It’s been a crazy couple of weeks. The summer is about to turn into the fall and when you work for a Church in a college town that means that stuff gets really busy. My week was nuts, and it transitioned into an insane weekend which culminated in a whirlwind Sunday. From the moment I woke up yesterday I was rushing from one thing from another; every second of my morning was filled with a task.
It wasn’t until I was standing in the front row ready to worship that I realized I was about 3 seconds away from some kind of melt down.
Sometimes I feel totally self-assured and certain about my life and my plans and then sometimes I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing.
Sunday, as the music began to wash over me and the lyrics on the screen gave freedom to thoughts that I had been trying to ignore, I was smothered by this shuddering realization that I felt terrifying lost and unknown.
And I suddenly thought – I’m about to lose it. Right here and right now. I’m either about to start sobbing or laughing hysterically, but either way it’s about to get super awkward for me and the new guy on staff standing next to me.
But I did neither. I breathed in and out. I had a meeting right after service, so it didn’t seem like there was enough time to fall apart and get all put back together before my next appointment.
I’m attributing this kind of ‘incident’ to grief cause I guess that’s the thing that makes me sound the least crazy.
Honestly, I think I’m just a confusing person to live with. I’m zealous for authenticity. I’m desperate to know what’s true. And that’s troubling when you’re going through a season when you have no idea what is real about yourself. I can’t tell if I’m passionate or if I’m just manufacturing those emotions because I’m supposed to be passionate. I don’t know how to distinguish between the things I really want and the things I just feel like I’m supposed to want.
The point of this story isn’t my almost meltdown. The point of this story is the realization that happened mid-almost-meltdown.
As I tried desperately not to dissolve into a pile of girl-mess on the front row of my home church (which is also inconveniently my place of employment), I realized: it’s okay.
It’s okay. It’s okay that I have no idea who I am.
Because God knows exactly who I am.
It’s okay that I don’t feel like I know myself, because I’m really deeply known by God.
Realizing that triggered a whole new almost melt-down, but the good kind, and that’s okay too.
Grace is just too big to inhale without having to suck in your breath and swallow back sobs.
I’m in the middle of this crazy chapter of my life and I feel like I’m being thrown every which way, but when I squint my eyes I can see this one fixed point of light and I know that if I can just make it inside that light I will be safe and tethered and there is nothing that can shake me.
And just as I’m trying to figure out how to get there, I find myself being wrapped up and held by that light so tightly that I’m not sure I can breathe and I’m not sure I need to breathe.
I don’t need to know me. He knows me.
He’s that one fixed point. In the midst of the madness I can hang onto all that is true about Him and He won’t move and He won’t shake and He won’t flinch or fail. So I can just squeeze my eyes shut and hang on to Him with every ounce of my grace-given strength.
Maybe it’s backwards, but I’m a mystery to me. The more I look at me the more muddled I get.
When I look at Him, everything feels clear and calm. He’s warm and steady and safe and real and wide and deep and mine. He’s mine.