I was watching a movie this week that began and ended with a man talking about how rushed life can be. We hurry, hurry, hurry... We have seen the time-frames in which others live, and we expect that ours should follow suit. When our lives begin to look different, or take longer, than the "usual," we think we must be doing something wrong.
Maybe we are.
Maybe we're not.
About seven years ago I felt like my whole life was falling apart. A series of events came into place that destroyed everything that for so long made me feel safe and loved. After so many years of seemingly making it through life yet unscathed, it happened: I became "that girl" with trust issues. I became that girl who questions everything she has ever believed. I became that girl who is constantly wondering if people are going to walk out on her; constantly fearing that things will go bad, because clearly, "I am just not enough."
All of this, I "managed" of course, like a spiritual superhero (or so I thought). I became that girl with trust issues...who masks her trust issues. I became that girl who questions everything she has ever believed...but refuses to admit it. I became that girl who is constantly wondering if people are going to walk out on her...but doesn't know how to just say: "I'm afraid you're going to walk out on me." The rhythm of "I'm just not enough. I'm just not enough. I'm just not enough," would have drowned my voice forever, until...I wrote.
I'm no extraordinary writer. I read extraordinary writers - I am not one of them. But I can think, and I can type, so when I didn't know how to talk about it, I started writing about it. That first day of releasing through writing was like I had been holding my breath for a year and finally let myself exhale. In writing, I finally let myself admit it: I'm afraid. I'm heart-broken. I'm disappointed. I'm worried. I'm losing hope. I'm losing my faith. I'm losing my love. Those painful confessions surprised me though. They didn't linger long at the bottom: they whimpered back a prayerful plea: "I'm down here, but I want to get up. Help me get up again."
Somehow in the writing, I started speaking back to myself things I knew that I believed, regardless of how I felt. I started telling myself about God's relentless love; about His ability to make good out of the destructive chaos of my life; about His longing to let me know Him, let me find Him and let me become more like Him even in this.
Seven years later, I'm still writing - not this blog, but that actual journal; the continuous conversation unleashed from that original entry, the initial cry of, "Help me." I never started writing with the intention of writing a book. Several hundred pages later, I realize I may have one on my hands. I'm not sure what I'll do with it. I share a whole lot of things, but I'm not sure I'll share this. I don't care a whole lot about where it goes or what comes of it. I care that we had this conversation, Jesus and me. I care that when I didn't know how to talk to anyone else, He helped me talk to Him. He made it safe. He made it simple. I cried and He let me. I complained and He let me. I accused Him...and He let me. I told Him I was sorry, and He was still there. I told Him I still love Him, and He said, "I still love you, too."
I see so many books published, songs written, projects out these days, and I am drastically hesitant to be yet another among the many. I don't know what I'll do with what I've written; I just know that I needed to write it. Someone recently asked me what I will do when I finish this "book," and all I could say back was, "Breathe." When I started writing, I felt like I couldn't breathe anymore; now that I'm nearing the end, I find that somewhere in this wrestling, I've found restoration, and I can breathe again.
We get so project oriented. That's a great thing. But maybe in all of our anticipation to "be somebody" or "do something great," we entirely miss the point. Maybe amid the book publishing, song-writing, and project-releasing, God would love to just breathe with us. Maybe He'd like to be included; not as an "angle" or an afterthought, but as the original thought, the chief intention, and the finishing touch.
Some of my favorite moments with friends have been those times when we've talked for hours, not even realizing it. We'll look at a clock and say things like, "Oh my gosh, it's 2AM! I didn't even realize. I had better get to bed." I guess all I'm really finding at the "wrapping it up" phase of writing, is this favorite moment where Jesus and I look each other in the eye, smile "our smile," and say, "Wow, that was a really long talk. But it was good, yeah?" "Yeah...it was good."
God created in time and process, yet so often we rush. We rush to the finish line; we want to be first, best, "most likely to succeed." But when HE created, He really just talked and breathed. He said things and He breathed things - good things. Sometimes I feel embarrassed to admit that it has taken me seven years to finish one writing project (and really I'm still not done). But I decided not to write unless we (He and I together) really had something to say. In the long run, I'm finding that was worth waiting for. We've had a conversation, and it has been good. I'm almost sad to say we're nearly done.
So Lord, I suppose now the question is... what else would You like to talk about?
What about you? Is there some area in your life where you are rushing God to the punch-line, when really He'd just like to talk and breathe with you?
Let it happen.
It is good.
