four-minute friday: tight
Go.
It’s been one helluva week.
I’ve been crazy-emotional. I don’t feel well. I’m exhausted. I received some rough interesting emails. I have more to do than I have time to do it in or energy to do it with. I miss my friends. I’m desperate for a real hug.
And that’s the short list.
On top of which I went and did something crazy.
Posting about my new normal was by far the biggest risk I’ve taken this year.
I was scared of being that vulnerable; I was anxious about the responses that would come.
But then there was the hug in the form of a blog post about me that caught me completely off guard in the best way possible.
There were the phone calls, texts, emails, and comments I received from people who care deeply for me.
There was the “I love you” from God that came in the form of “I love you”s from people.
As this crazy-hard week comes to an end, I’m assured that I’m not alone.
He’s holding me tight.
And so are you.
Done.
maybe this is my new normal
I still choose indoors over outdoors, even on a gorgeous day. I still come to life when I talk about vision, passion, and Thrive Africa.
I still make strange faces (and noises) without even realizing it. I still love deeply.
For the most part, I’m still the same me I was before my world shattered out from under my feet.
For the most part.
But there are a lot of ways I’m a different person than I was before my husband left me.
Emotional trauma changes us.
It changed me.
My life is forever split between before and after.
And after-me isn’t the same as before-me.
Some of the changes are healthy, good, freeing.
But many aren’t.
I “lived tired” before, but I still kept a fast (and full) rhythm in life and ministry. Now I simply don’t have the energy to keep even half that pace. I’ve taken living tired to a whole new level while doing far less in a day than I’ve ever done.
My heart is more tender and my skin is less thick. Things that shouldn’t hurt me, hurt me. My emotions are all over the place. I can spiral from high to low very quickly. And that scares me for a long list of reasons I’ll never be able to share in this space.
Trust has always been the Achilles’ heel of my life. But now I physically feel the fear of trusting in a way I can’t even begin to describe.
I get overwhelmed far easier. By to-do lists, emails, appointments, the pile of books I want to read… everything. It all just overwhelms me. And by overwhelm, I mean incapacitate.
I tell people I have Fuzzy Brain Syndrome. I lose my concentration. I’m constantly distracted. I can’t remember things—things I should remember. Things I want to remember. I so often can’t even think of the word I’m trying to say. Not just occasionally. Frequently.
I’m just not the same person I used to be.
And, to be honest, I don’t like who I’ve become.
I’m living with diminished capacity.
It’s frightening, frustrating, angering, and crazy-making all at the same time.
And I’m starting to think it might not be temporary.
Maybe this isn’t something I can bounce back from.
Maybe this is my new normal.
Which means I need to face yet another loss.
The loss of … me.
Of who I am. How I am.
Before I can accept who I’ve become, I need to grieve the loss of who I was.
I need to let go of before-me.
And trust that God can still make something beautiful out of after-me.
speak up
I keep thinking about this much-familiar verse—
“They overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony.”
I’ve never really thought much about the phrase “word of their testimony” before now.
I think I always just took it to be synonymous with simply “their testimony”.
But there is a key difference.
Having a story of redemption and deliverance isn’t enough. It’s the telling of my story that brings victory.
As I put words to what God has done in my life, I continue to overcome.
But if I keep it to myself, God doesn’t get glorified in it and I don’t move forward in my own healing and restoration.
We have to put words to our testimony.
You’ve got a story to tell.
Tell it.
monday morning confession:
I don’t usually wash my hands when I use the bathroom.
::blush::
Your turn.
four-minute friday: risk
Go.
The first two months of 2010—can you believe it’s the end of February already?!—have held lots of risks for me. Y’all remember that’s my one word focus for the year, right? (What? I’m living in Georgia. I can say y’all.)
My year of risk is well underway.
I went on vacation with a bunch of near-strangers.
I rappelled 100 feet into a Mexican canyon.
I’ve intentionally endured quite a few awkward situations.
But those have paled in comparison to the risks I’ve taken with my heart.
I’ve prayed risky prayers. I’ve been more authentic in the moment. I’ve wrestled with truly forgiving my wayward husband.
And as I look toward the horizon, there is a lot that makes me very nervous.
Like the six week ministry fundraising trip I’m embarking on this spring. By myself. It feels incredibly daunting after always having a wingman (who was also the extrovert and public speaker of the two of us).
I signed up for a half-marathon. Which I fear will be a health risk more than anything else. But I am determined to cross the finish line no matter what.
And I’m going to continue risking big with my heart. Although it hasn’t started getting any easier yet.
Your turn to check in.
How have you done with your one word?
I’d love to see us rally around each other to cheer one another on!
Done.
gypsy for a day
Did you know I can speak Afrikaans?
(It’s one of South Africa’s 11 official languages, in case you have no idea what I’m talking about.)
I can. Well, just enough to get me into trouble hold my own in a conversation.
I’m pretty rusty since I’ve been Stateside for over a year now. But apparently I can still speak it well enough to impress a South African.
I don’t remember how I first wandered over to The Gypsy Mama’s website, but I’m so glad I did.
She basically lives the inverse of my life—a South African living in America. And she’s a beautiful writer. Simply beautiful.
We moved from met-on-the-net to hugging-in-real-life when Lisa-Jo came out to my Starbucks meet-up in DC last November. And I couldn’t resist busting out some Afrikaans for the occasion. So fun to have someone to speak it with!
Well, Lisa-Jo gracefully rolled out the welcome mat for me over at her blog today. I’m honored to be her first guest poster (poster?) ever!
So come on over to hear about some differences between South Africa and America.
(Don’t worry. I wrote in English.)
And while you’re there, spread some Gritty love to The Gypsy Mama.
i’m sorry, Lord
Lord, I’m sorry for thinking You love me the same way others do.
For assuming You’ll withhold affection until I’ve paid penance or until You’re “over” whatever I may have done.
For imagining that You hold me at arm’s length and invite me in only when You want to want me.
For thinking You view me through eyes of disappointment, seeing only how far I am from all I could be and should be.
For presuming You only love me because You have to and not because You want to.
For guessing You hold my mistakes against me, just as I do with myself.
For acting as though You think I’m discardable and unwantable.
For forgetting that You love me for who I am and not for who I can be.
Lord, I want to believe. Help me overcome my unbelief.
even greater things
I’ve seen God do some incredible things through me in my lifetime.
He used a poem I wrote as a nine-year-old girl to bring my separated parents back together.
On my mission trips as a teenager, He spoke through my faltering words to lead people to salvation.
I’ve stepped out in faith for eleventh-hour financial provision, and had money miraculously show up at the last minute.
In my early years of living in Africa, I rubbed cataracts out of a woman’s eyes.
I saw a man’s leg grow out six inches as I prayed over him.
I pulled a lame man to his feet and watched him take his first steps.
I get goosebumps just thinking about the amazing things God has done. And I feel humbled that He’s chosen to use me.
But it all feels like ancient history.
It’s been a very long time since God’s done something supernatural through me.
But I know it’s not because He’s changed.
I think somewhere along the line, I stopped believing Him for the miraculous.
My faith grew dim.
I got “busy”.
And I stopped actively trusting.
But I want my faith back. I want to trust Him for the miraculous again.
I want to trust Him for even greater things.
That feels like a huge risk right now. My battle-weary heart is scared to hope, to believe.
But every mighty move of God in my life has required an act of faith.
And, Lord knows, I need Him to move mightily.
Not just through me, but in me.
So I’m asking Him to strengthen my faith and fill me with the assurance that He is trustworthy.
Whether He ever does another miracle through my hands or not, I want to live with heart-risking trust that He can.
gettin’ my smile back
As you might’ve picked up by my silence throughout The Internets this past week, I’ve been out of commission.
Last Tuesday I had a freak snow-tubing accident that involved my teeth and the back of someone’s head.
The head made out with mild injuries. Like a nasty goose-egg and a headache that didn’t let up for days. Which makes it mild only by comparison.
My teeth, on the other hand, got “jacked up” (to quote my friend).
My top front teeth bent so far backwards that I couldn’t even close my mouth.
After a trip to the ER and two emergency dentist visits, my teeth are back to normal.
The dentist described my treatment as though I had a broken bone—which had to be set twice—and it’s now being held in place with a split. I’m on a diet of soft foods and pain relievers till it heals. Maybe a month.
God’s hand has definitely been evident. Things could’ve been a lot worse. I could’ve broken my nose or lost my teeth entirely. He surrounded me with friends’ loving care and His provision was so clear in the free dental work I received. (Which, by the way, made me cry more than the pain did.)
I’m slowly starting to try to catch up on all I’ve missed. The only thing rivaling my overflowing inbox is my growing to-do list.
So my plan this week is simple: Be more productive than last week.
Shouldn’t be too hard.
Especially since I can already cross write a blog post off my list.
the double standard of my heart
When my friend Tam asked me to write a post for her blog on an aspect of my story I haven’t shared yet, I didn’t know what to write.
I’ve shared candidly here at the Grit about what life has been like for me in the wake of my husband’s infidelity and decision for divorce. I couldn’t think of anything I’ve specifically been holding back on talking about.
And then it hit me.
I knew I needed to put words to the current wrestling in my heart’s journey.
In light of my desire to intentionally be more authentic in the moment rather than only in past tense, I knew I needed to take this risk.
It was time to write about how hard it is to pray for Niel with the right motives.
And what that says about my own heart.
So I did.
Even though it’s very much still a struggle for me.
Click over to In Progress to read about the double standard of my heart. >
