Tonight I told my roommate I had been trying to process my anger from the events that occurred this morning. She shook her head and laughed remembering how I had stormed into the house at 8:25am, on the verge of tears, venting about what I perceived in that moment as the worst morning anyone on Earth could ever be put through.
The average roommate would have replied, "Yeah, you were crazy," accepted rage as a part of my God-given character, and been careful to tread lightly around me from this day forward.
But my roommate sat down with me and helped me walk through the situation step-by-step. Even though she knew the story from my rather emotionally-charged account earlier today. She allowed me to tell the whole thing once more as she interjected with questions. "What did the other person say at the beginning?" "How did you feel?" "How did you react?"
Our investigation uncovered this: I felt belittled by the way I had been spoken to, which caused me to feel hurt and anger. It would be normal to be a little frustrated by the way things had gone down, but I was boiling. That was unnecessary.
"When I saw you were about to cry this morning, I knew there was a deeper issue than the one that had just occurred to make you so upset. What have you experienced in your life that brought up similar feelings?" my roommate pressed. Out came other instances in which it seemed like someone was communicating that they didn't think I knew what I was doing, I was incapable or unprepared.
At the root, these are the lies we found: When I feel belittled it means I am incapable. When I feel belittled by someone I need to prove myself to them.
Through this dirt, God grew these beautiful truths: It doesn't matter how others perceive me. I am capable, because I am a daughter of God and I have the Holy Spirit living in me. I have the Mind of Christ. I am smart. I don't need to prove myself to anyone. I can leave a situation with a peaceful heart no matter what the other person thinks of me, because God knows who I am.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Monday, October 21, 2013
Love Doesn't Go Dutch
Something God is currently teaching me is that no one is keeping track. Of anything.
A few weeks ago I sat around a table with a tremendous bunch of people, telling them how I consistently felt I was falling short in each of my closest relationships. I'm thankful to be included in this group who God uses to dig deep into each other's lives, rooting out toxic paradigms and replacing them with truth and clarity.
My feelings of inadequacy as a daughter, sister, cousin, friend, girlfriend, roommate, human, etc. - which would so graciously surface anytime someone offered me love in any form I was unable to give back in return - were uncovered on the table before my friends.
There are no accountants of love, because true love involves no record-keeping. I am not in debt with love. It is not measured. I can give selflessly to others, and I can receive freely the love others give to me. I'm learning to surrender to God my attempts to make everything "even" and instead just love simply. When I can and how I can. And receive the love that others give me when and how they can, without feeling bad for receiving it. Because love doesn't go dutch.
A few weeks ago I sat around a table with a tremendous bunch of people, telling them how I consistently felt I was falling short in each of my closest relationships. I'm thankful to be included in this group who God uses to dig deep into each other's lives, rooting out toxic paradigms and replacing them with truth and clarity.
My feelings of inadequacy as a daughter, sister, cousin, friend, girlfriend, roommate, human, etc. - which would so graciously surface anytime someone offered me love in any form I was unable to give back in return - were uncovered on the table before my friends.
There are no accountants of love, because true love involves no record-keeping. I am not in debt with love. It is not measured. I can give selflessly to others, and I can receive freely the love others give to me. I'm learning to surrender to God my attempts to make everything "even" and instead just love simply. When I can and how I can. And receive the love that others give me when and how they can, without feeling bad for receiving it. Because love doesn't go dutch.
Monday, September 23, 2013
Don't Skip Steps
My dad once told me that he reads the end of the book first, and if he likes how it turns out he goes to the beginning to see how the characters got to where they ended up. I'm not sure if he actually did this or if he was joking, but I do remember being absolutely appalled. What's the point of going back through the story if you already jumped to the end? Does that not ruin the entire journey??
Back in July, I prayed a prayer that some may consider a little "out there". Rather than addressing my simple, yet gigantic, yes-or-no question God responded, "Don't skip steps."
In the car on the way to church with friends this weekend, these words tapped me on the shoulder once more. "Don't skip steps."
When we believe that God has His best in store for us, it's tempting to skip the middle and race full speed toward the finish line (though the finish line we seek to achieve is often just the beginning of a new adventure). But doing that often causes us to come up short, to get hurt along the way, to run out of steam, or finish completely exhausted and out of breath.
I realize that God is using the small steps of my current journey to conquer the big fears I laid at his feet before setting out on this path. If I ignore all the in-between stuff, I will miss God's presence. I won't see how He is taking care of every care in my heart and worry that has tip-toed across my mind. I won't see Him guiding me to what is next or blessing me along the way. The journey is precious, and I am consciously choosing to be attentive to Him every step of the way.
Back in July, I prayed a prayer that some may consider a little "out there". Rather than addressing my simple, yet gigantic, yes-or-no question God responded, "Don't skip steps."
In the car on the way to church with friends this weekend, these words tapped me on the shoulder once more. "Don't skip steps."
When we believe that God has His best in store for us, it's tempting to skip the middle and race full speed toward the finish line (though the finish line we seek to achieve is often just the beginning of a new adventure). But doing that often causes us to come up short, to get hurt along the way, to run out of steam, or finish completely exhausted and out of breath.
I realize that God is using the small steps of my current journey to conquer the big fears I laid at his feet before setting out on this path. If I ignore all the in-between stuff, I will miss God's presence. I won't see how He is taking care of every care in my heart and worry that has tip-toed across my mind. I won't see Him guiding me to what is next or blessing me along the way. The journey is precious, and I am consciously choosing to be attentive to Him every step of the way.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Healer
I don't know how regular adults sit in cubicles all year round. Working more hours during summer, I've recently experienced pain in my wrist, forearm, elbow, and upper back (on the right side) while typing away. On Thursday (yesterday) my discomfort reached a moderate level and I decided something more than readjusting my chair needed to be done.
Last night during worship at Epic Life, I was thinking about my situation and noticed that the palms of my hands had become really hot. So I put my left hand on my wrist and then my elbow as I continued to sing, "Let your Heaven come on Earth, as it is in Heaven..."
I felt the pain in my wrist, forearm, and elbow dissipate.
You know how it feels when a massage therapist works a knot out of your back? At first the pain intensifies in the concentrated area and then you feel relief. That's what happened in my back.
This is love, you guys. This is God not only taking care of His children but also allowing them to experience His blessings. To me, this is radical; but to God, this is attending to the simple things. A wrist pain. A knot in my back. He knows it all and it all matters to Him.
Last night during worship at Epic Life, I was thinking about my situation and noticed that the palms of my hands had become really hot. So I put my left hand on my wrist and then my elbow as I continued to sing, "Let your Heaven come on Earth, as it is in Heaven..."
I felt the pain in my wrist, forearm, and elbow dissipate.
You know how it feels when a massage therapist works a knot out of your back? At first the pain intensifies in the concentrated area and then you feel relief. That's what happened in my back.
This is love, you guys. This is God not only taking care of His children but also allowing them to experience His blessings. To me, this is radical; but to God, this is attending to the simple things. A wrist pain. A knot in my back. He knows it all and it all matters to Him.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
You Are Not Transient
The morning of July 7th, I was awoken at 4:30 in the morning. It's unusual for me to wake up during the night, but in this instance my eyes popped right open. The first thing I noticed was the fear I felt and the fact that my body was defensively curled up against the wall adjacent to my bed. So I began praying against the fear. I know God is always here, so there's no place for fear in my house.
My prayers turned from declaring God's presence, power and protection to lifting up my loved ones and various events happening in the world.
Around 5:15am, God told me, "Get up and go watch the sun rise." Reluctantly I crawled out of the cocoon I had made from my comforter and stepped into the living room. Opening the blinds and looking to the horizon (or the roofs of houses) I saw the bright, beautiful sun peeking out in the distance while everything up close held on to the timid gray twilight.
Me: "Why am I here right now?"
God: "I wanted to tell you I love you."
Me: "Wow. Thank you. I love you too. What else?"
God: "I'm really proud of you."
Me: "You have my full attention. I'm listening to you."
Then, as the sun crept slightly higher in the morning sky, the lamp across the street from my house began to flicker on and off. Simultaneously, the artificial light went out like a candle in the wind and the sun burst it's final inch over the town and flooded everything in sight with the brightest, most courageous yellow-orange color I've ever seen.
"This is you where you are," God revealed. "For so much of the time you've lived in Sacramento, you have felt your life was in transition. It was, but you know who you are now. YOU are no longer transient. You are not flickering between who I made you to be and who the world confused you with. Everything you do comes from the authenticity of the TRUE source of light and life, Me."
If I had allowed the fear I initially felt to grip me (agreeing with the fact that I felt afraid rather than the truth that God is in control), I would probably not have heard God telling me to get out of bed and missed this entire message. Just like with my identity, if I allow fear to govern me I will miss opportunities to see, experience, and be God's light.
My prayers turned from declaring God's presence, power and protection to lifting up my loved ones and various events happening in the world.
Around 5:15am, God told me, "Get up and go watch the sun rise." Reluctantly I crawled out of the cocoon I had made from my comforter and stepped into the living room. Opening the blinds and looking to the horizon (or the roofs of houses) I saw the bright, beautiful sun peeking out in the distance while everything up close held on to the timid gray twilight.
Me: "Why am I here right now?"
God: "I wanted to tell you I love you."
Me: "Wow. Thank you. I love you too. What else?"
God: "I'm really proud of you."
Me: "You have my full attention. I'm listening to you."
Then, as the sun crept slightly higher in the morning sky, the lamp across the street from my house began to flicker on and off. Simultaneously, the artificial light went out like a candle in the wind and the sun burst it's final inch over the town and flooded everything in sight with the brightest, most courageous yellow-orange color I've ever seen.
"This is you where you are," God revealed. "For so much of the time you've lived in Sacramento, you have felt your life was in transition. It was, but you know who you are now. YOU are no longer transient. You are not flickering between who I made you to be and who the world confused you with. Everything you do comes from the authenticity of the TRUE source of light and life, Me."
If I had allowed the fear I initially felt to grip me (agreeing with the fact that I felt afraid rather than the truth that God is in control), I would probably not have heard God telling me to get out of bed and missed this entire message. Just like with my identity, if I allow fear to govern me I will miss opportunities to see, experience, and be God's light.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
On the Road
Just roughly, this is what I learned while driving this morning...
We don't have to wait for God to give us wisdom in general. We already have it. Through the Holy Spirit we have access to all the authority, power and wisdom that God has. It's already in us. We need to put ourselves in positions to tap into it and use it in specific situations. We do that by aligning our hearts with God, by pursuing deep relationship with Him, by paying attention to what He's doing in and around us. We will see how His love acts in each situation, and we will have the wisdom to act as His sons and daughters.
We don't have to wait for God to give us wisdom in general. We already have it. Through the Holy Spirit we have access to all the authority, power and wisdom that God has. It's already in us. We need to put ourselves in positions to tap into it and use it in specific situations. We do that by aligning our hearts with God, by pursuing deep relationship with Him, by paying attention to what He's doing in and around us. We will see how His love acts in each situation, and we will have the wisdom to act as His sons and daughters.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Morning
Monday morning I found myself sitting up in my bed, sunshine streaming through my window, reflecting on how beautiful the morning can be. I thought of my family, and two seconds later I felt a wash of change inside me as a few trickling tears were released down my tender face. My mom is alive. My first instinct was to feel foolish at crying over something that was finished so long ago and was so paltry in comparison to countless others' stories.
But really, the safest thing I can do is acknowledge that at times I still feel afraid of cancer's unpredictable ways of creeping up on unsuspecting families. That I sometimes I doubt my ability to maintain abstinence until the day I'm married without having a boyfriend to stay faithful to. That sometimes I wonder if I'm really doing a good job at life if my choices aren't carbon copies of what someone else may choose.
I trust God to carry me through any situation, and provide for me every provision I will need each step of the way. I don't have to avoid my fears anymore, because the pain of going through learning experiences can't hold a candle to the strength of the One guiding me through them.
I could beat myself up for being frustrated at times this week, for not already knowing all of this, for not having 100% trust in God 100% of the time. But I'm learning to confidently and inconsequentially let go of fears as they surface, accepting that some of them may need to be released weekly. Thursday night I find myself sitting on the couch in a living room dimly lit by table lamps, and I'm contemplating how beautiful the mourning can be.
But really, the safest thing I can do is acknowledge that at times I still feel afraid of cancer's unpredictable ways of creeping up on unsuspecting families. That I sometimes I doubt my ability to maintain abstinence until the day I'm married without having a boyfriend to stay faithful to. That sometimes I wonder if I'm really doing a good job at life if my choices aren't carbon copies of what someone else may choose.
I trust God to carry me through any situation, and provide for me every provision I will need each step of the way. I don't have to avoid my fears anymore, because the pain of going through learning experiences can't hold a candle to the strength of the One guiding me through them.
I could beat myself up for being frustrated at times this week, for not already knowing all of this, for not having 100% trust in God 100% of the time. But I'm learning to confidently and inconsequentially let go of fears as they surface, accepting that some of them may need to be released weekly. Thursday night I find myself sitting on the couch in a living room dimly lit by table lamps, and I'm contemplating how beautiful the mourning can be.
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