Five Minute Friday time! 5 minutes, write what comes to mind. no editing, no over-thinking, no worrying about perfect grammar or punctuation. Just write.
This week’s FMF word: try! If you wanna give it a try (see what I did there? 😉 ) write your own post and link up here!
I’m not good at trying new things.
I like my routines. I like the ‘things’ I do- the brands I use, the foods/recipes I love, the friends I’m comfortable with.
Trying and change go hand in hand. To try is to change something. It’s to move from one thing to another. And that requies change, which I struggle with.
And yet, I want to try new things.
I want to do fun things spontaneously. To try new foods in new places, pick up a new hobby, try an experience I usually wouldn’t go for in my normal, safe life.
But I don’t know where to start. Change is hard. Trying things is hard for someone that is scared of change.
What are some things a girl that wants to start trying should try first? I want to be a try-er, but I need suggestions on things to try. Places, foods, experiences. I’m ready to start trying them.
TIME.
*trying to ignore the spelling mistakes and incoherence at the end…. yikes. At least I didn’t finish mid-sentence a la John Green, right? This week the time went by 10x quicker than last week!
And seriously: if you’re someone that lives for trying new things, what are some things to jump-start the try-er in me? I’m ready to be converted. Even if change is hard. 😉
(written after time limit):I discovered #fiveminutefriday from friends I met doing #fmfpartysnailmail- a letter-writing group I joined after meeting the founder of said group through SheReadsTruth (so much internet it hurts). The premise: Thursday nights, you get a one word topic and 5 minutes to write. No editing or overthinking, just writing. It looked like fun! I’ve been looking for more reasons to write, so I decided to join in. This was a good one to break the ice 😉 for more info: http://katemotaung.com/five-minute-friday/
Topic: Ten
10 Random Things about me:
1. middle name: Mackenzie. I hated it when I was a kid, but I LOVE it now.
2. I love school. So much I’ve decided to work in one my entire life.
3. I’m already planning my grad school dreams. Originally my plan had been Special Education, but after this semester I’m starting to look into technology integration.
4. I babysat for the 1st time when I was ten. All the kids I babysat as kids are now teenagers/grown. I feel old.
5. I have always loved to dance. Zumba and I are the best of frienemies.
6. Pugs are the best dogs. Hands down.
7. 7 is my favorite number because of my birthday. (7/7)
8. I’m an INFJ Myers Briggs personality and it fits me perfectly, despite used to not thinking myers briggs was accurate.
9. I am a life-long soda addict (trying to break it)
10. Favorite verse: John 16:33- take heart I have overcome the world. ❤
bonus: this is my first time doing #fiveminutefriday and I have 30 seconds to spare! #winning
“you are more than your anxiety,“ I heard a voice in my head as I read my latest devotional. And I kept hearing it, over and over as I read.
“you are more than your anxiety.”
You’d think this would be comforting or reassuring or something for me. It wasn’t. Not because it wasn’t a comforting or reassuring thought, but because of the circumstances around it: I heard this little voice while reading my devo at 3 in the morning– too scared to go to sleep.
My anxiety had been so severe it had kept me awake all night.
So hearing this little voice, while reading this devotional that felt like it was written for me in that moment didn’t lift my spirits or make me snap out of my thoughts.
It made me angry. It was a yelling/screaming (in my head) at God angry. I was at a loss. I was whining. I was pissed.
In the midst of a miserable anxiety-filled day and night, now is when I hear this? Now?
How, in the midst of some of my most anxiety-ridden days and weeks can I believe I am more than this? How, on a night where I’m so overwhelmed with my thoughts I’m sitting in bed crying, can I believe that there is more than this hell I’m in?
I don’t get it.
Most of my days are consumed with this fear, this creeping sense of something is wrong with me, or that something bad is going to happen; my thoughts are overrun with worst-case scenarios and things that could happen based on whatever circumstances I’m in at the moment.
I am overwhelmed with to-do lists and things I need to do and want to do and should be doing.
All the while trying not to run scared to WebMD or Google when every random ache or pain or feeling appears (read: do. not. recommend).
Even when things seem to be looking up. Even when everything is going okay- even great in some ways. My brain takes the good, twists it and turns it all upside down. It leaves me feeling helpless and scared and miserable when I should be happy.
So, yeah. I’m not comforted right now. I’m annoyed, scared, and just plain angry that this stupid anxiety monster decided to rear its ugly head into my life at all.
~
The devo kept talking about how the women (it’s the story of the woman who bled and was healed on the Sabbath) wasn’t identified by her illness anymore, like she had been for 18 years. He healed her, restored her health, yes. But he did more– he gave her a new identity. He called her his daughter. And her whole life being known as the sick, disabled woman was forever changed.
“Yes, He healed and restored her body, but more importantly, He reaffirmed her identity—He called her daugher.” (via SheReadsTruth)
He didn’t just restore her health. He restored her identity.
That’s great– but if I can’t be healed of this anxiety (or at least the panic attacks and instense anxiety episodes), how can I see my identity as restored? I don’t want anxiety to be an identifying factor in my life. I want to see my identity as daughter- not as someone with an anxiety disorder. But when said anxiety disorder is basically consuming every aspect of my life, it’s hard to see anything beyond it. I want to feel like my life is more than this anxiety, but right now, it’s all I feel I am.
I don’t feel more than my anxiety right now. Right now I feel like it’s swallowing me whole.
Jesus saw the woman that needed healing. He called her into his presence to heal her. Why can’t he see me? Why can’t I hear him calling me into his presence?
Is it because this is a mental issue and not physical? (though it’s manifested into physical pain,thus causing more anxiety- it never ends.)
Is it because this isn’t something that can be seen? Does it go unnoticed? Is it something I’m suppose to fix myself? (therapy and medicine have worked wonders, but it ebbs and flows- this has been a low,low week).
I want to believe he sees me and knows me well. But if he does, why doesn’t he see this pain that’s grippling me and do something about it? Why can’t I be healed, too?
I know there is more to life than this. I just can’t see it right now. Maybe someday, when it’s not overwhelming me, I’ll feel like I’m restored like Jesus says I am.
I want to believe I am more than my anxiety. I just can’t right now. I hope I can someday (soon).
It’s funny, because my mom is a master seamstress. She’s told me stories of growing up, where she’d stop at the fabric store in the afternoons, and by nightfall she’d have a new dress for school the next day.
Mom got me a little sewing kit for my dorm freshman year, with sewing needles, threads, and every little sewing bauble you could need. I would try to use it if a button popped off or a seam split, but I never got the grasp of sewing down. Everything would unravel and not hold up like it was supposed to.
The worst was trying to hem something; every time I tried to hem a pair of pants so they’d fit, the hem would fall out and I’d end up walking on my nice dress pants to teach in. That’s just lovely, isn’t it?
So whenever I have a sewing emergency, I leave it to mom. She’s the master, she knows better than I do. So I just let her do it instead of letting myself try to do it on my own, making everything a bigger mess than it was.
You hem me in behind and before, and you lay your hand upon me.
—
You have surrounded me on every side, behind me and before me, and You have placed Your hand gently on my shoulder.
~Psalm 139:5 (NIV and The Voice translations, respectively)
To hem something in is typically defined as to enclose or surround, to envelop in something.
He surrounds me. No matter how far I go, I can’t get away. On every side, He’s there, holding me in.
Despite this, I still want control. I don’t want to relinquish myself, though I know He has me in the palm of His hand. I’d rather take care of myself, even when life has shown me how well that strategy works (hint: it doesn’t).
I make a mess of myself when I forget that I hemmed in.
I am safe. I am taken care of. I am surrounded on every step of the way by His love.
Even on nights where my anxiety is raging,
my emotions are all over the place,
my head is spinning from the stress,
and my to-do list and list of things to worry about keeps getting longer…
He’s hemmed me in. He goes before me and behind me, and holds me in tight. He’s the master; He knows my steps better than I do. So instead of trying to do it all myself, I’ll choose to relinquish my mess. He can fix it, he can provide comfort, he can take what I’ve started and make something much better out of it than I can on my own. I don’t have a grasp of myself or my life without Him holding me in.
credit: SheReadsTruth
Hallelujah for a Father that knows me, and yet still chooses to hem me in, behind and before.
So on nights where everything feels out of control (like tonight), I’ll give it up to the One who has the control in His hands. He knows what to do with it more than I do.
*before I write: I finally switched over from blogger to wordpress. My blogger was attached to an old email account, and I had to write in a different browser because of it. Also, wordpress just feels more grown up, so I made the switch! all my blogger posts are still intact, and I transferred them all to my wordpress, so you can read them here if you wish!
By the time I hit publish, it will probably be July 7th.
I’ll be 23 years old.
My 22nd year will finally be over, and I will breathe a deep sigh of relief.
I’ve never been much of a birthday celebrator. My family is- I still talk about the Spongebob birthday party my aunt threw for me when I was a kid (and she won’t let me forget it, either). Besides family parties and quiet celebrations, I’ve never been one for grand birthday celebrations. Another year. Woo.
But this year, I’m screaming it from the rooftops. IT’S MY BIRTHDAY, DANGIT! I’ve counted down for this birthday probably for months.
It’s not a significant birthday. I’m not celebrating with any major party (though now I think about it, I wish I was).
I’m just so ready for year 22 to be over, and am itching for 23 to finally be here.
~
This year has been excruciatingly hard. Harder than I ever imagined it would be.
I can’t say I’m sad to see it go. Honestly, it could go down as one of my worst years to-date. Lots of things that contributed to that, but I’m refusing to dwell on it here now. (You can check old posts if you’re new around here).
Instead of dwelling on what this year was (read: hell on earth), it’s time to focus on what is coming next: 23.
A new year. Especially a new year I was scared I wasn’t going to be here for. (seriously, read my old posts).
It’s a year full of new things. Scary things. Things I’ve been working towards my whole life (aka a teaching degree). It’s going to be a year of change and beginnings and endings, a year of new experiences and new people.
It’s a lot to think about right now. So I’m not going to.
Instead, I’m going to celebrate 23.
I survived the year. I made it through a year I didn’t think I’d see the end of. I made it through with some scars and memories I’d rather forget. I made it through with loud sobs and gnashing of teeth, barely dredging through the fog my brain had over my life.
But I made it.
And for that alone, I’m celebrating this ordinary birthday of my ordinary life.
This year, the word brave has been what I’ve shaped my life and “resolutions” around. A word that I never thought described me-especially when so much of my 22nd year has been enveloped in fear.
Esther 4:14 has been my matching verse for the year:
“And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?” (ESV)
And of course, She Reads Truth had a devotional about it the day before my birthday. (I am living proof God has a sense of humor).
Amanda wrote some lovely things that are still rattling around my brain (the what-ifs will eat my brain if I’m not careful), but this is what stuck out:
What if we set down the burden of fear and picked up the promises and possibilities of God?
I’m tired of carrying this fear around. I’m sick of anxiety crippling my every day life. I’m exhausted of trying to be my own hero, my own rescuer and life preserver (Jesus already did that, Jordan…). Why do I let the what-ifs and the list of things that could go wrong engulf my entire being? God has given me so many promises. He has so many things in store that I don’t know about yet (but I’d like a heads up sooner or later on what’s next, k thanks). It’s time to leave behind the mess fear left me in year 22, and embrace what could be in year 23.
Instead of fearing what 23 has in store, I’m diving in head first. And I’m celebrating every day. For every day fear stole from me in year 22, I am celebrating the days I’m given in 23. Even if I make it by the skin of my teeth-at least I made it.
23: Fear will NOT win this year. The what-ifs will not overtake the possibilities God has for me.
And for such a time as this, I wll be brave.
Cheers to 23. It can only go up from here. 🙂
and because we need a 23 theme song… and Dave Barnes rocks my world.
Writeable moments 