On Brown Rice, Boyfriends, And Other Good Things.

While said as a joke over a long awaited burrito, I'm fairly certain this statement holds truth in other areas of my life.  See, two weeks ago I aired my dirty laundry shared a little bit of my testimony at a Cru weekly meeting.  Since I emcee the meetings, speaking wasn't new to me, but for some reason I was a nervous wreck.  Why?  For once, I wasn't cracking jokes or making announcements, I was being real.  I was being honest about my life, my past, my problems, my struggles, my losses and my victories. For once, I wasn't able to control the image of myself these students saw; I was real, vulnerable, and honest. 
It was good for me. 
And I hated it. 
I hated the lack of control. I hated that I could no longer hide behind a well planned facade of happy faces and undisclosed history. I hated that no matter what I did afterward, everyone would now know how I once failed, even though Christ is brought so much glory through it. 

I can unashamedly admit that I am one of those girls who repins all sorts of exercise stuff on Pinterest but never does a thing about it. I hate running with a burning passion and use my exercise induced asthma (It's a thing, people, a very serious thing) as an excuse to bail on any and all physical activity. I love the idea of exercise, but when it comes down to it I am just lazy. This summer, I invested in a weighted yoga ball with all the right intentions. It's currently serving as my footrest while I write. 
Running, stretching, strengthening, getting in shape so my very American diet doesn't kill me before I hit 70. 
It's good for me.
And I hate it. 

I like to control things, I like to look like I have it all together. New situations freak me out and new people keep me on my toes. I'm not ashamed of my past or the choices I've made: they were growing experiences that really made me appreciate grace and how stupid crazy my Papa is about me. The thing I don't like is how once someone knows anything about those choices, they are free to judge me however they want. The control isn't mine anymore. 
Sharing my story with someone forces me to let go and trust God to control how people perceive me.
It's good for me.
And I hate it. 

My aversion to good things stems from a much deeper issue. Throughout my 20 years on this planet, I've had one mindset drilled into me by the Enemy through hardships and my peers, and that mindset has shaped the way I make decisions: I've been taught to believe that good things aren't worth striving for, because not only will I never achieve them, but I don't deserve them. 
I never aimed for higher than average grades because I didn't believe I deserved them. I never looked for friends who respected or loved me because I didn't believe I deserved them. I let my boyfriend talk down to me and hit me because I didn't believe I deserved better. I let my figure go on the back burner and chose to do nothing about it because I didn't think I deserved better. 

In a way, I was right. I don't deserve good things. You know what else I don't deserve? Grace. Redemption. Second chances. The love of a Savior so pure and holy that just a glimpse of His face would end me on the spot.
I don't deserve good things, but you know what I was given any way? Good things. Holy things. Perfect things. Kingdom things. 
As a human, I'm broken. I'm messy. I'm dead. 
As a servant of Christ, His daughter and co heir, I'm whole. I'm clean. I'm absolutely alive. 
I deserve the worst, but He gives me His best. I deserve death, but He gives me life. I deserve isolation, abandonment, eternal hell. He showers me with love, holds me close in His arms, and has given me His kingdom for all of eternity.