notice
Say something I’m giving up on you.
Because I am. I tried to hang on. Short of showing up on your doorstep in tears, I gave you more than enough opportunities to notice. To notice what I was going through. To notice how much I need you.
Anywhere I would’ve followed you
Actually, no. I didn’t just give you opportunities to notice. I straight up said, “I need you.” This wasn’t just some expectation I had for you to “notice.”
I’m still learning to love.
I’m not perfect. You’re not perfect. And neither of us has to be. It’s also a lovely reminder than we are both starting from the same place.
Say something I’m giving up on you.
It’s not my nature to give up. I’m a fighter. Always have been. When I know someone who wants to can be better and it matters, I fight to see them become better. I walk beside them, challenge them, love them through it.
But when they don’t notice either you or what you’re doing… Or notice you and what you are needed from them, it is time to stop the fight and walk away.
I’m sorry that I didn’t get to you.
Walking away, giving up, not getting to you… will you notice? Why do I hate myself for caring if you don’t?
I’m saying goodbye.
still
I’ve missed a lot of prompt words from FMF lately, which is too bad because I know how powerful those posts can be for me to write. But my life is just not in a place where I’m willing to be aware of enough that I remember to think,“Oh, it’s Friday. That’s means blogging.” Especially since I can’t seen to get FB to show the reminder post on my newsfeed. “Out of sight, out of mind” is how most things have been going for me lately, unless you’re a significant person in my life.
So I’m doing my own version. Not for 5 minutes. Because BAHAHAHAHA. But I still find so much value in the inspiration words. This last week’s prompt word was “Still.”
It’s 4:30am. AGAIN. I roll over and sigh, because HELLO, it’s 4:30 am and once again, I woke up and my mind is now officially racing and I’m composing an email in my head and thinking about that last phone conversation I had with friend X and wondering if I remembered to confirm my haircut appointment on Friday and asking myself, “Do I ever text X back to let them know when I could do lunch?” and remembering that there are now two bulbs burned out in the ceiling fan light in my living room and oh, that’s right, I need to go buy a new sprayer for my backyard hose at Home Depot.
Breathe.
AndthenireallywantthenewchestnutpralinelattefromstarbucksbecauseitremindsmeofbakingcookiesatchristmastimewithDaleandirememberthathenevertextedmebackandnowithinkheisprobablymadatmeandwhatdididothistimebecauseallididwasaskhimathoughtprovokingquestion
STOP. Breathe.
My favorite verse in the Old Testament is in the book of Exodus. Only a nerd like me would have that answer when everyone else says Jeremiah 29:11 or Ezekiel 36:26 or Isaiah 41:10. (Though mine very narrowly beats out Isaiah 53:5) But I love it. I hold it close to my heart.
“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.”
I think what I like about the verse is that although it reminds me to be still, it also reminds me there IS a fight going on. Whether it’s a fight for my soul when it comes to sin, a fight for an idol that needs to be crushed in my life, a fight that involves the health of my father, a fight that requires taking a stand for truth…. There always seems to be a fight in life. Maybe not in a “I’ve got my dukes up” or an “I’m gonna take the hill with a pop gun” kind of fight, but a fight for my ever-constant divided heart. A fight that reminds me of why I get up in the morning and why I breathe in and out every day. A fight that reminds me why my mind won’t stop racing at 4:30 in the morning.
It’s a fight because I care.
Is being still in a fight of this kind just as simple as the cliché of stepping back and trusting him?
Or is it more?
Or is this stillness a resolve? A surety?
(That word always reminds me of that old William Gadsby song, made gorgeous by Sandra McCracken: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TWAXkaWS8o0)
As I’ve been studying through the like of Moses this Fall, one of the greatest takeaways has been how we often focus on our circumstances rather than on God. But I struggle to reconcile this when our circumstances are a result of God working… and so I must focus on God when it comes to obeying him, not focusing on the fear of “what if?” within that obedience. That’s what it means to not get hung up on our circumstance… and get hung up on him.
Most of the times, this doesn’t feel like a stillness. Because we also learn from the many times Israel obeyed (or disobeyed, which happened an awful lot, too) the Lord, there was anything but stillness around them.
Maybe for me, a stillness comes in knowing that what I am doing, where I am going, and who I am is all a direct result of who God is and that while chaos abounds, my soul will rest in him.
[Even that sentence makes me a little tired.]
Maybe it means being tired at the end of a long ministry day, but not exhausted. Maybe it means waking up at 4:30 several mornings in a row with a million things on my mind that will not shut up. But then again, maybe it doesn’t.
I don’t sound very still, do I?
loss
Loss.
It’s a word that provokes a lot of emotion. The loss can progress over time, but can also decrease over time. What kind of crazy-ass supernatural kind of emotion does that?
Loss does.
Sometimes loss is inevitable. Sometimes we’ve seen the writing on the wall for a while; perhaps the roller-coaster of the experience hardly made the loss a surprise.
But you’re still riding on that roller coaster. This means there are ups and downs, terrifying moments of scream-filled terror and also let-go kind of joy-filled moments that set you free.
Loss does this. It’s CRAZY.
I’m facing a few losses right now. But there is a pretty big one in the midst of several tiny ones and I normally would be absolutely wrecked about this. But I am not.
(And it’s freaking me out. Hahaha. The humor is not lost on me.)
Part of me hopes my calm demeanor over this loss is simply God’s graciousness to me. Oh, please, let that be the case.
But another part of me is wondering if I’m simply numbed myself to the emotion because I saw the writing on the wall a long time ago.
I pray it’s the first. But I worry that my human nature means it’s the second.
I’ve written a bit here about family, http://neverbeenherebefore.blogspot.com/2013/10/being-tethered.html and about how being so far away from mine has been difficult. More difficult than I ever thought it would be. It’s a different kind of difficult. It’s beyond a loneliness, but a palpable feeling of always being left out… of not belonging anywhere. I mean, when you end up spending too many Thanksgivings and Easters alone because your family lives 22 hours away and no one here thought to invite you over, that hurts. I’m not going to lie. It kills me inside each passing year.
So I’m in a situation right now where my friends are my family. And that is hard, because being the weirdo I am, friends just don’t come easy to me. They are hard work. Not just for me, but for them. No one gets me. I’m a mess. I’m complicated. I’m a pain. So I’m grateful for those who stick around and love me when I’m unlovable. So when I lose a friend it’s like losing a member of my family. And for me, who loves her family with every inch of her soul, that? Devastating.
But this recent loss of friendship that’s left me calm has been devastating in a different way. Because I put myself out there, was honest about how I was feeling. I didn’t ask for anything in return, though I certainly wanted one, because I value and love the person. But I didn’t demand anything. I just shared my hurt.
Crickets.
Nada. Nothing from them.
Ouch.
BUT – maybe three or five or ten years ago this would have killed me. But today it doesn’t. It’s hard… but it hasn’t broken me. Maybe it’s because this friend never occupied that much space in my heart. *she says with hopeful vengeance in her heart* Maybe it’s because God is being incredibly kind to me, because my heart can only take so much. Or maybe it’s that I am growing up and realizing that I did nothing wrong. And they did. And I can rest easy in that, where as other times I’ve gone over and over everything in my mind, combing over memories looking for things I screwed up. This time I’ve also given them the opportunity to hear how I felt with complete honesty. No games. No “what ifs” or “I could have been clearer” or “I should have” moments. There was no veil with me. This is a big damn deal. And you what? It didn’t kill me like I really thought it would.
Don’t misunderstand me. I miss my friend. I am grieving this loss. But there is no self-doubt here, and this is my breakthrough. I put myself out there, I was rejected, and it’s ok. I don’t want to go through this. I don’t want this loss. But I am also sure it’s not my fault I am going through this.
I’ve been completely honest and authentic with this friend and this time instead dwelling and looking at things from every angle of how I could have screwed up, I am realizing that I finally was true to myself, take it or leave it, and that my friend is the one who messed this up. Not me. There were no games played here. I was me, and this brokenness in our friendship is not a result of me playing a game or being unclear or having unrealistic expectations. For once, I’m not agonizing over whether it’s not my fault. Because it’s I know it’s not.
I’m sorry. But this is SERIOUS breakthrough material.
Whew. Why do I always feel like I need a glass of wine after I post something here?
new
I have been spending some time in the book of Exodus lately, learning about how the Israelites acted when they were living in slavery.
Discouragement is the one word that kept standing out to me this week.
Then I remembered a conversation I had with a friend about 4 years ago, when he had just moved to a new state, had a new job and started his life over. He was recalling our time together in the town we’ve both moved on from and he called it, “my time in the desert”
Maybe that’s my time here, right now. While I am actually in the desert, so the irony is not lost, I am wandering. I am lost. I am trying so hard to trust God when I just don’t feel him in this. Or maybe it’s that I feel so much of him and I don’t know which “feel” to listen to right now.
Wandering the desert makes me feel dry, dusty, gross and dirty.
When all I want is to be made new.
One of my favorite verses in running through my head right now (I need to write a song about it.) “He makes all things new” and I long for a time to be refreshed and not discouraged by it all. I long for a time when I can see God working in my life and it isn’t so damn hard.
I know that being made new doesn’t really happen – our wounds and scars remain long after they are healed. I’m ok with that. But being new is also about moving on and all I feel right now is stuck. Stuck in the dirt. Stuck in the mess. And right now, stuck with used tissues covering my desk as I think about discouragement.
two silences
I really wish I could tell the difference between the silence. The bridled silence I’m afraid I too often control. The caged silence for which I blame myself.
When he is silent, it hurts. When I forget to listen it hurts, too. It just takes longer to hurt. And when it comes, it rushes fast like a desert storm rolling over the dirt in the valley. Powerful and bursting forth I break the silence of my own feelings. The bursting forth as I sit in my car in my garage and I just cry.
Sometimes I can’t hear you.
Sometimes you don’t speak.
Why must it be so hard to listen for a whisper? To speak…so easy. To listen to others, myself… little effort is required.
But your whisper. Can puncture a heart. Will break through the silence.
And your silence even when I’m trying to desperately to listen? Well, that itself is a whisper. In a promise. A promise of words read and heard before. I cling to this. Even when it’s hard.
I wish for whisper often, maybe all the time. I wish for whisper I could hear even when I’m not listening. I wish for whispers I could hear when I don’t want to hear them.
Longing for these words, these whisper, so echoes the imposition of life. It’s so the Romans 7.
Help me to learn and listen in the silence, O Lord.
Stephanie Nelson 