When you learn to water ski one of the first things you learn, is when to let go. There’s quite the technique to water skiing. If you don’t get this technique down just right, you fall. And when you fall, you’re being dragged across the lake arm stretched out holding on tight to the rope while your head is being forced under the waves and you’re gasping for air…if you don’t let go, that is.
If you don’t let go.
This is how I feel. I feel like I’m being dragged across the lake arm stretched out holding on tight to this rope of my past and who I used to be and my head is being forced under the waves and I’m gasping for air. This past month, I have gone through battle after battle and I don’t have anything left in me to fight anymore. Demon after demon, attack after attack, my past being satans most lethal weapon. He knows exactly where I’m weakest. He knows exactly what will break me down. But he doesn’t use those things first. He makes me think I’m winning first. He makes me think I have overcome and won the fight. Then he strikes again, with a line of his best warriors. Then he strikes again, with something he knows will destroy me and make me want to quit. He takes me back to that night. That same feeling. Tired of crying, tired of trying, tired of hurting, tired of fighting, tired of living.
I’m scared. But I’m not scared because I want to stop feeling. I’m not scared because I think satan has won the war. I’m not scared because I’m laying on the floor balling my eyes out. I’m not scared because I now have to have someone walk me to my car after work.
I’m scared because I don’t want to talk to God.
My boyfriend asked me to pray over my car, I fell silent. When he pointed out that I disengaged, I told him “Honestly…I don’t want to pray. I don’t want to talk to God.”
I’m scared because I don’t want to talk to God.
“Okay, God.” For hours I sat there staring at the screen with those two words on a blank white page. That’s about as far as I got.
I’m scared because I don’t want to talk to God.
Do you know how scary it is when you get to the point of overwhelming pain crashing over your head day by day and you just want to stop talking to your Safe Place? And you might think the answer is simple…just pray. But seriously, that is so hard sometimes. I don’t know how to. I’m probably being stubborn and trying to handle it all on my own…but I just hurt. I’m tired of feeling. It’s exhausting. I just want to stop. I want a drink. I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of answering questions about the Race. Questions like “Are you excited?”, “How is fundraising going?”, and “When do you leave?” are frustrating questions to answer.
Do you know how many times a day I get asked “Are you excited!?” probably at least 5-8 times. Daily. And I can’t ever be honest with anyone and scream.
NO! No, I’m not excited about the Race!
I feel like no one is asking these questions and want a genuine answer…so I politely say, “yeah, I’m excited for what God is going to do. Fundraising is going okay, daunting. I leave in October…”
But honestly, no. Right now, I’m not excited. I’m scared. Because this past month I have felt more than I could have ever imagined, cried more than I thought was possible, slept less than advised, cussed more in one sentence than I have since junior high, punched more boxes than my knuckles could handle, and used my tongue as a knife defending myself from even those who were trying to love me. This isn’t the me that I wanted to show the world, and I assure you this me hasn’t shown up in quite some time. This me shows up when I’m tired of holding my breath. And this month, I’m tired of holding my breath. I’m tired of acting like the Race is some amazing year of traveling the world and loving people and treating it more like a vacation than a year of challenge and vulnerability and learning. It’s going to hurt! Choosing to go on the Race is choosing to be completely broken down and slowly be put back together. It’s already hard to choose to work through things that come up now, and I have people I love here to help me walk through it. On the Race? I’m not going to have those people I love and trust to walk through it with me. I’m going to be with people I will have only met one time before leaving. I am going to have to choose to be vulnerable and give those people my heart on a platter trusting that they will protect it. I’m not excited to be hurt. I’m not excited to experience more pain. I’m not excited to be around people 24/7. I’m not excited to not have daily contact with my family and the people I love. I’m not excited to see children walking in the sewers with no shoes. I’m not excited about the girl sold working in the bars. I’m not excited about seeing the eyes of orphaned children. I’m not excited about experiencing pain greater than my own.
But you know what I am excited for? I’m excited to see God take my heart and protect it and build me up. I’m excited to see God teach me to love. I’m excited to see God clothe the children in the sewers. I’m excited to see the girl sold be bought with the blood of Jesus Christ. I’m excited to see God’s love in the eyes of the orphaned children. I’m excited about seeing God’s heart for these places. I’m excited to see the peace and freedom the man locked behind bars has. I’m excited to see the joy of the Lord in the widowed woman. I’m excited to experience God like I’ve never experienced Him before.
I will be a mosaic of the people I meet, the hearts I’m trusted with, the eyes of the orphan, the feet of the child in the street, the smile of the widowed woman, the tender touch of the newborn, the freedom of the imprisoned, the laughter of the boy hanging on my neck, and the embrace of a gentle and loving Father holding me all together. I may be broken, but I am beautiful in the eyes of my Creator. I will seek Him before anything else. I will be willing. I will be willing because God isn’t finished yet. He is still in the process of helping me see this beautiful masterpiece of His. He is still in the process of helping me see me. Really see. The more He opens my eyes, the more I realize how much I need Him. That’s what He wants. He wants me to stop being strong. Because in my weakness, His power is made perfect. He wants me to stop trying to pick myself up, and simply stretch out my hand to Him. He wants me to take a step, then another one, then another one; as if I am learning to walk for the first time. He wants me to trust that He is right there to catch me when I lose my balance. He wants me to run to Him. He has been waiting for the moment He gets to pick me up into His arms and swing me around looking at me through proud eyes. He has been waiting. So I will run.
“I will throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And I will run with endurance the race God has set before me.” Hebrews 12:1
