grace eventually.

I have been constructing a blog post in my head for the last couple of weeks, but when I sit down to write, I feel stuck. So instead, I've decided to share some key points I've learned over the last two and a half weeks:

I’ve been thinking about this lately. Apparently I inspire people in random ways. For Jennifer, I inspired her to put down peel & stick tile in her bathroom and kitchen. Have I mentioned that my kitchen tiles are literally being held down by invisible packing tape at the moment? For Chris, it’s my random, so very easy therapeutic art projects using masking tape and paint. For Aaron, it was coming up with the name of his blog, Modern JAC. At the end of the day, is there anything else about my life that inspires others? I can’t really answer that question. I can only hope that the way I genuinely love the people in my life inspires. I pray that my attempt to be authentic in this blog inspires. Most of all, it’s my desire that my messy, unconventional, sometimes considered liberal, faith is what inspires people. As one of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott says, "There's always something ending and something beginning. Yet in the very center is the truth of your spiritual identity: you. Fabulous, hilarious, darling, screwed-up you. Beloved of God and of your truest deepest self, the self that is revealed when tears wash off the makeup and grime." I think even when we feel like our lives are upside down, we can inspire others. This morning I was talking to my friend, Dana and she mentioned that someone once told her that our pain has purpose, it’s not wasted. I certainly like to believe that in the midst of my pain I can still be inspiring to someone else who may be going through the same thing. In Pete Wilson’s book, “Plan B” he says, “Begin to trust and believe that maybe, just maybe, there is someone in your life who can and will speak those healing words, me too.” As I’ve mentioned before, getting to that place where I can even share my pain is hard, but to hear those words, “me too” brings about a calm in the midst of what feels like chaos. At least for me anyway. So thanks to so many of you who have offered up a “me too” when I needed it. You inspire me.

I’ve been stuck on this song by Paramore lately, not necessarily because I like it but because I find the lyrics so powerful and so true for many of us who have been hurt by “love” along the way. Love the video.

And I’ve always lived this way

Keeping a comfortable distance

And up until now I had sworn to myself that I’m content with loneliness

Because none of it was ever worth the risk

This has been my own personal motto most of my life I’m sad to say. I tend to keep people at arm’s length because I’ve bought into this idea that I’m going to end up hurt and alone. I choose relationships that I think are “safe” because I can predict the outcome. What I’ve learned, however, is that no relationship is really safe when your heart is invested. I’ve been meeting with a counselor for the last few months and she’s challenged me to look at my relationships from my childhood on to see where my fear of rejection and abandonment stem from. The obvious is always being the best friend, which eventually leads to me having to give up that friendship when he gets married or at least setting some pretty hard-core boundaries. I even had one of these guys tell me once that he wished he could find a girl like me. Um, what does that mean? It’s hard not to hear words like that and not ponder the age-old question, “What’s wrong with me?” Sixth grade was quite the formidable year. I had a couple of crushes that year…one kid flipped me off on the school bus, the other, well, we were both humiliated by our wonderful math teacher when she picked up a note I was writing to my still best-friend, Claire, and read it to the entire class! I think that’s a scar that’s yet to heal. It was years before I could look at that guy again without wanting to sink into the floor. My counselor was probably right in saying that no one else in that class probably remembers it, but I do. The truth is, we all have stories like this. It’s what makes songs like Paramore’s so popular. If you listen to the entire song, the chorus says “You are the only exception.” Eventually we do find someone who rises above the rest whether it be a good friend, a mentor, a parent, or hopefully one day, a spouse. I’m lucky in that I have great friends who don’t allow me to keep them at arm’s distance and when I attempt to push away, they push back. It’s not always easy and I still get hurt, but it’s always hurt can grow from.

Lately I’ve been thinking about belonging. Personally, it’s been more of a struggle as I’ve wrestled with my own sense of where I belong. As a 33 single girl, my time fluctuates mostly between my married friends and my gay boyfriends. Although I love both groups dearly I often find myself feeling like I don’t fit. Sadly it’s even magnified in the church. As I recently had a conversation with 2 girls, younger than I, but who also fit into my so-called category, the church just doesn’t know what to do with us. Their first instinct is to start up another singles ministry. Typically what you find in these groups are older single/divorced/widowed people. I’m not really sure we fit there either. Truth be told this is a new place for me. In high-school, everyone’s on the same level. You hang out with the people in your class who are working for the same goal: to graduate and move on! College is a little different but you’re still working towards a similar goal. When I was in college I belonged to the Wesley Foundation. For the most part, everyone was single (aka not married) and we were always hanging out and learning what it meant to rely on one another as a community. In seminary, although more people were married, I was able to develop a group of friends that were a mix of married and single whom I adored. We were all working towards the goal of learning what it meant to be in ministry. I met my best guy friend there. He taught me a lot about trust and when I pulled away, he pushed. He was there when I was at my lowest and challenged me to keep walking even when it was painful. He didn’t expect me to be anyone but myself. For that I will always be eternally grateful but it took us a long time to get to that place. When we graduated, we both moved back to our hometowns. He got married and now has a beautiful baby girl. Although we are miles apart and only talk every few months, that bond is still strong. I knew when I moved back to Ruston, finding my place would be a struggle. It’s a college town filled with families. I am neither. I am thankful my family is here. I am thankful I can see my 3 beautiful God-children whenever I want, but at the end of the day I often wonder what my purpose is. I don’t say these things in an attempt to get sympathy. I know my life has purpose. I’m just being honest. And I know I’m not the only one who shares my frustration. Some days are easier than others. Yesterday was not one of those days. As I was sitting with one of my good friends and another guy I had just met, the new guy made a comment about “fag hags.” If you’re unfamiliar with this ridiculous term, it’s basically girls who spend the majority of their time with gay boys. As much as I don’t want to, I sort of fit into this category. Now don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade those guys for anything. They’re good friends but if you look more closely you’ll see my intent is not so healthy. It goes much deeper to my trust or “lack of” trust in men. This isn’t new, but I’ve come to realize how much I use those gay male friendships as a safety net. I get some of the same perks of engaging in a male/female relationship without having to deal with the unspoken attraction aspect that can often mess up a good friendship. We’re always on the same playing field, right? That’s yet to be determined, I suppose. I’m realizing some of my same issues still apply regardless of their sexuality, my need for affirmation being a primary one. These are all things I’ll be discussing with my therapist on Tuesday. What I’m learning is that we are always going to be struggling with something. How we handle those struggles is what counts. For me, I have to be really intentional to think through things rationally. I’m hoping returning to counseling will help with this. And I know a strong community is important. We can’t walk through life alone…it’s just not healthy. I am blessed to have some amazing friends, especially girls, both married and single, all over the US, that I can be completely honest. They are the ones that remind me that I do belong, I belong first to Him, my Heavenly Father and I belong to ALL those that are willing to journey with me regardless of what life stage we’re at. As the Wesley Foundation saying goes, “Your crap is our crap; your joy is our joy.”

I’ve been having a lot of conversations recently about perceptions, trust, vulnerability, etc. Working in a church one would think you would be surrounded by people you can open your heart up to and know that those fragile parts of yourself can be preserved. Sadly, this is not always the case. On the other hand, there are those who you consciously choose not to trust because you see how perfect they seem to be on the outside. How in the world could they ever understand? The truth is, most of us live under some type of mask. We have no idea how we will be received if we ever choose to remove it. I’m currently in a short Beth Moore Bible Study called “Measureless Love.” The first week Beth talked about how, we, women in particular, are constantly trying to measure up to something. We try to measure up to someone else or by someone else’s standards. It’s exhausting. I find myself just as guilty of it. I look at many of the women in this church who come in each week with their husband and children and think, “Man, why can’t I have that?” or I see a girl a few rows in front of me with the perfect, hair, clothes, figure, etc, and think, “Why can’t I look like her?” My mom’s generation typically believes that you can’t go outside of the house without full make-up and fixed hair. I did not inherit this…or maybe I rebel against it. My freshman year of college the trend was to wear pajama pants to class. Strange? Maybe. I typically showed up to class with no make-up on, my hair on top of my head and wearing a t-shirt, pajama pants, and tennis shoes. My mom was certain I was depressed. It was actually the opposite. It was one of the happiest times of my life because I was surrounded by people who loved me for me, not what I looked like. I found it quite liberating. Today I don’t show up to work in my pajamas, although I certainly would like to some days. I don’t always wear make-up and often you’ll see me with my hair in a ponytail. Other days you’ll see me wearing nicer clothes, full make-up, and fixed hair. Regardless, I’m still the same person and it’s my hope that people accept me as I am. And those days when I might look a little nicer, there’s probably a whole lot of chaos going on inside me that I’d prefer to mask.

I'm amazed sometimes at how certain things can affect me...things I have been trying to train my mind not to let bother me as much as it does. For example, when I fail at something, I equate it to me being a failure, which is in no way true. I am my worst self-critic. Today I went up to Starbucks on my lunch break to say hi to some friends. My manager, Lori, was there whom I absolutely love and she mentioned that she had received a poor snapshot on me. A snapshot is a random once-a-month survey on how we're doing. I was working the front register that day which means they were rating how I took their order and how I treated them. This person said that I didn't speak to them, make eye-contact, or even take their order. I just gave them their total and took their money. My guess is that we were really busy (it was done right before 8am) and one of my other co-workers took their order in advance so that when they got to the register all they had to do was pay. I can't imagine not making eye contact or not saying anything. I have no real context to evaluate my own performance. As Lori and I were talking about it, she looked at me and said, "Now I don't want you to worry about this. I just wanted to make you aware." I wish I was able to do that...to think objectively about the situation and move on, but it's not that easy. I've been upset about it ever since I left. It reminds me again how important it is to not identify myself with my circumstances or those things I do...or not do, but instead remember that who I am, my worth, is found in God alone. This is what I'm always trying to teach other women, especially the college girls I interact with that are struggling to find their identity. The fact of the matter is that I'm still learning it myself at the age of 30.