I have always admired writers. The way they are able to articulate the details of the stories that play in their minds, paint a picture of their imagination or even capture the essence of a culture and character is mind blowing to me. Sometimes, the hidden meanings behind the words would change the whole story if you took a second to realize what they were saying and sometimes the hidden meaning is the author themselves. Who would have guessed that Dr. Suess’ silly drawings for children were actually done so that the world would take him seriously or that Jane Austin’s romance novels were actually to shed some light on the lack of rights and importance woman experienced during her time. I remember one of the hardest papers I wrote in college was my creative writing final. It could be about anything we wanted or as long as we wanted and we spent the entire semester learning how to write it. When I sat down to do it, the paper sat blank for days. I had chosen my favorite fairytale, Cinderella, only I wanted to do a spinoff that I had never seen done before. I wanted to write about the prince because since 1951, everyone knew his name, everyone knew who he was associated with and what role he played in the story, but he didn’t have a voice. So I was going to give him one. The problem was, I didn’t know how to do that for myself, much less for my character.
I played the same role as the prince for a long time. I was seen but not known, not that that was anyone’s fault, because I didn’t know who I was either. Just like writers compose characters that they have speak for them or create pretend worlds so that they can escape their lives for a little while, I felt as though I did this as well. Crime and Punishment has recently become one of my favorite books because as the character wrestles with his own conscience throughout the story, you can almost feel the struggle that Dostoyevsky must have suffered in his own life and therefore came out in his writing. I relate to this emotional character so much. I wanted so badly to be able to speak but have someone be able to read between the lines and interpret my actual meaning. Over the last few years I have been incredibly blessed with people who are able to see past the words that are in front of them or even the blank pages and understand my voice anyway.
I am not an articulate person. I have always envied people who could think about what they want to say and then say it. Half the time getting my brain to wrap around my thoughts, much less begin to process them is a struggle, you can forget about my forming cohesive sentences to articulate anything going on in my head. It took me a long time to understand this about myself and it really came about from some very patient and loving friends who through trial and error learned how to help me process because they wanted to hear what I had to say. I had always been around friends or family that talked until they got their point across or didn’t share at all. I couldn’t so I didn’t talk.
I knew how to hear and communicate with people that were outgoing and liked to talk so these were the people I surrounded myself with. I always felt inadequate and weak because I couldn’t do what they did. I was known as quiet and timid and probably a lot of other things to because when you don’t tell people what you’re thinking, they form their own opinions. I have had seasons of anxiety for many years and I’ve only recently realized that it manifests most severely when I feel as though I can’t be understood. That can mean by other people, but usually it’s by myself; changing circumstances, important decisions, seasons of life. Just like kids who can’t read wish they could communicate how they are hearing or seeing the words they don’t understand, I wish I could make my thought processes come more easily. However, the Lord has been teaching me recently that this is not an inadequacy.
When I was in Georgia for training camp one of our leaders told me that I could no longer be known as quiet and timid but as bold. This was never a word that I would have used to describe myself. But as I prayed through what that identity change meant for me, I began to realize something different about the Father’s heart. We are all made in his image, yet we are all so different. How can that be? I realized that our characters reflect the character of our Creator. We have all been entrusted with a different characteristic that represents that of the Father. We most commonly know him as a protector, a defender, a God of justice and strength. So many people are called and created to show him in these ways. What never occurred to me is that he is also a God with a tender heart. Jesus wept when his best friend died, he sat with children and he loved people that were difficult to love. I get to show people a God who hears them, cries when they cry, recognizes their struggles and understands what it means to be misunderstood. But that takes boldness! If I recognize now how I am to show the Father’s heart, I have to be diligent in doing that and willing to speak out even if I’m not sure what I am going to say yet. It is still a learning process; like being reintroduced to yourself and who you are in Christ. I also learned very recently that communication is a choice. Not being understood, even by yourself, can cause problems and create change, but it doesn’t always have to be painful. I am working on discerning what defines my identity in Christ and what is someone else’s attempt at trying to be understood. Even people with the best intentions can be wrong. Grace with yourself means resting in the fact that I am walking in what I feel is the Lord’s will and will ultimately bring him glory. The rest is up to him.
(Title from Janette Oaks’ Love Comes Softly series)
