap me in bondage.

I have kicked and screamed and fought and ran and threw a big tantrum just because I didn't want to let a sister in. I was angry that she cared enough to ask the hard questions.
I didn't think I was deserving of that.
It pissed me off that she is so young and so wise and loved so deeply.

Ouch. That one hurt to admit.

I could go on to tell how pride comes before the fall...
But the fall isn't as important as the getting back up.

What did I learn in the fall?

I desperately need sisters in my life who will be honest with me.
I desperately need sisters to help me keep myself in check.
I can't do life alone.
Even more.
I DESPERATELY need God's word and presence in my life.
I cannot say no to temptation without Him.
I cannot forgive others without Him.
I cannot be humble without Him.

Ultimately, I am accountable TO Jesus.
But.
I am accountable WITH sisters in my life.

I am so thankful that I have women who are willing to do life with me. I am so blessed.
I told someone that she was the thorn in my side to help keep me humble.
But she is so much more than that.
She is my saucy friend. She is my partner in antagonizing a mutual friend. She is my Friday hangout buddy.
She is my sister.
And I get to do life with her.

Jesus, You are the perfect example of one who is humble. You took on the body of a human. You took on the form of a servant. You took on my sin. You took on my filth. Because You love me. Because You wanted me. Give me grace to walk humbly with my God. Give me grace to follow Your example.