What if giving words to what we feel, in the presence of God, is where our hope springs to life!

I’ve been thinking a lot about what this isolation, because of the pandemic, is doing to us as a culture. How isolation is shaping us from the inside out and wondering what the effects of all of this quarantine will have on us. There are lots of statistics to be researched and recited, but that’s not mine to do and it’s certainly not what I want to spend time writing a blogpost about. Honestly, I’m done hearing all the sad and scary statistics.

Instead, I want to talk about what’s going on inside of our heads. How are we doing in there? How are our minds being shaped by our circumstances? Oddly enough, as I write this, I’m coming off of being in a pretty bad head space all weekend. This hasn't happened to me, to this degree, in a very long time.

I got triggered.

Know what I mean?? Something got ignited in me. I’m almost certain it was a disappointment that I didn’t know what to do with. I couldn’t seem to shake it and unfortunately, after going unchecked, it turned into shame, humiliation and embarrassment. I felt like a failure. Like I’d let myself, and others down.

Rather than tell you about all the ways that I really hadn’t let anyone down and that it was all going to be ok, I’d like to give you a peek into what I ended up, finally doing with it, with the hope that it might be helpful for you. I want to share, not because I think anyone actually cares that much about the details of my life, but because I know I’m not the only one who has had internal struggles, or is having them—-especially in this season of life. 

Can I get an amen?!?!

For me, before I knew it, my disappointing circumstance turned, really quickly, into some 'old', but familiar tapes. They started by playing that old song of hopelessness that slowly seeped into my thoughts. A sense of dread. Viewing the details of life with a dark shadow of meaninglessness.

The opposite of life-giving.

But then, without closer examination, those thoughts took on a new shape. A fearful heart. Not necessarily without some manner of possibility that my fears could come true,  but fear that was being fed by places in me that had been traumatized years ago. I did a really good job of pulling them back out and laying them across scenarios that I made up in my head. Situations created out of my own anxiety and unease, rather than reality.

The follow up to my hopelessness and fear was a gigantic dose of criticism. Here’s what I mean. I began to see all the things that were wrong with Mike and I. All the ways we weren’t connecting and I tried real hard to convince myself it was mostly his fault.

I was wrong, but it felt so right.

When there is chaos and fear inside, their mission is usually to find a target. A place to land, or someone to blame, even when they have nothing to do with it. We begin to frantically find someone to pin it on when it feels too heavy for us to bear.

But, here’s the thing, Mike couldn’t have been a kinder human. He had absolutely no idea what storm was wreaking havoc in my mind. I said nothing him about it, but continued to carry it alone. Looking back, I can see that the Holy Spirit was on the move inside of him, possibly without his even knowing it. Mike was extra gentle with me, attentive and patient. And I really believe that this holy attitude was one of the things that helped me from sinking too much deeper, or staying in the sunken state of mind for too much longer.

All my accusations (in my head) about Mike, had no place to land. It’s like they melted by the warmth of his heart, before they could land and become a foundation for all my craziness to lay upon. But don’t think for a second that I didn’t keep trying to rebuild that melting foundation. I stacked and stacked all manner of things I thought he could be doing better. (Gross. Just typing that makes me feel sick.) All the while, not giving him the courtesy of conversation around any of it. I was totally retreated in my mind. 

Closed off. 

Shut down.

Please tell me someone can relate!

As much as I don’t want anyone to have to experience the things I’m talking about, I know I’m not the only one. And because of that, I thought it might be helpful to share a few things I found to be helpful on my climb out of the shame pit. Granted, it took me getting to Monday morning, (this all began on Friday) before I could find a quiet enough space to do business with Jesus around the condition of my heart, mind and soul, but once I did, here’s what happened.

I started by asking Jesus what was happening to me? Why was I carrying what felt like a weighted blanket around all weekend?  And then I waited. And my waiting led me to worship. I turned on a couple of my favorite worship songs and sang my heart out, pouring out my sadness on the carpet of my office. (I probably should apologize to my condo living neighbors who had to hear my singing voice and my tearful voice:)

And do you know what happened next?

Those tears washed away the cloud of uncertainty and gave me enough clarity that I could begin to ask myself some key questions that sounded like this…

“What am I feeling?”

And then I said, out loud, all the things. All the feelings that I could put words to, I did. I didn’t try to explain them away, I just stated them. ”I feel….sad, afraid, conflicted, surprised, angry, confused, and so many more. That’s when the word disappointed showed up to the party. 

And here’s the thing, I felt like disappointed was a surface feeling, when in fact it was a core feeling. It was fueling all the others. Like gas to a flame, all the other emotions came to life because of this one disappointment. 

[You see, that’s often it—-the thing, isn’t really the thing—-cue: “it’s not about the nail”…search YouTube for this video if you don’t know what I’m talking about:] 

You’re welcome! Sorry, I digress.

So I named it. I said it straight out! “I’m SO disappointed.” I shared all the reasons why and then I stopped talking and began listening. And that’s when I heard the Shepherd’s voice. “I know”, He said. And then He said, “I’m sorry, and I’m here with you in your disappointment.” It didn’t take me too much longer to realize that being ‘with’ right in the middle of it, I felt safe. And I felt...

Seen.

Known.

Loved.

I got to sit right there with the One who knows all things and be sad about it. Then it became us, rather than just me. 

Communion.

My honesty with Jesus was the onramp back home. Giving room for my fears and sadness and disappointment to be spoken, and heard by the One who sees all, knows all and is in all, created space for my broken heart to climb into the lap of the healer. My dad. The one who knows me, loves me and delights in me.

And honestly, when I was all done with this encounter, I felt pretty tired. But, tired as I felt, I was no longer weighted down.

There’s a big difference.

Last weekend I peeked back into the closet where my grave clothes lived. I even tried a couple of them on—-but naming the things that were attempting to hold me captive—in the presence of the One who loves me deeply, helped me remember that darkness and hopelessness are no longer my home. I’ve been raised with Christ from death to life and in Him I live and move and have my being. It’s what I was made for. I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.

Sometimes we forget. 

But he never does. I’m resting today in the goodness that Christ never forgets his own and He always leads me back to the Spacious Place with Him! 

He brought me out into a spacious place; He rescued me because He delighted in me. Psalm 18:19