The 5 of us went to the Taj Mahal this past weekend… what a sight! The building and grounds were so gorgeous, and it was nice to be able to take some time and just enjoy the country and its history. We had a couple early mornings and late nights, but it was so worth it. Thank you to all of you who were praying for our safety during this exciting excursion!
In other news, I cried on an airplane last night. You know what scares me (besides sharks and snakes)? Odd numbers. Third/fifth/seventh/etc. wheeling. The looming dread that I’ll never find my “person” in the midst of a sea of people who have found their “people.” As John Eldredge says, I’m scared that I’ll never be filled, I’ll never be satisfied, I’ll always be hungry. I’ll always be lonely. This, you-person-sitting-there-at-your-computer, is my greatest, deepest, and most terrifying fear; I’ll always be lonely.
Joanna, do you trust Me? (This is both the simplest and hardest question I’ve been asked since I left home).
I want to, Papa God. I really want to. But Papa God, I’m so scared. I’m scared I’m scared I’m scared (even now, words echo in the deepest parts of me and bring tears to my eyes).
People have always called me a courageous person. They say, “You’re so courageous for going on this trip. For leaving everything behind. For following God in this huge way.” But I’ve never felt courageous. And I think it’s because there’s always been this constant black-fear-hole inside my heart, and I hear people tell me I’m courageous, and satan whispers, “Courageous? You? That’s hilarious. You’re a scaredy-cat. You’re so scared. There’s so much fear. You’re just a scared little girl.”
And then I’m on an airplane back from the Taj Mahal and I’m crying to Papa, because I feel like a scared little girl. And I want to trust Papa God, I want to have this overwhelming trust that He’ll take care of my life plan and my finances and my health and my future husband and those kind of really practical, really big needs. Because He’s done that. I’ve watching Him do that. That’s why I’m literally sitting on a couch in India writing a blog post; He’s taken care of the big stuff! And I don’t ever want to discount those big things. Thank you, Papa God, for the big things… For the Taj Mahal sized thigs!
But my heart, Papa God. My spirit. The small things, the invisible things, Papa God. You say you’ll take care of it. You’ve promised it. But Papa God, my heart has been so hurt. There are band-aids on top of band-aids on my heart, and I’m scared. I’m scared it’ll happen again, I’m scared I’ll be left again, I’m scared I’ll feel like I have to fend for myself again. I’m scared I’ll feel like you’ve left me again. And I’m lonely again, and it’s happening again, and I’m going to need band-aids for my heart again. And I’m scared that I’m going to become the person who pulls people close while pushing them away because I’m so desperate for love and also so fearful of hurt that life transforms before my eyes into a constant battle of pull / push / pull / push.
But then the whisper, on the dark airplane, on the couch, still, soft. Joanna. Sweet Joanna. I know the pain in your heart. I made your heart, and I feel your heart. I truly understand. People left me, too. The people I loved most said they didn’t even know me. My sweetest daughter, my special daughter… Have courage, dear heart. You ARE courageous. I have made you courageous, even when you don’t feel it. Even when the tears are in your eyes, know that I truly see you. Daughter, I SEE YOU. YOU ARE NOT INVISIBLE. YOU ARE NOT ALONE. Though you walk through the valley of the shadow of death, though you trudge on roads and through seasons that feel lonely, though you scale mountains where every step seems harder than the last, my rod and my staff, my words and my whispers, they comfort you. This is a journey for us together. You are not out there alone. And I know I’m not physical, I know I can’t sit on the couch with you, or drink chai coffee with you, but I want to sit on the couch with you. I want to drink chai coffee with you. I am here, always. You are never alone. Ever.
Joanna, do you remember when you went to the aquarium with your father in middle school and you had to walk through the shark tunnel and you were scared so you held his hand? Remember that picture, daughter. Remember how your father faithfully held you and didn’t leave you. Well daughter, now your aquarium is life and your shark tunnel is loneliness. And sometimes it feels like you’re drowning in it, it feels like it’s all around you. But hold my hand, sweet daughter. Hold on to me tight.
“In you, oh Lord, I put my trust.”
