Small Stories

I found myself aimlessly wandering the internet tonight when I came across a new post from a dear friend (and kindred spirit when it comes to our passion to write combined with our impossible realities pulling us elsewhere. always.).

She shared how the Lord had been pressing her to write, and she argued that she didn't have anything to say or any time to say it, and He continued to silently whisper that He had something to tell her and that's why she needed to write. Not for anyone else, but so that HE could speak to HER.

And. Well. I can't tell you what else she wrote in her post. Because I clicked off and came here.

These friends who push me, words can not describe the gratitude I feel for them. And so I will begin my post, exactly as she began hers.

Tonight, I write out of obedience.

My heart feels vulnerable. My thoughts jumbled and confusing, and my confidence definitely wobbly.
I can't seem to find my voice anymore. I know how intimately God has worked in my life. I know how powerfully He has spoken to me. How clearly He continues to open my eyes to His truth and then pour into me a frustratingly desperate desire to help open others' eyes as well. But I feel small, I feel silly and self-indulgent and terribly insecure that no one really needs one more girl taking up cyber space with her words and 'wisdom'.

But I know He wants me to tell my stories. Because my stories, though fairly mundane and ordinary, carry deep wound and beauty and redemption. And because they are ordinary, they are likely to be shared by the masses. Change a handful of the details and circumstances and I bet I could be telling your story, save one possible difference. God has given me eyes that see. It developed slowly, over time; I used to attribute it only to drama and heightened sensitivity. Now I believe it is how He made me.

See, I haven't had real pain and tragedy in my life. Not anything that could even scrape the surface of fairness to those who survive true suffering. And yet I have wept, I have crumbled, I have wilted in fear and writhed in pain over things that from the outside should simply not warrant these kinds of reactions. I feel things deeply and it can be my greatest weakness.. but it can also be the very thing God designed in me to use for His glory. Because He is teaching me to see in my tiny wounds that birth big feelings, the thin connecting line for all of us. Daily struggles or earth shattering tragedy, the questions, the fear, the doubt.. it can all sound surprisingly similar.

Let me tell a tiny story tonight, and see if any of this comes out clear.

Someone misunderstood me. 

That's all. There are details and specifics, but the bottom line of the story is this. They simply misunderstood me. They didn't hear my words, they didn't trust my heart, they didn't know me or my motives and so they made a snap judgement and misunderstood and said some pretty hurtful things as a result. It happens friends. All. The. Time.  Honestly, we're not talking Jerry Springer episodes here, yes the words stung, but in light of real world problems, I get it, this is kid's stuff.

But me? I am wrecked. Wrecked. Not outwardly to many people, but inwardly destroyed. So shaken, so sad. I am reeling in self pity and insecurity. I spent a good couple weeks licking my wounds, babying my fragile heart and hiding from the world, I've spent the last couple weeks spiraling in self doubt and disillusionment, and discouragement. I feel silenced, I feel cowardly, I feel weak. Because why in the world should I ever put myself out there if I can so easily be misunderstood? How scary! How stupid! How incredibly, unnecessarily, painful! Self pity, staring me straight in the face. It took my ever so gentle husband to give it that big old ugly name, but he was right, I can't call it anything else.

And so my eyes begin to open, and slowly I can see.

I have a deep, DEEP need to be understood. I have an even deeper, desperate, almost primal ache, to be approved of. It feels like air to me, I honestly get a suffocating sensation from the thought of not being able to change this person's opinion of me.  And yet I hear Him whispering and I know what's coming. I feel panicky and dizzy at the request for surrender.

"What will you do now Katie?" "Can you lay it down? Can you love them anyway, even if they never change their mind?" "Can you serve and teach and continue to press in to vulnerability, even if there are more to come who simply will not 'get' you?" "Even if it means more hurt, even if it means walking straight into your fear of man and not actually coming out on the winning end, can you be okay knowing I am the One who sees you, calls you, loves you, knows you and validates you." "Will you still trust? Will you still obey?"

It's becoming clear now, I know He's right.  He's shown me it over and over, it used to take longer to give my answer, now it comes fairly quickly. HE is the One who knows me, HE is the One who has asked me to speak, and to lead and to teach. I keep my eyes fixed on Him and I don't worry about the rest.

And yet when the blow came I crumbled so quickly, I hurt so badly, I'm still in a tail spin from the from the fall out. Why?!

Because it's bigger, it's simply so much bigger than her. The blow isn't the words from one person, it's  the accusation of a thousand voices over decades. This is pain rooted in fear. Fear that I am unacceptable. Fear that I will be rejected. Fear that I am too much. Fear that God's approval and love for me will simply not be enough and this longing will swallow me whole.

I don't combat these fears by running around like a puppy desperately hoping to please all my masters with tricks and charm. And I don't combat them by cowering in the corner and crossing my fingers that invisibility might minimize the amount of darts thrown my way. I combat them with truth.

I am accepted by One who knows all there is to know about me. He understands me, He made me the way He did on purpose and He is pleased with me. He knows my flaws and faults and they DO NOT disqualify me from His love or His service. And though it may feel like the desire to be understood or accepted by my peers could steal the very breath from my lungs, His word is truer than how I feel and it says He breathes resurrected LIFE into those that look to Him.

If I want to be free. Not a performer, not a prisoner, but FREE. Then I stay the course. I fix my eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of my faith, who for the joy set before Him (which was seeing ME restored to a relationship with HIM by the way!) endured the cross.

He is the stronghold of my life, of whom shall I be afraid?