Journal Entry: Growing, Giving & Loving
Numb—that’s how most of these past eight weeks have felt like. After four years of being away from family, I got to return for a short visit. I got to be in the arms of my brothers and mom, to see dear friends, and to be surrounded by tremendous love and care. Despite it all, I couldn’t shake off the feeling of numbness that I felt. I am still having a hard time tracing that emotion and perhaps it is because there are still moments that I feel that way even now—absentminded and exhausted, feeling as though I have been so stretched, and have nothing left to offer, to give of myself. While I’m still coming to terms with the fact that it was indeed good to be home, it was nonetheless a very painful and even shocking trip. My friendships have changed, or perhaps it is I that have changed. I’ve sat in a room wondering if someone I care about wants me there, and I have faced myself to deny any emotions of rejection rising up in me. I’ve had to navigate uncomfortable silences and feel myself become more distant as I attempt to weigh the kind of friend I am, and how people grow apart and become newer versions of themselves. Are we strangers to our old friends and our old selves and how do we live in that tension? How do I decide who and what to fight for, and when to ease my grip on things? I wrestled most with the pressures of meeting societal expectations (I know, I know that I do have a choice, but it isn’t always easy, especially when the pressure isn’t coming from a stranger but someone closest to you) and what it means to draw healthy boundaries, how much I need to stop avoiding having difficult conversations. And, much to my surprise, I came to realize what folks have said is brutally true: I cannot be all things to all people.
It is an experience that has left me awfully drained, and quite frankly, has made me bitter too. I do not want to be the person who continues to give in ways that are unhealthy, and from a heart that is not joyful in the giving and serving. Recognizing my limitations and having to accept the latter felt, in some ways, that I was failing myself and the people I care about. But of course that isn’t true; it has only been a hard pill to swallow because I’ve gone so long believing that I should bear all things that come at me. But I cannot and shouldn’t. I know it’s going to be hard for me to do this, but I do want to start paying attention to my motivations, what compels and drives my decisions and commitments, and to make an intentional shift towards saying no when I need to, and rather give my best yes where I’m willing and capable.
“I must not confuse the command to love with the disease to please” - Lysa TerKeurst
Love—I have been celebrating it in my life during this time too. Waking up to it, going to bed with its sound in my ears. I have been taken by complete surprise by the story of its unfolding, amazed by the Hand that is carefully writing and weaving our lives into this beautiful thread. Each day, I grow in deep gratitude for this season, and pray it is one that lasts forever. To be seen, to be known, and to be loved in the most beautiful way. A gushing spring. A vibrant song. A bright bright flame illuminating my days. A force that unsettles life as I know it, calls me to a deeper fellowship that leaves me open and hoping. There’s no restraint, no holding back. There is an urgent devotion to steward the gift that we have, to look to the God who has bestowed it upon us, and to mirror His own love and sacrifice to each other. All my walls are down. Fears and anxieties made bear. I am softened on all edges, learning to speak the language of surrender. Here, I am the most vulnerable I’ve ever been, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Perhaps the sweetest part of this is that my love is no stranger to me. The same hands that hold me now held me four years ago. The same eyes that stop everything to look at me now couldn’t look away four years ago. It is a new old love. A gentle knowing touch. A familiar safe haven. A humming cadence that moves gently through my days and nights. Something of a glorious ruin that baffles us, even now. But love is here. My love is here. And this time, I’m not letting go. It has sparked in me a profound leaning toward compassion, beauty, hope, surrender, love, and more love. I am lucidly aware of my own expressions of it, its astounding delicateness, and I am conscious of its mysteries, its abundant possibilities, and its immeasurable cost. It has come to change me, to make me more holy, to illuminate and reveal, to teach and to serve, and it has come to stay. It will uproot the lies and turn my world with its principles and I would not always understand. I would not always agree. The truth is, I am not ready for the real function and cost of love, but it is here, and it is a gift I hold today in my two trembling hands.
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This job has been given to me to do.
There, it is a gift.
Therefore, it is a privilege.
Therefore, it is an offering
I may make to God.
Therefore, it is to be done gladly,
If it is done for Him.
Here, not somewhere else,
I may learn God’s way.
In this job, not in some other,
God looks for faithfulness.
-Elisabeth Elliot
