it’s five minute friday time, and I am tired. It’s been a week. Tomorrow’s Friday which means it’s my sabbath and I am going to ENJOY it cause I have a bajillion school related things to do this weekend. Womp womp.
The word this week:
GO
Last night I had a full-blown panic attack- the first major one I’ve had in over a month. I came home from my mission trip meeting around 11, and as soon as I walked into my dorm room, something shifted. And my brain went into overdrive.
I did the typical things I do mid-panic attack (walked 3 laps around a wet and cold campus primarily), but was still shaky going to bed. This morning I woke up sore and achy– the mind-body connection thing is strong, y’all.
But the morning offered me a hope that going to sleep shaky in the darkness couldn’t: that I was okay. And that it was a new day, free from whatever anxiety held over me the night before.
—
Ever since my anxiety hit, I’ve had a love-hate relationship with nighttime– I’m scared of the darkness, and yet it’s when I’m most awake.(I legit have a draft of a post on this very topic I just haven’t finished writing. Someday.) I want to sleep, but it’s when I come alive– and when my anxiety scares me the most. It’s a weird paradox.
And yet, morning is what I really love. The first few months of my mental hell crazy, I yearned powerfully for mornings– and moreso for me to wake up in the mornings. Because mornings were hope. Mornings meant the darkness hadn’t won.
Mornings meant I had another day to live.
The darkness lasts through the night, but the joy comes with the morning– and it doesn’t leave me in my darkness afraid.
STOP.
Technically I’m done with a few seconds to spare, but one quick addition: I’m in the middle of Annie F. Downs’ new book, Looking for Lovely (I’m on her launch team, praises), and lordy, it’s already broken me open in more ways than I can express. I can’t go into too much detail here about the book just yet (it releases in April then I can talk all i wanna about it!), but there’s a whole chapter called Sunrise so I thought it’d be appropriate to end with:
“Maybe I find so much breathtaking beauty in the sunrise not so much because of what it is starting but more because of what it signals has ended.”
The dark has ended. Light has come.
His mercies are new every morning, guys. And they chase the darkness away. Both in my head and my heart.
it’s crazy what a difference a year makes. how memorable some days on the calendar are over others.
This day last year, I hit publish on one of the scariest things I’ve ever written.
Scarier than any other blog post, instagram post, tweet, or facebook message.
I finally wrote about my mental hell. In (almost) full-detail. I’d alluded to it before, and had only told a few people– 2, 3 people at most– about what had happened from October to December 2014. But this? This laid it out on the table. No turning back, hiding any of my thoughts or feelings on the subject— I placed it all out here and hit publish.
I was scared as hell. It was the most vulnerable I had ever been in my life. It took me weeks to hit publish on that post because of how personal it was.
I wasn’t sure what people would say (if anything). Or think. I was afraid people would think I was being overdramatic and exaggerated (I wish I was). I was scared of the stigma around mental illness and getting help–I’d already experienced it in my personal life, would I get more of it here?
But I knew I needed to write it. Writing has always been my outlet– and writing things here in the blogging world made me feel less alone. I knew I needed to be honest and tell people what I was going through. I was at a point where I was going to snap under pressure, and I needed a release. This was an easier release than talking about it in person (something I still struggle with a year later).
As soon as I hit publish, I exhaled. Both because I’d finally finished it, and because I wasn’t hiding such a huge part of myself anymore.
Now here we are a year later. I’ve reread the post since writing it, mostly glossing over it by skimming. But today, I read it line by line, re-living the words I wrote.
I can feel the emotion in my writing. It’s palpable, all coming back to me as I read it again.
My heart racing. The lump in my throat. The hyperventilating. The shakiness and fear in my eyes. The tears of shock, the fear of not knowing what was going on. The crying myself to sleep. The body aches the morning after– I remember it all so clearly as I read my words again.
I felt those symptoms and more for over two months before seeking help. Every day, I went to be thinking I was dying and something was going to kill me in my sleep.
It all came back so suddenly as I read. I could feel it– those symptoms– rising up in me all over again. I can barely read them without feeling anxious and panicky. Re-reading my words makes me teary. And exhausted. I can’t believe I didn’t just write those words–I lived them. It was the scariest time in my life so far.
The crippling anxiety that came after my initial panic attacks is something I still struggle with, to a degree. At that point in my life, I was in an extreme mode of anxiety– not sleeping, constantly pacing the floor, crying and screaming to God about where the hell He was in all of this. I checked WebMD every time I had an ache or pain as if my life depended on it– because in my brain, it did.
I felt so alone and so scared. I didn’t tell anyone unless I had to, and even then I kept it to a basic “I’m just feeling anxious” answer. It took months for me to tell anyone how extreme it was. I didn’t start therapy until the semester after this all started-partially because of time, partially because I was scared to figure out what the root of this problem is (I still haven’t figured that out, truly).
Reading how everything after my initial attack unfolded (the parent in the lobby, the EKG coming back normal, my initial GAD diagnosis) makes me stop and see that God was there even in the midst of one of the scariest moments. Even if I didn’t understand (or still don’t) what was happening, there were subtle whispers and moments that gently reminded me that I hadn’t been abandoned– even if my brain felt like I was. I was never alone in those few months– even when I felt like I was. This whole diagnosis and life after has changed my faith in lots of ways, looking back. I feel like I depend on God more now– I felt like I had to depend on him for survival every night. I held onto Him and scripture for dear life some days, finding comfort and reassurance from David in the Psalms that I wasn’t the only one that was on this emotional roller coaster. GAD has changed the way I depend and open myself up to God, and for that I’m grateful. I still have a lot of questions and still have some anger about this whole season of life, but even if they don’t get answered and I don’t understand all the hows or whys, I still believe He proved his sovereignty and his love for me in the smallest, sublest of ways. He’s still good, even when life all around me isn’t.
A year later and I look back at what has transpired since.
Therapy and medicine entered my life — and practically saved it. Medicine helped me balance out what was over my head, and therapy both helped me grapple with reasons and explanations as to why I was/am anxious, and giving me tools to combat the anxiety before and after it starts. I’m always going to be anxious–it’s a part of my life. But it doesn’t rule over me like it used to. And on the days where my anxiety runs higher than normal, I use one of my tools to combat it and bring me back down. It doesn’t always work, but it usually brings me some solace. Sleeping was one of the biggest struggles I had; therapy helped me develop a “nightly ritual” of sorts–take my melatonin, write my to-do list for the next day (so that I’m not up all night thinking about what I need to do the next day), make my bed up (at night, I know I’m weird), and pray. I try to go to bed before/around midnight every night so I’m consistent– obviously college makes that impossible some nights, but I try. Sleep is now my best friend– along with melatonin.
With medicine and therapy, I have been able to do a lot of things I didn’t think I could do: I traveled, I went on adventures, I let myself be more spontaneous. I didn’t let fear and anxiety keep me from living every day. Somedays it overpowers me and my wants, but I don’t let it have control over me anymore. It’s a great feeling. I still have my days where my anxiety keeps power over me, but I’ve learned that it’s OK– some days and some things are just going to make me anxious. I’m aware of it now, and how to handle it– and sometimes that means sitting out. I’ve learned to know my limits and boundaries, and it’s a nice thing to figure out.
It took awhile for medicine to regulate me, but when it did, the intense panic attacks became fewer and far-between. The anxiety was still there, and some nights crippling, but the full-blown attacks that kept me from living were slowly disappearing. As of now, I only have full-blown attacks when I’m under a lot of stress or am overwhelmed. The last time I had one was in January. I have smaller attacks when I let myself get to overthinking and spending too much time in my head, but I can combat those easier than I could last year. I feel a lot better about my ability to control my attacks than I did last year.
Along with the good comes the bad. A lot of life changes have happened over the past year, and they brought even more anxiety and stress than just the everyday anxiety I’d been carrying. I left student teaching and was left utterly clueless with what to do with my life, I began having more stress at home, and anxiety about the future and going back to Lipscomb for an unplanned extra semester just sent me further into a pit I couldn’t get out on my own. In September, I made the decision to talk to my doctor about upping my medicine dosage. I’m glad I did– after a couple weeks, the fog I’d been under lifted greatly. I started feeling like myself again.
After writing this post last year, my ability to be vulnerable went up greatly. In writing, at least. I heard a lot of “me, toos”– more than I expected. Now that friends knew what I was dealing with, they were able to check in and ask me how I was feeling. I’d post on facebook or instagram and felt relieved I could talk about how I was honestly feeling– and people would listen. Vulnerability became easier for me– almost too easy. I’m learning to draw more boundary lines about what I need to say and what I don’t need to say. But it’s so easy for me when I’m having a bad night to write about it than it is to actually talk to someone.
On that note, talking in person is my biggest struggle. Still. I have a support system, but am just afraid to reach out to people in person like I am in writing– and online. It’s one of the weird things about social media for me– it’s such an outlet for me, yet it’s made it easier for me to be less than open and honest in person. I want to fix that. I haven’t found the right people to talk to in person yet, minus my therapist. I have friends I’ll text when I need them, but I’m always scared to hit send and bother them with it. Same with in-person– I’m one of those that says she’s fine to save face when she’s crumbling underneath, just to not offer the other person grief. I’d rather be the helper than the one being helped. It’s a lot easier for me to be honest and vulnerable and not okay behind my computer screen than when you’re sitting across from me. It’s a work in progress– I just need to look for the right people to talk to.
—
This year has been such an eye-opening year of growth. I’ve learned so much about myself, about mental health and self-care, about how to be honest and vulnerable (and how far I have to go on that front), about who to talk to and who not to. It’s been such a process dealing with this. While mentally I’m a lot better than I was when I wrote that post last year, I am still a work a progress. I have a lot to go, and don’t know if I’ll ever be fully okay. I’m always going to be anxious, but now I know what’s okay and what isn’t– and how to fix it. I learned more about what it really looks like to depend on God, and to find him even in the midst of scary and dark times. It’s been an eye-opening year since I first told people about my life with GAD– and even when it hasn’t been easy to talk about, I’m glad I did. I’m a healthier, better version of myself for it.
I’m a new me since GAD entered my life. Even though this new me is a little shaky and a little louder, I like her. And while I don’t like that GAD eneted my life at all, it’s made me a better version of myself– and for that, I’m thankful.
I heard this lyric to this song for the 1st time today– in Zumba class, no less– and nearly stopped moving (which is kinda taboo in Zumba, but whatevs).
I attempted to pay attention to the song in between stretches and movements as we ended our workout, but couldn’t really grasp it. So I asked our instructor the name of the song (I recognized the singer, Lauren Daigle, right away by her voice) and bought the song so I could hear it in its entirety.
It’s almost 11:30, five hours after class ended, and I’m still listening.
After leaving work, I quickly threw my things in my room and left for a walk, both a treat to myself for finishing my homework on time (victory!) and a chance for my soul and my body to finally breathe together, in sync, after a long day. As I walked I listened to this song, singing along the words I had learned already as I stared at my ever-present comforter, the stars, glistening across campus. It’s a breezy spring-like night here in Nashville, and as the wind blows I exhale and almost feel myself saying hallelujah with every gust of wind, an exhale of both mind and spirit. Another week down. Another grind almost completed. Same old, same old. It’s exhausting just going with the motions. It’s sweet relief when Thursday comes for my brain and my heart.
And this song still rings in my ears, like I can’t shake it. I sing and exhale at the same time, relieved at the comfort the words bring.
Now I sit in front in the middle of campus on a spring-like Thursday night, listening to this song in one ear, the roar of the campus fountain in the other. I’m pretty sure I’m getting odd stares and looks from the straggling students wandering around at close to midnight, but I don’t care. I need to be outside as I write tonight. Don’t know why, but I just couldn’t contain myself inside.
The song is on repeat now, the words becoming familiar enough that I sing along aloud:
When You don’t move the mountains I’m needing You to move When You don’t part the waters I wish I could walk through When You don’t give the answers as I cry out to You I will trust, I will trust, I will trust in You.
I used a lyrics site to look up these words, cause no matter how well I know a song I typically mess up the lyrics. The particular site I used chose to add an exclamation point to the last line of the song. I will trust, I will trust, I will trust in You!
I deleted it. Solely because this whole trust thing isn’t exactly joyous in my mind: it’s more like terrifying.
I’m in this season of life where I have no clue where I’m going.
No. idea.
And it’s quite honestly the scariest feeling, not knowing what is next for me. For so long I’ve had plans, or at least ideas, of the “next” chapter. After high school was Lipscomb. After Lipscomb was teaching… until now.
Now there’s nothing. And I sit in classes, I volunteer my time where I can, I visit with friends, and yet there’s something hollow about it. There’s something that just keeps going off in the back of my mind: this is it. This is the end.
My college career is flying by in front of my eyes. As much as I wanted college to be done last year (and trust me, I want the particular classes I’m in now to be done, too), I’m not sure now. I think I want to be done– I feel like a fish outta water some days, like I’ve overstayed my welcome. And yet. I’m not quite ready to leave, because at least here I have something figured out.
This has been my steady for nearly 5 years. It’s been my safe place, my home, my peace. I didn’t just love and cherish the college chapter, I needed it. I needed college as much as I wanted it (and not just for an education). And as much as I think I’m ready for the next chapter, I’m quite scared to let this one go. Because it’s certain. It’s unchanging. It’s fixed, while I’m growing and changing and moving about it. I needed the stability of college for so long, and now I’m not quite ready to let it go for another chapter of unsteadiness and wandering.
I was okay with it when I had a plan. I was sad about leaving Lipscomb, but at least I had the next chapter already figured out. At least I was letting go of one stable thing for another, or so I thought.
Now that that’s gone out the window, so has my stability, my sure bet… and I’m absolutely terrified.
—
One of the aspects of my counseling right now is career counseling (God must have had some foresight there when I got matched with my counselor, who is a career counselor by trade). My counselor has a lot more confidence in me than I have in me: she thinks I know in my heart of hearts what I want to do (I’m not so sure), and commends me for even coming to counseling for this reason (while it’s not the only reason, it’s up on the list). She gently reminds me that “having it all together” post-grad is a facade, and a lot of others are struggling in silence with the same thing I’m sitting here in counseling for. At least I have initiative to figure it out before May, she tells me.
I can’t imagine waiting till May, truthfully. I think I’d be a basketcase. Because it’s only February and I’m sitting here straight terrified, casually checking job listings on campus and taking random career tests to figure something out. I’m going to a conference this weekend about Enneagram, in hopes that maybe it’ll help provide some insight to how I can use what I’ve been given in a career.
I have time, I remind myself. And yet time feels so short. Just sitting here writing this out has overwhelmed me to tears. It’s such a scary, vulnerable place to be.
I have ideas. I have dreams… at least I think they’re dreams of mine. They’ve been planted somewhere in my head and my heart, enough to say them out loud when I brainstormed ideas with my counselor this week. Most I’ve kept quiet, unsure if it’s God or me planting the ideas. Some I’ve said aloud to friends, thinking maybe their insight would help me discern whose ideas they are. Hasn’t helped yet, but their encouragement has at least guided me to figuring things out some more.
I have these dreams. I have ideas.
I don’t have plans. Or answers. Or a sure bet.
But I have Jesus. And while I don’t have plans figured out or my next steps planned out… I have Him.
And in Him, I have an answer to all of this: trust. trust. trust.
Such a simple word. A harder concept.
I want lay my dreams down. I want to trust him to move the mountain that I’m facing. But I’m scared.
I’m scared of the unknowns. Of not having an answer, a next step in front of me. Of laying my dreams down and picking a dream up, only for God to say no again, thus this cycle continuing.
I want to let it all go, lay it down. But I don’t at the same time. It’s such a difficult place to be.
—
In my heart of hearts, as I sit here drying my tears and writing this, I hear this: there’s something more than this.
More than this fear. More than this sadness. More than my endless anxiety about the unknowns, this questioning and uncertainty. There’s more to life than sitting here trying to figure out the next chapter of it.
You are my strength and comfort You are my steady hand You are my firm foundation; the rock on which I stand Your ways are always higher Your plans are always good There’s not a place where I’ll go, You’ve not already stood
He’s steady. He’s stable. He’s good. He’s the answer I need right now. Even if I don’t figure it all out right now… He has it all. And he’s seen tomorrow. And next week. And May 8th. And he promises me that they’re good. Good things are happening, if I trust that He’s got it all in his hand. If I trust that He has myhand through it all.
I want to believe that. I do. I’m so exhausted from trying to figure it all out. I spend more time stressing about the future than I spend working on present-day things, and it’s made me and my heart spent. Weary. I want to believe there’s more than this plan-making and life-building on my own, because it’s taking its toll. Badly.
As terrifying as letting my dreams go and laying them down before God, keeping this I-can-do-it-on-my-own charade up is a lot more terrifying. And infinitely more exhausting.
Also from Even if Not, releasing on Tuesday!
So I’m going to try. I’m going to lay it all down: the loud dreams, the quiet dreams. the broken and bruised dreams of yesterday. The dreams I don’t know yet. I’m going to let them go (one by one if I have to), and let God handle it. Even if it scares the hell out of me to let myself go, it has to be better than doing it myself–and just getting by, coming up empty-handed while doing so.
I’m choosing trust. Even if it scares me to death. Even if I want my plans and dreams figured out tomorrow (or yesterday). Even if I’m worried about the future and what it has in store. Even if He doesn’t give me the answers I want, or when i want them, I will trust that His answers. His ways are better than mine. His plans are greater. His dreams bigger. And I will trust that right now, He is the only answer I need. Because He holds everything I could ever want or imagine.
I’m going to try. I’m probably going to screw up a lot, because I know myself and my controlling I-want-it-my-way ways. But I’m going to keep trying, because in my heart of hearts, I know He has plans bigger and better and more me than I could ever imagine.
I’m going to trust Him with this mountain. And I’m going to climb it with my hands wide open towards the starry sky, knowing it’s where my help comes– not from my own understanding.
When You don’t give the answers as I cry out to You I will trust, I will trust, I will trust in You
like I was going to leave you without the song. God works through words and music and lyrics and it makes my heart happy. 🙂
“Sometimes you need to throw logic out the window!”– a friend of mine said this to me a few months ago. We were talking about stuff going on at home and ways I could get out and fix it. I kept telling her that there was no logical way to do it– no way I knew of that I could fix or change my somewhat-dire situation.
I have always found a way to limit myself– or rather, what God can and will do.
I always (always) underestimate what kind of God I serve.
He made the sky and the stars, and yet He still knows me by name. He made this entire universe, and every detail as it should go… yet He calls me his. Little me.
How could a God so massive yet so personal be limited in what He can do with me?
Yet I understimate myself and my abilities. I don’t think I can do this, or I need a plan to do that. When really: I need to let go of what limits I’ve put on myself and my abilities, and let Him work through me instead. He can do bold, He can do wild. He can go beyond what my logical brain can and make beautiful things out of the nothingness I feel like right now. As much as I want to be the girl with the plan and the ideas, right now? I’ve got nothing. But that’s where God needs me: less of me, more of Him. There’s no limit on what I can do when I’m willing to let Him be greater in me.
There is no limit on what He will do. There is no limit on what I can do through Him.
STOP.
One small thing to add: a couple days ago, a friend made a comment about the future that has stuck with me: I don’t know what’s next, but that means that God can use me however He wants because I don’t have a plan. His plans, his dreams for us are limitless. They go so beyond what we can think or plan or imagine or logically come up with for ourselves.
My plans are good, but they’re finite. As I’ve learned over the past year, my plans cause me to fall flat on my face in total cluelessness. Instead, I trust a God who can use me however he wants–because His plans for me are limitless.
Existential Crisis: a moment at which an individual questions the very foundations of their life: whether this life has any meaning, purpose, or value. (via wikipedia)
***
I am struggling.
Struggling is an understatement, actually.
No, this isn’t about my mental health or a mental crisis. I’m doing okay on that front. Ish.
Right now, I’m struggling because I absolutely have zero direction for where I’m going, or what I’m doing. Or what I want to do. Or what is going to happen when I graduate in less than 100 days. Where am I going to live (NOT at home again lord no)? Where am I going to work? What am I going to do? These questions, they live in my brain 24/7.
Right now, I sit in classes 4 days a week that I kind of hate. That’s a first in my 4 1/2 years of college, if I’m being honest. I’ve hated classes before (ie science and math and PE, oh my) but never in my life have I found myself hating every single class.
And it’s not because of the classes themselves: mostly, I enjoy the content of the classes (with the exception of Lit theory, sorry Dr. C but UGH), I enjoy the discussion. I love being back with my English major friends and having grownup conversations with friends that have similar passions and ideals.
But I sit there every day and know that more than likely, I’m never going to use the things I’m learning post-grad. I feel like I’m wasting my time (and my money) and am just so upset and annoyed and scared by that fact.
I never had any intentions on doing anything but teach with an English degree. The only thing I ever wanted to do with English was teach it. I’m getting a useless degree for me (not in general)– because there’s nothing in the world of literature I intend on doing as a career. None. Nada. I don’t even know what that would entail, minus going to graduate school. I have friends that are getting the same degree– but they have plans with it. Grad school, law school, vet school, teaching, other English-y jobs… they know what they want to do with a plain ol’ English degree. I don’t. Because the only job I wanted in the realm of literature? Teaching. How quickly that changed. As much as I don’t regret leaving teaching when I did, the aftermath and picking up the pieces is a nightmare.
I never wanted to go into higher ed/grad school for English. At all. Ever. The thought of it scares me and makes me nervous. I am awful at analyzing literature (and have the shortest attention span known to man) and as much as I love writing, I know I would get massacred if studying composition or rhetoric at the graduate level. I just don’t have the ability or tenacity to succeed at that higher level of education on this subject. And truthfully, I don’t know if I want to. As much as I love school and learning, more years of studying literature in-depth till I kill it (and my brain cells) horrifies me. I’d be afraid I’d hate reading or writing after spending years analyzing it.
So now, everyday I go to classes for a degree I don’t want. I go to every single class with a headache. Everyday I am mentally unprepared to do anything but just be there. I’m nervous and anxious before every class, and am counting down the minutes till I can high tail it out and breathe a deep sigh of relief. I sit in class and wonder where I’m going to use the things I’m hearing, how what I’m learning is going to help me in any shape or form (besides being a decent intellectual being).
It’s not senioritis (at least to an extent) or adjusting back to being in school after a semester off–I’m doing fine keeping up with readings and assignments for the most part. I’ve got ideas for my research paper and lit theory project already stirring. I’m doing what I need to do for classes on time. I’m going through the motions.
I just have no desire to do things anymore. Because now I have no end goal.
I have no intentions of using the degree I’m earning when I walk in May. And I hate it. I. hate. it.
The worst part is that I have no utter clue what I want to do in lieu of what I had planned. I’m researching, praying, weighing out ideas in between classes… and still, I am just clueless.
I get asked, almost daily, “so, what are you going to do? what’s next?”
I really, really wish I had an answer. I want to so badly.
I just don’t know.
Is this what an existential crisis in a 23 year old feels like? I really want to have some purpose, some end goal. Some idea of meaning in my life and my future. And right now, I’ve got nothing. Instead, I walk around trying to find some meaning in what I’m doing right now (besides the fact that being back at Lipscomb is the biggest blessing to me and my sanity ever) and worry about graduation getting closer each and every day. Looking up job ideas and graduate school ideas just to see if anything sparks my curiosity.
It’s not even that I want to know– I need to know something. A next step, at least. Not necessarily what I want to do for the rest of my life, but something I can do in my right-now life. But at the same time, figure out what I really want to do. I’ve seen so many people (like my mom) just do jobs endlessly because they needed them for financial sake, instead of doing what they are passionate about. And I don’t want to end up like that… I just don’t know what I’m passionate about anymore.
***
And as much as I hate this feeling, I can’t help but be jealous of the friends that have their shit together. Because I was always the one that had it all together. I had a plan, and it was coming along quite nicely. And now I see friends that have everything together, grad school plans in full swing, getting married or having babies or moving to pursue jobs and I just can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy about it– something I’ve rarely ever felt, something I’m really not proud of feeling. But it’s there. Not because of the things they’re doing– I don’t want marriage or babies anytime soon, or anything like that. But jealous of the fact that they have concrete plans. They know what’s next, at least. They know what they’re doing next, where they’re going, how they’re accomplishing their dreams.
I don’t even have dreams of what I want to do next. I don’t have a purpose for anything coming up in my life– no utter clue what I want to do or how I could do it.
As happy and thrilled that I am for my friends that have some things put together in their lives– and I am!— I can’t help but wish I had it together with them.
Instead, I’m sitting here, completely clueless. About everything.
I was the one with direction, the one with the plan, my entire life. I was so freaking planned out, sold out on what I was going to do and how I was going to do it. And then, nothing.
And it’s the most miserable place to be.
I wish I had answers. I wish I had plans. I wish I had a reason as to why this happened this way (other than student teaching proving to me that teaching was a living hell).
I just don’t want to feel so lost anymore.
** a note… i know god has a plan, and a future for me, everything’s going to work out, and every other Biblical platitude you usually think of in this type of situation. I know. Those are all great things, but they’re not right now things helping me. I’m praying and trying to figure things out best I can in that respect. I just needed a minute to write what has been rolling around in my head the past few weeks. I needed a pity party. I plan to suck it up and trudge through the next few months, liking it or not. I’ll make it, liking it or not. Thanks for reading. 🙂
five minute friday time! this time on time. 2 in one day, at least I’m consistent, right?
The week’s prompt: focus.
Today, I noticed something.
In class, I focused more on doodling on my paper than listening to my professors lecture. I just did not want to be there (another story for another day), so I focused my brain on what was next to draw instead of the topic at hand.
In Zumba tonight, I noticed how I was so focused on the next move or the next position that I’d stop what I was doing and turn to the teacher to make sure I knew what was coming next, or that I was doing things right. By doing that, I messed up. A lot.
Whenever I’m doing something in my schedule for the day, I’m always looking towards what’s next on my t0-do list instead of what I’m in the middle of.
I get so focused on what’s next or what’s coming up that I don’t pay attention to what’s right in front of me.
I’m so so bad about trying to plan the next ten moves in front of me when I’m still taking the first step of right now.
I want to control. I want to know. I want to figure everything else out before I figure right now out.
My focus need not be on tomorrow or next week. My focus today? Needs to be today.
Even if that kills the planner type-A person inside of me.
STOP.
I posted this on facebook a few days ago and my friend mentioned it again to me today:
basically I need it tattooed on my forehead. Or posted in my dorm room. Either/or. I know everything will happen as it’s supposed to. I need not focus on what’s not happening yet, even if I really want to.
“Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don’t get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes.” Matt 6:34 (msg)
On the sabbath days where I choose to say no to my to-do list, and yes to rest.
On the days I forget my headphones (or lose them, whoops), and walk in the midst of the world He’s made instead of the world I create.
In the quiet, my ears are tuned out to the voices in my head, and tuned in to the words He needs me to hear.
***
A couple weeks ago we had a massive (for Nashville!) snowfall that basically shut the city (and my school) down for a few days. By day, it was fun to play in and enjoy, laughter and chaos abounding.
By night, everyone was warmly tucked into their dorms, snow still falling lightly. The snow calms the rest of the usual noises down and creates a quiet, peaceful hum in the air. And so, I bundled up and walked around campus, enjoying the quiet that is not so common on a college campus. I ended up on my dorm’s front porch, sitting in the silence, looking at the clear sky coated with stars. One star in particular was sparkling and flickering brightly. I fixated on it. Stars are one of my favorite things, but stars and snow? Breathtaking.
It was just what my soul needed: quiet. Enough quiet that I could hear him stirring, shifting things in me. The quiet made His words come through clear as day in my ear:
peace be with you.
No bible chapter or book number, no song or hymn. Just those words.
Peace be with you.
I knew they were not my words. They came straight out of nowhere. They were directly from Him, sent straight to where I needed them most.
In a season of chaos, unrest, and uncertainty, His words were a gift to my soul.
And I wouldn’t have heard them if I hadn’t had my world quieted.
Writeable moments 