the numbing effect.

I prefer to keep my Facebook page mostly positive and uplifting. Though I talk about my emotions and how I feel, I get down to the nitty-gritty right here.

And that's where I am, in this moment, as I write. 

This past month, I have felt an immense wave of sadness and emptiness. This past week, I finally cried the angry, frustrated, bitter, confused tears I've forced back for almost a year. I sat in my floor, and I let my coordinated eye makeup smear down my cheeks. I've seen hopes and almosts and aspirations crumble. The word "No" has felt like a perpetual mantra. I've felt let down, and honestly felt like God has waved something in front of my face just to snatch it away. And I know, deep down, that God's character is not like that. But I'm just being real, and if I'm being real, that's how it has felt. There have been pockets of joy and bliss, and for that, I am grateful. Words of affirmation are my love language, and I am surrounded by a beautiful community of people. But, nonetheless, I have felt physically and mentally overwhelmed by a deep feeling of sadness and shame. It's not healthy either. It affects multiple parts of my life. When these feelings occur, my numbing tool is withdrawing myself, and staying busy. And this week, God convicted me of just that. 

Busyness. It's my coping mechanism; my go to when my own thoughts and life become too enormous and too daunting. In my denial, I tell myself that I am just getting coffee or just taking a therapeutic drive or that I've worked hard and deserve this or that the music is just giving me fuel and inspiration. But the harsh reality is that these otherwise simple, pure things are made a drug by my abuse of them. It's my escape. And there are consequences. My car's gas light flicks to that horrific, orange color. My spending account suddenly has a cringe worthy dent; and I can tell you now that 99% of that money wasn't spent wisely, thoughtfully, thinking ahead to the future. I drown out my mind in music. I tap the volume button until all other noise is blocked out; even that of my own mind. I go from one place to another - it doesn't matter if it's a coffee shop or the gym or driving aimlessly around, hoping I'll have some "Eureka!" moment - as long as I am doing something, the deep pain and emptiness I feel is soothed. 

"If I stay busy, I don’t have to feel those things.

I don’t have to worry about them, don’t have to let them blossom in to full-fledged questions. I don’t have to sit and think about that thing someone said about me recently when they didn’t know I was there, something I can’t get out of my mind. And so I run away from it, and from everything, faster, faster, faster." (Read more here)

And then, the time comes to go home. I am exhausted. My energy now feels like adrenal fatigue. I want to cry. I walk into my bedroom, and I have no choice but to face my own thoughts. I mistakenly glance into the mirror, and am at war, once again, with the body and face I have tried declaring peace with again and again and again. I sit down on my cold floor. I sigh a deep sigh, and contemplate all of the expectations I had for the week, and the brutal reality that became of them. It hurts. It sometimes makes me wish I could curl up and die. I feel like a failure. I feel empty. 

And so, the pattern continues. There is this song called "Habits" that I have always had a strange connection to. Obviously I don't smoke weed and "watch freaky people" in clubs, but the gist of the song? I get it. As much as it can be played on pop culture radio, the lyrics intrigue me every time. One lyric, in particular, sticks out to me: "Can't go home alone again; need someone to numb the pain."

It makes sense. Once all of the fun is over, what is going to numb the gut wrenching feelings? What is left? How do I cope?

"The busy-ness is a drug to keep me numb, and a defense to keep me safe.

And it works. But numb and safe aren’t key words for the life I want to live. I want so much more than numb and safe. And when I pursue numb and safe, what I get is busy, and after that what I get is exhausted, and after that, fragile and weepy and quick to snap and fearful.
So much for numb and safe, which aren’t even something to aspire to anyway." (Read more here)
God has convicted me of not just the things in which I use as numbing, coping mechanisms - but also the fact that I put more power and faith in those things, rather than in him. We've had some interesting time together. My prayers have been a lot of, "God, you feel arbitrary" and "God, sometimes it feels like I am praying to air" and "God, I just want a clear answer." Some have been desperate. Some have been selfish. Some have been a little absurd. Some have involved choice words. You know what, though? Every time, I am reminded that he is my shepherd. Yahweh Rohi. Even if I, in my stubbornness, question his goodness and his character, I am reminded that he is my protector. He is my guide. He is on my team. When I try to run and hide from my own thoughts - when busyness becomes a drug to keep me numb, and a defense to keep me safe - and the outcomes of my life, He is my shepherd. He warms my chilled bones. He fills my emptiness with life. 
He reminds me that the materialism and the chaos that I choose to cope with only gratify for so long. He reminds me that numbness is not a natural state of being. It's not how we, as humans, are intended to function. We were created to empathize, not become desensitized to our feelings and surroundings. 

It's hard; I know. But we've got this. Just as heat has the power to bring feeling back to cold fingers; our Creator has the power to awaken a lamenting soul. 


waiting on the groom.

(Photo courtesy of the wonderful Megan Travis Photography)

   Last weekend, I got to play dress-up and be a “fake bride” (as I like to call it;)) for a stylized shoot with 3 amazingly talented photographers. Passersby congratulated me, stopped and watched, and asked if it was my “big day”. We laughed, because although we DID end up just playing along with it, it was obviously NOT my wedding day. In fact, there was no groom to even be found! When I look at the image above, I see a bride waiting attentively to walk through the doors to meet her groom. What the bride’s story is, I don’t know. Who the groom is and what he looks like, I don’t know either. But that attentively waiting bride, and the unknown, “invisible” groom are very metaphoric to me. They remind me of how sometimes, all we can do is wait. Sometimes, our response to prayer, our response to honoring the Lord, our ANSWER, is to be still in Him. I am notorious for having the mindset of, “God, I need this NOW." What can I say? I'm a "go getter". I always tell people that I can be patient with others, but find it difficult to be patient with myself. Being still has never been in my nature. Even as a child, I was always restless; always doing something. But even in my constant days of chaos, craziness, restlessness, and feeling like I need all of my dreams and aspirations, accomplishments, and answers to lifelong prayers to come forth in the NOW, I realize that sometimes...sometimes, we are supposed to wait.

 On Sunday, I had long run day. If you've ever trained for a marathon, you've probably had a schedule with short runs throughout the week, and the (sometimes dreaded;)) long run on the weekend. Well, that was me, trying to pound it all out in an hour. So, I decided to combine some sprints to get done faster. The result? I not only ran to the bathroom dry heaving, but my body completely maxed out. My friend working at the gym shook her head and told me, “Don’t go at your max to try and finish faster when you’re training for a marathon. Pick a steady pace, and stick with that.”

 I find that this is how humans function, more times than not.

 Rather than patiently enduring the way our lives unfold, patiently waiting for that “groom”, we rush. We take short cuts in haste, but oh, we max out. Rather than finding peace, we find ourselves tangled in a frazzled, anxious, and sometimes confused mindset. The bride doesn’t breathlessly sprint down the aisle to her groom. No. She prepares herself. She takes a deep breath. She strolls gracefully and eagerly, taking her time to reach him. What if we practiced the same thing? What if we allowed ourselves to be still for a little while, and simply wait, making room for God to work in our stillness? Two friends and I have been studying Exodus, and last week, I underlined and made a sloppy, scribbled note of THIS, in 14:14:

"The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent." 

Obviously Moses was speaking to the Israelites, but these are words that we, even in this millennium, should still cling tightly to. To me, it serves as a reminder that my flesh can only do so much. It reminds me that as much as I beg and plead for things to come in the present, and no matter how much I mentally kick and scream and humanly try and make things attainable...sometimes my response is to be silent, be still, patiently wait for that groom, whatever it might be, and ready my heart for the Lord.

“Like a bride waiting for her groom; we'll be a church ready for You. Every heart longing for our King, We sing, ‘Even so come; Lord Jesus come.’”


taking the train alone

"Will this really be our last Summer together?"
"If I go to California next year, it will be!"

We sat on a hill, feet bare, mosquitoes biting, and watching the sunset while binging on a Little Caesar's pizza, Milano cookies, and Simply Lemonade. It was one of those impromptu evenings that turned into one of the most memorable ones of my life. That was a year ago. The future seemed so far away. We talked about our futures so lightheartedly, as if just a dream, or dare I say - possibly an illusion.

But now, here we are. The present. The futures we lightheartedly talked about are here. Time has passed, and it's time to move on.

In just 2 days, I will fly alone to California. I will pack my dreams, hopes, and aspirations, and take them with me. I am excited and joyful and anticipating the adventures to come. It has been evident that the West Coast is what my hungry soul needs, but you know what? Even with the excitement and adventure, things are bittersweet. I've cried all week. I thought I was hip and cool and emotionally stable until this week came. Nostalgia has hit harder than ever before, and let's be honest - Good-byes SUCK. They suck more than anything. I told myself over and over again that I needed to just toughen up, be adventurous, and not let any "Good-Bye" get the best of my emotions. Boy, my mindset didn't know what it was in for. At church this morning, everything started sinking in. With every hug, good wishes, and commitment to pray for me, I realized, "This is actually happening. I'm leaving." One friend and I hung out one last time over yoga and then Zaxby's. Another stopped by this evening to see me one last time. We laughed and acted like our normal selves until she drove away. With both, my heart dropped and I was an emotional mess. Saying "Good-Bye" and "Good luck" and "I'll see you...well....I'm not sure when, but I'll see you!" sucks. It's hard. Even if I have a return date for September, we are all going our separate ways, separate places, and beginning lives as adults, and that can be a hard pill to swallow.

It's a strange reality. My time here will close, and new chapters will begin in a place far, far away. Loved ones will continue on without me, continuing the stories of their own. Things will seem funny at first, because a puzzle isn't complete when a piece is missing. A new normal will come for us though. They will soon adapt to the new way of life. The dinner table will be a party of 2. I won't answer the door to chat when a friend knocks. I will no longer fill the usual table at the coffee shop, bike at the gym, or even my bed at night. I will begin a new journey. It sounds bitter, but it really is just another part of life. The bitterness is only temporary. Just as seasons transition, so do we. The coldness of Winter stings at first, but before we know it, building fires and wearing coats becomes a new normal. Growing up is no different. It's a season of life that is difficult and bittersweet to settle into, but the blood will dry, and our own normal will come. That isn't to say that loved ones will separate from our lives and that we won't still long to see them, but rather, we will learn a new way of living without the routine that we were once used to. In 2 days, I will breathe in West Coast air. I will do life with new sisters. I will take the train alone.

"Taking the train alone" is sort of a metaphorical phrase I go by. Having someone go through things with us is like having a hand of comfort. There is relief in knowing that hand of comfort is nearby, but when it suddenly disappears or we do not have a choice as to whether we have it, let's all admit something together: Our lives can become pretty frightening. It is as if that added presence is a silent affirmation that everything will be okay, that we have support if something goes wrong. It is a safe haven. Sometimes you're able to feel that hand of comfort, but other times...

You'll have to take the train alone.

It's the train in which you bid your current circumstances "Adieu", the train that separates you from the shelter of familiarity and comfort, the train that takes you far away from home, and plunges you into unknown territory. It can be scary and nerve wracking and daunting, but sometimes, you have to push through and do it. It's not easy, but it is essential in accomplishing the will that God has set before you. We were not created to sit back, and cling to stability and comfort. We were created to dive into the messy, the hard, the nitty gritty, the terrifying, the things that put knots in your stomach, and run full force to accomplish the journey God has placed us on. We're on a mission, and it will involve saying "Farewell" to your comfort zone. And more times than not?

You will take the train alone. But, my friend, you can do it. You will struggle and you will fight and you will be worn out and bruised and your fingers will be calloused and your lungs will be sore; but the unfathomable strength and peace that our Heavenly Father supplies us with will get you through. Though our lives might change, God's character does not.

"The Lord foils the plans of the nations;
he thwarts the purposes of the peoples.
But the plans of the Lord stand firm forever,
the purposes of his heart through all generations." Psalm 33:10-11

 I asked this same question when I spoke at my graduation a few weeks ago, and I'm going to ask it again:

Will you allow God to take you out of your comfort zone?

And to add onto that...

Will you allow God to take you out of your comfort zone, even if it involves taking the train alone?

"Oh God, You are my God
And I will ever praise you 
And I will seek You in the morning

And I will learn to walk in Your ways

And step by step You'll lead me
And I will follow You all of my days"  -Rich Mullins