Today I was reading the book I Don’t Wait Anymore by Grace Thornton while in the doctor’s office. Grace’s blog was the 1st blog I really ever followed, so I was excited for her book– and it hasn’t disappointed.
She was writing a bit about visiting Corrie Ten Boom’s house (if you don’t know her, google her, she’s awesome). She told a story about a piece of embroidery hidden in her house, below the hiding place she used to shield people from the Nazis.Here’s the quote from the book (i posted the quote after time because it’s long):
“The tour guide reached past Dana and me, pulled the frame from the wall,and turned it over. The back was a straight-up mess. If you’ve ever done any stitching, you know what the underside of something like that looks like– an ugly tangle of threads with no visible picture at all.
That’s the side we see, Corrie would say. In our pride, when He weaves the dark threads in with the bright ones, we forget that He can see the upper side– the real picture, the intricate design– while all we see is the mess. “Every thread is important,” Corrie said.”
God sees the whole picture even when it’s hidden from us, and all we see is the messy behind-the-scenes moments.
When all we have is crazy, or broken, or frustrating, He knows that it’s all going to be a part of the greater story he’s telling. Even when the end results are hidden from us, we know that He’s going to make the mess and tangled threads we try to weave together and make something beautiful from them.
As Grace says earlier in the book, “In that deep place, God was weaving wonders from the mess.”
Even when the big picture is hidden from us, God is weaving every thread-no matter how long or short or pretty or ugly– into something for our good and for his glory. He’s weaving wonders from the mess of threads we’re making, even when we don’t understand what the picture’s going to look like.
Let us not worry about the parts of our story hidden from us right now– for they will all be woven together by the Master Creator into something far better than we could ever piece together ourselves.
And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good,for those who are called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28
doesn’t really go with the topic of the post, but it was stuck in my head the entire time writing so here ya go… ❤
taking a break from my Friends bingeing to join five minute friday this week! it’s been awhile.
the word for this week:
I like this one!
Everything I make or create is in worship and to the glory of the one who created me.
Art and crafting is one of my primary ways to worship. I’ve always been a hands-on learner– I like doing something with my hands to help me understand or learn new things. And that quickly translated into my faith life too: I love writing out verses in a pretty (for me) script, or drawing some sort of art to represent a Bible story. When I have quiet time, somehow someway usually my crafting supplies comes out, and I make something out of it: scrapbook pages etched with scripture, canvases painted and drawn on. It’s an outward expression of worship: something tangible to remind me of the words, the story, the God I love.
Bible journaling is a “trend” so to speak right now: people are starting to use journaling Bibles and arts/crafts supplies to draw, write, create pieces of art as worship to our creator. I quickly got on board, buying a journaling Bible and some supplies with Christmas money. It’s basically what I was doing before, but IN my Bible, which I loved. I could turn to a specific verse and write/draw/create something that went with that verse, contained in the Bible. I love it.
Something I noticed soon after starting Bible journaling was how much of my perfectionism is wrapped up in my creation: if it wasn’t perfect, or didn’t look like that super talented artist person’s illustration, then it wasn’t good enough. I would try to fix things that didn’t need fixing, until I would mess them up completely. My handwriting or painting skills or drawings didn’t look how I wanted them to look (perfect). I’m very crafty, y’all, but artsy I am not. And I struggle with that: a longing to create, but not the talent I want to do it to my standards.
I lost sight of why I was journaling in the first place: to worship. to honor. to glorify. to learn. to express my thoughts and feelings on what God was/is teaching me.
I create to worship my Creator, not to worship my art.
That’s what creating is about for me: creating art, in my Bible and out, that reflects the love and heart of my Creator and all He is doing in me.
And all I create is pleasing to Him, if my heart’s in the right place.
a few examples of my creations, ones I love and ones I don’t (but all pleasing to God):
my inaugural post of my wordpress site last year was a post the night before my 23rd birthday. It’s funny going back and reading that post night, 365(or 366?) days later.
23 didn’t go exactly as I had planned. That might be the understatement of the century, in my book.
I didn’t become a teacher. I didn’t graduate in December (an extra semester never hurt anyone, right?). I didn’t find a teaching job and begin my lucrative adulthood job and life. The year was full of new, scary things, just like I’d written there would be. But they weren’t the things I’d thought were going to happen.
Actually, none of the things I had planned to happen worked out.
But you know what? I’m glad they didn’t.
This year was hard. Harder than I’d imagined it was going to be, for different reasons than I thought it’d be.
But I loved it. After I dealt with the aftermath of quitting student teaching, I loved a lot of this year.
I wouldn’t have had an extra semester at Lipscomb– or a semester on-campus again. I needed that (both to be around Lipscomb and to have a break from living at home), so it was one of the biggest blessings to have that bonus semester. I wouldn’t have had the chance to get to know the people I did or take the classes I took (well, I wouldn’t be mad about that one, sorry Lipscomb EML department!).
I learned a lot about myself this year. I learned how much I can handle, how to give myself grace and a break when I need it. I learned what I’m capable of and what I need to say no to. I learned a lot more about myself via therapy (thank you Jesus for counseling) that helped me connect a lot of dots between my life and my mental illness. I learned what it takes to grow up in different ways and different areas in my life (and not in others–I will forever be emotionally a toddler and that’s just who I am, whoops).
That said, I struggled a lot. With doubt and frustration and second thoughts, with uncertainty and the future and dealing with the “what’s next?” question without pulling my hair out. I was in autopilot the last 4 weeks of classes, just trying to get by. Then I struggled with leavingLipscomb after the fact. Struggle was a big part of this year, at just about every turn and corner. Anxiety and depression still overwhelmed me at times, and I struggled to get out of the depths.
Some things might have been better if I had stayed the course (more predictability and stability, perhaps, and less future stress). I wouldn’t have struggled as much, wouldn’t have as much pressure to figure out what I want to do with my life– I already had it figured out, I thought. But I didn’t. And it took a lot of strength to admit that to myself. (I’m glad I did, but it sure made my life hell).
I wouldn’t be the same me if life had turned out how I had it planned last year.
I had to learn even more to trust Jesus, and to press into who He is and what He promises me. Even when I don’t feel it or understand it, He’s always come through. He hasn’t disappointed yet, but it’s still so daggone hard for me to let go and let someone else plan my way. But when I do? His plans always turn up infinitely sweeter than my own.
He got me through this year. He taught me how to lean–on Him, and other people. Community has been a big theme for me this year– my need for it, and my finding it through online channels (my online communities have been a lifeline while I’ve lived at home, away from most of my friends). He helped me understand who I am, and how who I am and who I’ve been all make me who I’m supposed to be. He reminded me how much he knows me and what I need, and loves me exactly how I need to be loved. He helped me understand joy as something I am, not something I get. He helped me find peace greater than myself.
He taught me what it truly means to be a beloved mess, even when I didn’t think those two things went together.
I look back and see all the good things that came from the hard things— from trips and random adventures, to getting a college diploma (late is better than never) and finding an internship that fits me perfectly a week before graduation. I met new people and made new friends and got to know the ones I have better (and let them get to know me). I chose the brave things. I did the brave things, the bold things. I chose the things I wouldn’t typically choose for myself.
I learned to cook (still learning) and became a dog mom to a puppy that was as close to a newborn as I want to be for a lonnnng time. I discovered new hobbies and passions and new ways to worship and love the Lord a little better. I discovered netflix and learned when to watch and when to go socialize (praise the Lord I didn’t know about netflix when I started college). I laughed a lot. I cried, sobbed a lot– both at my own plight and the crazy world we’re living in. I learned how to lean on people and tell them when I’m actually okay or not, and when to ask- and accept- help. I took risks when I needed and stood back when I needed to do that, too.
I listened to Hamilton nonstop like every other Broadway nerd, read good books that changed my life, and saw one of my favoritesingers perform live less than 24 hours after buying a ticket. I saw friends get engaged and married and have babies and love me and each other so well. I had to grow up and deal with my problems head-on instead of cowering behind being a kid. I had to learn how to fight my own battles– because this year was my battle, all on my own.
So yeah, it was hard. But God worked through the hard and brought me out a lot happier, a lot more grateful, and a lot more excited about the future instead of fearing it.
I wasn’t quite ready to grow up and be an adult last year. 22 was so unbelievably hard, and in a lot of ways, 23 was a year to recover (and deal with its own drama). I wasn’t quite ready to face adulthood when I was still mentally in a hole that I couldn’t see out of.
But now, here’s 24. And while I still don’t always feel quite ready to be an adult (i laughed at camp when i was called an authority figure), I’m ready to face adulthood now. I’m ready for the next new thing, the new chapter.
source: jmunsta.com
While I logistically know what’s in store (I’ll be interning at a local non-profit for the next year), I know now how God can change things and mess up my plans in an instant. And if he does change the plans or creates new ones– I trust Him with them more than I trust myself with my own plans. That’s the difference going in to this year for me– last year I was so certain my plans were laid out and perfect, only to have to wave the white flag and surrender myself to Him after I had it all figured out. This year, I’m waving the white flag first-– knowing that I cannot plan this thing on my own, and that He will direct the path and the plans in front of me infinitely better than me doing it on my own.
I know whatever happens, 24 is going to be a good year– because it’s going to be full of Him, community, new experiences–and full of growing up.
So, this is the year where it happens. The year I finally start doing the adult things and stop being a student (that is so weird oh my gosh). This is the year I take a bigger step towards the future and what God has in store. This is the year I’ll take into my hands, hand them over to His hands, and step back and watch Him do what He wants with me.
I’m a lot better me when I’m in it with Him.
23, you taught me a lot. You were not the easiest year, but that may make you one of the better ones I’ve had. Cheers to 24, growing up, and surrendering this year to whatever God has in store. It’s going to be great because it’s going to be full of Him.
Jesus, I surrender it all. All of my 24th year is yours to do what you want– I can’t wait to see where You lead me.
**if you’ve been under a rock and don’t know where my title came from… listen and educate yourself, please:
Thanks Natalie for forcing me to listen to Hamilton. And thanks to all the people that walked with me through this crazy year.
I’m loved and adored– of this I’m sure. By my family, my friends, mentors, teachers– they remind me of this fact daily. I’m beloved by God, and am dearly loved even when I don’t feel like I am.
But knowing I’m loved is not enough to make my depression go away.
love is not enough to make me not anxious about the future, the past, or the present.
as much as I would like for love to be enough to cure me of all my ails, mental, physical, and emotional– it’s just not.
Love was not enough when panic attacks kept me up every night for 3 months.
Love was not enough when I cried nightly in fear that I wouldn’t wake up the next day. When I refused to sleep in fear I’d die in my sleep.
Love was not enough when I considered walking across the street into traffic. Or when I googled pill combinations to kill myself in my sleep.
Love wasn’t enough all of the times I’ve thought that the world would be better off without me.
Love wasn’t enough when depression grabbed hold of me after quitting student teaching, or in middle school when I was drowning in fear and apathy(or in elementary school when i said I just didn’t feel like living anymore. it’s been a long journey, people).
Love wasn’t enough when I felt alone in a crowded room.
Love wasn’t enough when I was diagnosed with GAD and encountered my mental hell– the hardest thing I’ve been through to-date.
Love wasn’t enough to save me from myself.
There are so many times I’ve wanted love to be enough. No need for counseling or medicine or vulnerability required when friends ask how I’m really doing. If the love of my friends and family was enough, I’d never struggle with this crap. But it’s not.
Love isn’t enough for cancer or dementia or a stroke. We can’t love diabetes or traumatic brain injuries away. We can’t love mental illness away either–it’s not called illness for nothing.
If love were enough, I wouldn’t be anxious about my next chapter, no matter how excited I am for it.
If love were enough, I would not spend my nights terrified of having more panic attacks. I wouldn’t pray for God to wake me up the next morning because I’m unsure if I will or not, and it scares the living daylights out of me.
If love were enough, I’d never have to worry about the feelings of hopelessness or loneliness or darkness that surface when I’m struggling. They’d never appear, because love triumphs those things– but not when your brain works against you.
If love were enough, I’d never have to take medicine to fix the chemicals in my brain that try to convince me to self-destruct. Every. single. day.
If love were enough, the voices in my head that tell me I’m not enough or forgotten or unworthy would never interfere with the voice of God’s, calling me beloved and welcomed and wanted.
But love isn’t enough for me to overcome this hell on my own. I can’t be loved into my broken brain being healed.
Love helps. Love heals parts of me. But it doesn’t fix. It doesn’t cure.
Love– and being loved– is an incredible thing, don’t get me wrong. But it’s not enough to save my life. I love that people love me– without it, i wouldn’t be me. But it’s not what makes me better. I have other things (like medicine and therapy and sharing my story) to fight for with me. I have strategies and plans for when my anxiety goes haywire and I don’t know where to turn. I have friends I can call or text when things get muddled by the darkness and I begin to feel lost. I have God to lean on and cry out to, even when that involves me screaming and crying about why this is what’s been given to me to suffer through.
~
I’m thankful I’m not in one of those places right now— for the most part, I’m doing OK currently; but the reason I’m writing this now? It’s because I know I’ll be there again. I know that my anxiety will have me sobbing, scared out of my mind. I know depression will encircle me, creating a darkness and loneliness that robs me of life. It’s a cycle that ebbs and flows, and I know that it’s something I will battle all my life, probably. It will hit me like a punch in the gut, like a shakiness I cannot overcome on my own.
And the last thing I need someone telling me is that “oh but you’re so loved, how can you be depressed? you have so much going for you, how can you be anxious?”
I am so loved. I do have a lot going for me right now.
But that doesn’t mean anything to my mental illness. I could be in the happiest time of my life and it steal me of my joy (and it has). It doesn’t care about what’s going on or who I am or how loved I am.
It’s a thief that steals and kills and destroys. It’s a liar that makes you believe what it says about you, no matter what other voices say.
And it doesn’t care one bit about how loved you are, because it will do everything in its power to make you feel as unloved and useless as possible.
Love is not enough. It will never be enough for me to save myself.
But I sure do wish it was.
This song kept coming to mind when writing this– Against the Voices, Switchfoot
This one too… Rain Clouds, The Arcadian Wild (I have talented friends).
Writeable moments 