trust

chasing community

When I chose to move to Nashville, I said it was "to chase down community". A year later, I'm still chasing it. From a young age, my closest friends lived far from me. I grew up attending a Christian school, but most of the time my morals, standards, and choices were very different than those of my classmates. (I'm pretty sure the fact I received the "Best Christian Witness" award every year says more about the student body as a whole than it does of me.)

So when I went on my first mission trip at 15, teaming up with teenagers from across the country to serve in Nicaragua for a month, I was blown away to discover others my age who strived to live with conviction and character. For the first time, I was surrounded by people who were passionate about following God, serving others, and pursuing a purpose greater than ourselves. I had found my tribe.

This was long before email and cell phones were commonplace, so we kept in touch by writing letters. We exchanged novel-length scribblings, sharing the mundane and the significant, and we did whatever we could to keep our friendship close despite the miles between us. We sent care packages, we made long-distance phone calls, we planned reunions.

Every summer, my next mission trip only further increased my amazing friendships all around the nation. There's something about the mission trip environment that fosters closeness quickly. We shared intense circumstances in close quarters in a short amount of time, and the friendships that were produced have spanned decades.

Then I moved to Africa at 19, again keeping in touch long-distance with those I was closest to. So in this new season of my life, having returned Stateside and, in every way possible, starting over, I knew I wanted to be somewhere I could be physically surrounded by friends. So I came to Nashville. To chase down community.

It's been beautifully rewarding in so many ways, but it's also been hard.

Community doesn't just happen. Friendships don't just forge (even when there's an immediate connection). It takes effort. It takes intentionality. It takes time, and heart, and risk, and trust. It takes chasing.

And sometimes, to be honest, I grow weary of the chase. At times it feels like an uphill climb — a fight, a struggle — to find where I belong. To discover where I fit. To figure out how to meld my life into a church and friendship community that existed long before I showed up. To integrate into already busy lives and full schedules. To feel part of a tribe again.

Even coming to a place where I already knew people (to some degree), it's still been just plain hard. And while at times my heart has felt disappointed or sad, ultimately I know it's okay. That the struggle is part of the process. I know friendships aren't just bippity-boppity-boo'd into existence. I know the investment — of time, of heart, of the chase — is so worth it.

And so I'll keep chasing, whatever that may look like on any given day. And I'll keep choosing to trust, no matter how hard it gets. The journey, even when long or difficult or unclear, is what matters most.

What's been your own experience with chasing down community?

seek trust rather than understanding

Seek trust rather than understanding. Those are the words I've been hearing for weeks now.

I can't seem to shake them. But they are definitely shaking me.

Because I want to understand.

I want to know why. I want to see what's next. I desire answers and direction and clarity. I want things to make sense.

But God keeps reminding me that it's not for me to understand. It's only for me to trust.

He is calling me to trust Him when I can trust no one else.

To trust in His trustworthiness even though it doesn't play out the way I want it to or think it should.

To trust His heart even when I can't see His hand.

To trust in His constant unchanging character even when He seems inconsistent.

It's not for me to know or to figure it all out or to see clearer. It's not for me to have answers or confidence or surety. It's not for me to understand.

It's only for me to trust.

risky business

I'm not the most daring person. I tend to lean toward comfortable and familiar rather than new and exciting. I usually order the same favorite meal anywhere I eat. I even describe myself as an "indoor girl".

I have done some things in my life that were adventurous. I whitewater-rafted the Zambezi. I zip-lined through an Alaskan rain forest. I pulled the cord on a bungee swing in Cape Town. I ate grub worms. (Okay, maybe that's not exactly adventurous. But it is pretty wild!)

And my bucket list includes a few more daring things I'd like to someday accomplish. But in general, I don't think many would describe me as a thrill-seeker.

So choosing to focus on risk this year feels, well, risky. Which, I suppose, was the whole point.

My choice to risk is all about active trust. I'm being intentional to trust God, others, and myself more.

I've already told you that I doubt myself more than I ever have before. But I have the Holy Spirit who guides me into all truth living inside me. I want to live like I actually believe that's true. I will get it wrong sometimes, this I know for sure. But I choose to trust the power of Christ in me and the discernment God's given me. And that can't happen without risk.

I know that trustworthy people will still, at times, betray my trust. Even the best of friends will hurt me. But I still want to risk more in trusting them. I desire to know others intimately and be known by them in that same way. And that can't happen without risk.

Trusting God more means exercising my mustard-seed-sized dollop of faith more than I have been. I want to actively rely on Him for strength and wisdom. I want to see Him work through me in greater ways than He has before. I want to trust Him to answer the silent prayers of my heart for the changes I desire in my own life. And none of that can happen without risk.

So I've decided to risk this year.

It's definitely gonna kick me in the pants in my relationships. And it's going to carry a lot of weight whenever I'm faced with a decision. And I've started praying for it, which is a risk in itself.

Trust is the Achilles' heel of my life, my very own thorn in the flesh. But I'm stepping into the ring by making the decision to risk more.

It's gonna make this year a whole different kind of hard.

But, once again, I choose the hard.

'Cause I'm risky like that.

Why did you choose your word for 2010? What are you doing to focus on it?

...and it scares the crap out of me

If you've been around the Grit for any length of time, you know that trust has always been a struggle for me. A struggle I've continued to wrestle with, though, because I know it's worth the fight. Now throw my husband's unfaithfulness into the mix and give it a good shake. Trust is really hard for me right now, at a very core and basic level.

I'm finding it harder than ever to trust others and even God. But the uncertainty runs deeper than that.

I no longer trust myself.

For a year and a half, I was told that my gut instinct was wrong.  It was said over and over and over again that what I knew to be true, wasn't.

Eventually truth was exposed. And even though I had been right all along, any final remnants of confidence had already been evicted from my heart and self-doubt had set up camp.

And now I'm left doubting my intuition. I distrust my ability to perceive what's going on beneath the surface.

The line between discernment and paranoia is blurry. When I sense something is wrong or just "off", I make myself sick wondering if what I'm feeling is valid or if I'm just being hypersensitive.

And I'm not quite sure what to do with that.

I need to learn to trust myself again.

But I don't know how.