"You Saw What You Are"

It’s much easier to write about brokenness, sadness, heartbreak. It’s easy to talk about the many times I’ve felt alone and tired, wondering how I could have missed it—because the guy left. It’s safer to expect that I’ll be alone; that I can’t trust this, but instead I’ll sleep in his sweatshirt until it doesn’t smell like him anymore; and I can’t think straight when I’m around him. He’s kind and smart and sweet and funny, and some crazy mix of a middle school flirt and a chivalrous man and I’m just hoping he stays…

I was falling asleep in chapel. I’d had a nightmare the night before. The older man walked on the stage in front of me. He began to talk, and I began to listen.

He spoke of love. Not romantic love, not infatuation, but something much deeper than both. He spoke of the love of God, the uncontainable love that pours through a person when they know first that the God of the universe loves them and desires to be in relationship with them.

He spoke of sharing the Gospel in simple ways. Getting to know people by asking questions and responding to those questions. He spoke with peace and purpose, and I could tell that with each story, his heart broke with the brokenness of others. He celebrated when the conversation led them to Christ. Their pain became his, their joy, his own.

And I got the feeling that he’d want to know me.

My eyes filled with tears and I didn’t know why. Listening to him speak reminded me of a book I read, someone explaining their testimony. When the author read of Jesus in the Gospels, it struck him how Jesus interacted with others. Jesus responded with such intentionality and care, the author got the feeling that Jesus would want to know him as well. Jesus would like him. Jesus would want to talk.

I got the same feeling about this man in front of me. He understood love. He understood the simplicity of living in the confidence of Christ’s love, and showing it without partiality to others. He understood it was his privilege to love other people. He understood how to care in a way that pointed back to Christ, and how to let God’s love show through him.

And I understood that just as he wanted to communicate with and get to know each person in his stories… He wanted to know me. Not because I am something special, but just because I exist and that makes me special. So, this man… he’d want to know me because God already does.

I waited.

His message complete, other people spoke with him.

I smiled and hugged friends who passed beside me; asking how they were, small talk...

Finally it was my turn and I didn’t have anything to say.

He asked me questions like the ones from his stories. My name, where I’m from, what my major is… He said I was running on all cylinders, and that was true. I thanked him for expressing love with practical simplicity. I don’t know how I worded it. I felt awkward, like my words were stumbling the way I do when I run  too quickly up stairs.

“You saw what you are.” He said.

“I’m sorry?”

“You saw, in the way I spoke, what you are. You desire for others to know the love of God beyond your love for them, though your love is well intended. You want them to know God’s love; to have it pour through you.” 

Again, words failed me. He was right. I had seen my own desires echoed in his words. And I was right; he wanted to get to know me. When our conversation ended, he prayed for me.

I started to walk away. I was thought I was fine. I intended to walk to the class.

Instead, my eyes began to fill once more, and my feet carried me to my room. I had to read something I had refused to look at for months.

In my journal from this summer, I found the whimsical scribblings I’d written late at night, wearing the sweatshirt of another, as I fell in love. I remember it so clearly…I was cautious but hopeful, holding close the exuberance, as I made a choice: I would give this my all. He said he was giving it his all, and now it was my turn. I’d decided it was worth it. He was worth it. He made promises, plans. He spoke of taking trips together, months down the road. I began to rest. I began to trust. I knew that he would stay. He was right; he was different from the other guys. This was real. This was happening. I was safe. Maybe, just maybe, this was love…

Until it wasn’t.

Promises were broken, silence fell for months and it was up to me to realize that I wasn’t what he wanted after all.

With no response, my letters to him changed from naked vulnerable words of commitment, to the painful reality that… he just didn’t want this.

He didn’t want me.

There was no goodbye.

Instead, it felt like slipping from one room into another. Simple, natural… Over.

I wish I could say that I didn’t mean to fall in love. I wish I could say I didn’t mean to trust it all… like it was some accident that I can’t take the blame for. As if this pain was never supposed to be an option… but that simply isn’t true. Loving him was a choice. I decided I would. I decided I would trust in, and believe in, and hope for him. I didn’t mean for it to be under false pretenses, but nothing on my part was an accident. I’d meant every moment. Everything was on purpose.

I’d chosen to be vulnerable, knowing he could decide he wanted something else more than he wanted me…

And today I finally let myself think about it. The tears were bittersweet, after the months of knowing that it wasn’t my fault… yet, I was overlooked. The idea that I knew I’d done nothing wrong, but it all felt like a mistake. I’d trusted him, and he’d lied.

I’ve always been one to preach that girls don’t have to wait for a guy to make them feel worthy of love. A girl doesn’t need to let men have that power, because God already decided that everyone is and should be loved. It’s a fact. 

But that is easy to forget when it feels that I’ve been so easily forgotten.

It’s easy to forget when I find myself asking, if God loves me so much, then why is it so hard for a human to stay? It is not a fair question. It gives far too much power to people who didn’t ask for that power. But it’s a question, nonetheless. Along with the idea that the “smart” thing is to expect to be unwanted, unloved. Somehow it is my fault if I believe anything else.

I know it is incorrect. It goes against everything I really believe. But when the only thing speaking is the silence, and you’re left to hold your broken heart together again... It can feel true.

So this morning, sitting in chapel, listening this man who I did not know, knowing that because he understands why we are to love others, he’d want to know me…

The fears got quieter.

And I talked to him. I found I was right. I am worth knowing, worth loving, because I exist, and because God loves me.

To feel that another person values me this way is not too much to ask for.

Christians are to value everyone this way.

We are to make others feel like they are loved deeply, committedly, genuinely by God. Therefore, they are loved identically yet imperfectly by His Children.

We should love one another as He loves us.

I was touched that just as easily as my doubts about the authenticity of God’s love appeared, He found a way to show me His love anew. When I was tempted to place my worth in something else, He brought me close to Himself.

And it was good to know that I am never alone. My brokenness is never unknown. And God uses His people to love me well.

To My Brother's Baby

Hey little baby, 

You should know that I knew something was wrong.

That was the only option.

My big brother is many things, but proficient in electronic communication is not one of them. He doesn’t usually call, never calls twice, and rarely leaves a message asking for my time.

I called him back, walked outside, braving the humid South Georgian air; one arm wrapped around my waist, the other holding the phone to my ear. I wondered why so many people were outside when air conditioning existed elsewhere.

He answered on the fifth ring. His voice sounded normal; deep and smooth. “Uh, hey Mel, I just wanted to tell you something.”

“Okay, what’s up?”

I bit my lip… waiting…

“Well…You’re going to be an aunt." 

And everything stopped.

The dancing bugs, the twist in my stomach, the chatter of too many people in too small a space…
I'm going to be an aunt. 

Immediately I felt the beginnings of a heavy love; a very heavy love, and a hope, and a joy. 

You will be born in November; a beautiful month of change and color with the endings of seasons and the beginnings of new things. Always remember that you will be born in a time of change; that change means the promise of something more. 

You will be born into a crazy world of expectations and brokenness and difficult choices, and I'm sorry for that. I wish I could guarantee that every day would be sunny, and evening thunderstorms would always feel like the earth groaning peacefully after a day well done. I wish I could guarantee that you will laugh forever and never bruise your elbows, scrape your knees, or feel the breathlessness of a broken heart. But instead I can guarantee that not only will you experience these things, but they will be tiring, and stretching, and sometimes baffling—which is a special kind of confusion that never seems to find the right words.

But I can also guarantee that you will not experience these things alone. You will not be the first to think, “nothing has ever felt this way”, or “I don’t see how this could ever be okay again”.

You are to be born into the chaos of a family, with more personalities than we know what to do with and more love than we know where to put. Sometimes we will hurt you, and it's okay to tell us when we do. You can trust us, knowing first that loving someone does not mean you won’t hurt them—in fact, we’re humans. We tend to hurt the things we love. But that is neither an excuse to be cruel nor a justification for apathy. Instead, it is a truth to keep you humble, ready to extend the grace you will receive when it is your turn. Know that conflict is scariest when it's avoided, and that, at the end of the day, the seven of us have stuck together this long, and the eight of us will be together until the end.

Loyalty and the art of never giving up are two beautiful qualities that you will learn well from our family. 

Know too that whatever joys the Lord brings your way will be celebrated. We celebrate loudly, excitedly, with embarrassing amounts of enthusiasm, (especially my Mama, your grandmamma. She’s always great for a happy dance and on-the-spot song that makes you feel like a champion.)

I'm so excited to meet you. I'm excited to get to love you, to watch you grow, to be part of your life from the beginning.

I'm excited to watch you grow my brother. He will be a dad, and he will be a great one. Don't expect him to get it right every time-- he won't. But God fulfills everything, and there is beauty in relying on Him when humans act like humans. Thank God for providing an earthly father like my brother. Devotion and love and loyalty and kindness and all of the beautiful, quiet things we take for granted until they are not there-- these are the things in which he is rich. Remember that. He will prove it time and again, but remember it when he fails. Know that he will be harder on himself than you ever could be. Have grace, dear one. He's never been a daddy before, and you will have never been alive before, and those two things are funny things that require growth and joy and hope on both ends. Know that he and your mom both will love you with incredible tenderness. I’m excited to watch, as they grow even closer together through caring for you.

Remember that every day is a gift. There is always more good than bad, and optimism is a strength. Sometimes the most effective reaction is to laugh and be thankful that second chances exist. You’re not a failure just because you’ve failed. “Alone” is a lie, which is a comfort and a responsibility. Never take a sense of humor for granted. And know that loving people faithfully is not actually about the people—it’s about the Lord.

More than anything, remember Christ. 
I have such joy in expectation for meeting and getting to know you. I can only imagine how excited God is for you to be here, to begin living the beautiful life He has planned for you. I pray that you come to know Him soon. He is a good Father. I'm excited for you to learn what it is to be safe in the promises of the Lord. I’m excited for you to learn what it is to be in a family. I’m excited to learn what it is to be an aunt to someone as precious as you.

I can’t wait for November,

For ending this year knowing you.

See you soon,

Aunt Melissa 

When Mercy is Weak

            I want to be perfect.

            I know that technically I shouldn’t. I should know that God’s grace has covered me and it’s okay to fail. But it isn’t okay for me to fail. I’m not okay with it.

Over the past few weeks I’ve realized how deeply this desire for perfection is within me, and how desperately I strive for it on a daily, moment by moment basis.

To be completely honest, I have written a post about this revelation, but the truth of my own motivations was too painful for me to share with the world.

Not yet.

Maybe one day.

But not now.

You see, I’ve been shocked at my own distrust in God’s grace. I’ve been humbled by the importance of other people’s opinions. I’ve been ashamed of the desperation in my heart when I feel myself beginning to make a mistake.

I’m not perfect.

And that kills me.

And now for a story, because as I have been wrestling with myself, God has been orchestrating a symphony of His grace.

This weekend, I was walking up to my room when I passed a girl I know. We do not know one another well. I asked her how she was, and she said she was “okay”.

I never believe people when they tell me they’re okay.

“Okay” is usually a lie.

Not always, but frequently enough to make me ask about it.

“Oh wow, that good, huh?” I ask with a laugh.

Her smile is painful.

She’s hurting.

“It’s been a long day.”

You could feel the heaviness in her spirit.

“Are you feeling sad? Angry? Lonely? Discouraged?...” My voice trails as she responds. “Sad, Lonely, and angry with myself.”

She is vague as we continue to talk. She’s struggling and she hates it. She wants perfection. She wants God’s judgment on her imperfection. Justice is of high value to her.

We had taken a seat on a couple of benches. No one was around, which is rare for our campus. But the day was grey and lonely; the sky was drizzling lazily. We could ignore it, but it was enough to keep others inside. It was a day for snuggling up with a mug of hot tea.

I pulled out a journal I had in my bag. I felt its weight in my hands.

Less than a week before, I’d written out my thoughts for myself when I fail; what failing makes me to be.

I hated everything on that piece of paper.

I’d shown only a couple people whom I trust deeply.

It was my little room. You see, I’m convinced that everyone has a little room within them that holds their most vulnerable naked thoughts, beliefs, and struggles. Most of us aren’t brave enough to go into this room, or even admit we have it. And when we do, we only let people we trust very, very deeply to peak into this room with us. It’s always a scary place, but it’s where true healing begins.

This paper is the foundation of my room. I knew that. It was the first time I’d ever really gone into my room, and I hated every moment of it. I hated that everything on this paper was a lie, but I believed it. I hated knowing that believing these things made me flawed, broken, in need of being corrected.

I’m completely okay and understanding of others needing forgiveness and grace, but it is never okay for me.

And that week, I’d realized that even believing this put me in a place where I needed grace.

I was wrong. And I had only just begun the work to correct some of these beliefs.

But there I sat. My vulnerable heart, bound in black stitching, heavy in my hand, and her vulnerable heart beside me, needing some proof that I could be trusted. She needed proof that I meant it when I said I could not judge her. She needed a stepping place to believe that her struggling would not make me waver.

I opened the journal to the page.

I breathed in.

Pride died.

And I handed it to her, saying simply, “this is what I have to fight against when I fail.”

The tears that came down her face proved that she, too, understood these words. Her room had some of the same dark shelves. She’d read my vulnerability, and she’d seen places it matched her own. We were not the same, but human nature is human nature, and all she read was brokenness.  

This awful piece of paper became a bridge, and she reluctantly but beautifully cracked open the door to her inner room.

She finished by asking with great earnest, “Where is God’s discipline? I get grace and mercy and they’re all happy and joyful, but what—what about discipline?”

And God taught me this lesson as I spoke it quietly to her.

“I understand”, I said, “because I would love it if a lightning bolt would shoot out of the sky and strike me when I sin sometimes. Not enough to kill me, but enough to hurt badly. That’s what I seem to deserve”

“Yeah”

“But God’s discipline now is still here. It’s so much softer, but so much more powerful.” I looked at her. She was leaned over her knees, head resting slightly on her fists that uncurled occasionally to wipe away tears.

“This is His discipline now. Letting you know that what you’re doing isn’t okay. This feeling? That’s Him telling you to stop. Because what you’re doing is wrong. But the thing is, mercy is so much bigger than discipline.

You see, the way you’re feeling now? You deserve that, and so much more. The punishment you want? You deserve it. You deserve to be punished, but the thing is, if you were punished the way you really deserve, you couldn’t handle it.

I know you know the verse ‘the wages of sin is death’, but the thing is, that is actually what you deserve. You deserve death. You couldn’t handle the punishment of your sin; it would be so severe that you would die! It is more than a lightning strike that you can walk away from. You can’t… And God knows that. He is the only One who could take that punishment and rise again. He is the only one strong enough. And that… that’s what His love did.

We make mercy sound like this wishy-washy ridiculous thing that frees us from responsibility, but it isn’t. Mercy is so much stronger than discipline, because it knows full well that you deserve that punishment. Mercy is so much stronger. There is absolutely no weakness in it.

You deserve to be beaten the way Jesus was.

You deserve to die on a cross.

It sounds so cliché, ‘it should be me on that cross’, but you know what? It freaking should be! It should be you! It should be me! We deserved to have our skin ripped apart, because frankly we choose it. Sin is a choice. We decide we will sin. We put ourselves in that place. We pick, every time, and yeah it’s sin nature, and it is who we are as human beings before Christ, but we decide when we sin.

So we deserve it.

It should’ve been me.

And it freaking should’ve been you.

And God? He knows that better than either of us.

He knows what you deserve.

And because He loves, and He chose to have mercy, it’s as if you were strapped up and the whip was about to hit your back, and He stepped in the way.

Your wrist was laying on the cross, and the nail was about to strike through it, and He pushed you away and put His own in its place.

He knew you deserved it.

But He stepped in the way.

He decided to take it so you can be free.

And He took all of the punishment. There is no more to give. He took it all, He was ripped apart, left bleeding, dying slowly and painfully, exactly as we should be.

There is no more punishment for you.

Not because, ‘Jesus died so you are o-kiz-ay’, no, it’s so serious. He gave all of Himself to die so you could live. There simply is no more punishment for you.

It’s as if you had a 30-year sentence in jail, and Jesus went and served all 30 years. There’s no more jail time left for you. It’s over. It’s done. There’s nothing left.

There just isn’t.

So what you have to do is realize that He gave everything so you can be free. So you have to stop this sinning, because He gave everything to free you from it. As a sacrifice of thanksgiving, not because living a good life makes you a “good Christian”, but because you are so humbled and amazed at His sacrifice that you will give up the evil things in your life to say ‘thank You’. You’ll give up the things that are taking up room in your heart and in your life to make more room for Him. He gave up everything for you, so you will do the same.

That’s what it is to turn from sin. As a Christian, it can be as simple and beautiful as making more room for Him out of love and thankfulness for what He has done.

And all of this energy you’re using to condemn yourself? Stop it. You need to stop sinning, but it doesn’t have to be a deep, dark, dramatic hole where you’re so focused on how much you suck that you miss how incredible God is. He knows, and He’s already taken care of it, so step into that and use this energy you’re focusing on yourself to focus on making the steps necessary to create real change in your life. Focus on loving God and using your life to proclaim that. Get to know Him. Focus on Him. That is how you can succeed, because when you see Him, you can see His love and the power of His mercy. You’re not alone.”

We talked about heart posture, and fear, and the flawed thinking that God is just waiting on us to fix ourselves.

We talked about practical ways dying to ourselves would look in her situation. We created a game plan for the next few weeks.

We talked about how beautiful God is and how safe she was and would continue to be.

We breathed laughter as we felt the weight of guilt roll off her shoulders.

Relief.

She would be okay, and she was safe, and God thought no less of her. He was there the whole times, loving her. She’d just been so focused on herself and her shame that she’d blinded herself to it.

I had blind myself to it, too.

That night, crawling into bed, I knew God had allowed me to see a miracle.

It’s an every day miracle in the life of a Christian being sanctified, but it is a life-changing miracle no less.

And God let me know that this, this is why He does not expect perfection of me.

And this is why I have no right to expect perfection of myself.

He’s already made me perfect.

I’ll fail, but… it doesn’t have to be a dramatic statement about me.

The fact of the matter is, the payment is already covered. So yes, I’ll fail, but I’m okay. And He loves me.

Mercy is stronger. He allowed me to see that when mercy is weak, I am responsible. But mercy is not weak, never. Never.

The punishment has been taken, and mercy, real mercy, is mine.

I’ve got a lot to learn and a lot to unlearn.

But God’s teaching me, day by day.

And I’m excited to give up my flawed beliefs as a sacrifice of thanksgiving to Him.

Two Hands.

I think someday there will be someone who won’t leave.

I think someday there will be someone who will see me as worth fighting for.

I don’t think they will be without fault,

Or fear,

Or struggles that make that fight a difficult one.

I simply believe they will be willing to fight.

That’s all I really want.

I want someone to see me as worth that fight.

Fear is only as big as you let it be

And struggles only win when you give up

And insecurities can find their rest within confidence gained through knowing that God is right.

But I don’t want to be worth that fight just because of who I am, because

it isn’t me.

I’m broken,

and I struggle,

and frankly I know that most people will leave and it’ll take a lot for me to believe that someone would want me forever.

I’m not enough of a reason, because I’m human, and eventually I’ll fail.

Eventually I won’t do it right,

I’ll let him down,

I will disappoint.

I’m not enough.

But God?...

God is enough.

And love

is enough.

And I guess when God told me to love, I realized that to do so effectively, I had to be willing to fight all the things in my life that hinder love.

I would have to fight my fear, my insecurities, my struggles, because God told me to love, and in order to obey, I have to fight.

And I guess one day I believe that someone will be willing to love me.

But they will see that I only have two hands,

two hands that I can either stretch out to embrace all the Lord puts in my life,

or can be weighed down with the responsibility of keeping his attention;

But they are not strong enough to do both.

They were not meant to be.

I was given two hands,

But for only one purpose.

Love is a choice.

It is not something I can earn because I am human and it is perfect.

Love is a gift that must be freely given, and anything else is a lie.

It is not love.

So I do believe, someday, there will be someone who will choose to love me.

Not because of me,

but because of Him.

I look forward to meeting that man, and knowing I’ll be safe in his love because it won’t be dependent on me.

It won’t be dependent on me,

or my actions,

or my ability to please him,

or that expectation that I will.

But instead,

it will be dependent on God.

And God never fails.

So

just as I will never have a reason to give up my fight,

he will never have a reason to give up his.