For Those With Eyes To See

I've been struggling a lot with the anxiety of being myself.

I'm learning a lot about who I am, the fullness of myself. I am learning about my fears and my desires, my hurts and hangups. I am realizing that I am so much more than the person I was trying to be. I'm finding a lot of freedom and beauty in showing up as all of me. In this newfound freedom, I am finding I want to tell people more about who I am. I want to stop hiding.

But I'm also realizing that when I step into the light, some people won't be happy with what they see. There is this urge to explain myself to people, to turn the situation just enough that they'll understand it. To say it in a certain way so that they are more likely to be okay with me. I don't want all that I am and all that I've done to be written off because one part of me is out in the open.

I spoke with my Spiritual Director about this today. We talked about Jesus during his ministry. So often he would retreat, he would separate from all of the crowds and go find a quiet place to pray. I imagine in their eyes it looked like he was turning away from ministry, he was running away from people who needed his help.

The reality is that he knew his priorities, he knew that no amount of helping would matter if he wasn't connected to God and himself. None of it means anything without the Source.

So what the crowds saw as a turning away was actually a turning toward what really mattered.

And I was thinking about how he didn't explain this to them. He never had a big sermon explaining and defending why he needed to step away from ministry sometimes. He didn't hide it either though, he would walk away as the crowds watched him. He did what he needed to do regardless of who was around or what they had to say.

He would often say, "For those with eyes to see..." He knew that everyone wouldn't get it, and that was okay. Everyone doesn't need to get it. For the ones who have eyes to see, it doesn't take much to recognize where wholeness and healing are found. For those without eyes to see, no amount of explanation will ever bring true understanding.

So how do I be myself fully, without needing to hide or explain who I am? How do I turn toward God when others think I am turning away? I choose to realize that how others react to me has nothing to do with who I am. It's just a matter of whether or not they have the eyes to see. 

Know

There is this great human desire to be known. We want to be seen in the fullness of ourselves. To believe that no part of us is too broken or too shameful, but that it is all beautiful and holy.

The only desire that seems to rival this is the desire to know. To see another person and know them as an entire universe. To know Love, to know God, to know belonging.

We are made in the image of God, I believe this more and more each day. Maybe more important than knowing the names of God or knowing what God is, we are supposed to know God. To know God on this side of Heaven and in the next, to know God in me and God in you.

And isn't it beautiful to experience a God whose greatest desires are to know and be known, just like us?

I want to know myself, I want to be known, and I want to know you. Because I don't ever want to miss out on seeing another variation of this image of God. 

Feeding the 4000

This came up during church today. What an absurd, beautiful story. It made me think about how the disciples were right, it would have been smarter to send the people away to get their own food. Disconnection was easier than connection in that moment.

It made me think about choosing proximity and giving all I have, rather than separation because I think I have nothing to offer. It made me realize that if I give the little I have, maybe that can be enough (or even more than enough).

I am choosing to believe in this whole thing.

Choosing abundance.
Choosing proximity.
Choosing togetherness.
Choosing presence.
Choosing to show up.  

Pieces

Healing is what God feels like on this side of Heaven. It's the brutal process of being broken open and put back together. Each time we are rebuilt we collect more pieces than we originally had, we become bigger. The old pieces are redeemed, the new ones illuminate it all. In the end we find that we are bigger and brighter than we ever could have hoped, and we slowly begin to trust the breaking.

Hope Street Blue

The first time I went to Cambodia I was 17 years old. Our team was building a house for a grandma who was living in a shack. We painted the house a bright blue color. It was stunning.

I came back a couple years later and found an entire row of houses had been built after hers. Each of those families had a house built by this same organization, each one was that same bright blue. They called it Hope Street. That street was a symbol to the community that there was hope, there are people who care for you and will love you when you have nothing to offer. That organization I worked with has now built over 50 homes throughout the provinces, and almost all of them are painted Hope Street Blue.

The time I spent with that organization sometimes seems like a lifetime ago. Lately I've been consumed with the tough work of healing, afraid I will never move past my own trauma. People have been telling me that if I want to pursue life as a missionary I will have to hide certain parts of me, and I was beginning to believe them. I started to wonder if god had a blueprint for my life and I took the wrong series of steps, now I was left carrying empty dreams.

Then this weekend I went on a mission trip to Mexico with my church of misfits. They allowed me to come with all parts of myself. None of us felt the need to hide or change to fit into this idea of "missionary". All we did was show up, embracing ourselves and each other. We gave one another hope and healing by bringing all of our hurts and hangups to the table.

As we painted a school together I looked down at my hands and noticed the paint was all over me. Much to my surprise, it was Hope Street Blue. A flood of memories came back and in that moment I realized how interconnected this whole experience is. The hope I saw in Cambodia was the same hope I saw in this Mexican school, the same hope I felt around the campfire with my church. My story has Hope Street Blue sprinkled all over the place, not a single experience has been wasted.

You see what I'm realizing is that God is not standing in the sky with a blueprint, waiting for me to make the right moves. No, God and I are creating something together. It's a grand tapestry, full of my darkness and my light... With strands of Hope Street Blue dispersed throughout.

I see now that I can keep creating the life I long for. 

I'm Ruined

One of my favorite stories came from my leader and close friend in Cambodia.

During her missionary training a teacher pointed to her and looked her in the eye, he shouted "You! You are ruined for the ordinary."

I love this more than words can say. Sometimes when we were on a crazy adventure or seeing something that was too beautiful for words, we would bring this up.

"We are just ruined for the ordinary!"

Because when something amazing has happened to you it opens you up, it makes you bigger than you were before. Even if it is the most painful experience of your life, you can see it through until it gives way to beauty and hope. Eventually you find that you don't fit into the small boxes that life originally gave you.

I've seen the beauty that different cultures bring to the world, so I'm ruined for the American Dream.
I've known the suffering that life can bring, so I'm ruined for easy answers.
I've experienced abundant life, so I'm ruined for complacency.
I've been loved for who I am, so I'm ruined for shallow relationships.

I am so very ruined, and I love it. Because all of the things I have been ruined for are so small, and what's left is fullness of life. Full of love, full of healing, full of heartbreak, full of laughter... and anything but ordinary. 

The words behind the words.

I've been thinking a lot about words lately.

The words we say, the words we don't say, the words we use to soften the blow.

Sometimes it seems that fewer words would serve us better. Yet we are afraid of the power they hold, so we add on to them to protect ourselves. Or we choose words that will make it clear what we mean, while still maintaining our plausible deniability.

It's when we say "I'll pray for you", but we really mean "I'm scared of what this means for you".
We say "I love you, but...", we really mean "I'd love you more if this wasn't between us".
We say "That's interesting", we really mean "I can't wrap my head around this".
We say, "I love everything about you", we really mean "I love you".

We all know when it's happening. We see what is meant behind what is said. Yet we keep going anyway, saying everything except the one thing we really mean, hoping someone will read between the lines.

I won't say it's good or bad, the way we use our words. Because so often it comes from a place of wanting to protect, whether it be protecting ourselves or others.

It's interesting though.