The path to deeper understanding of identity is a lonely one, or at least it feels that way. No one can really walk it with you because this is something only God can reveal. They can cheer you on, but the further in you get the more muffled the voices become until you realize the only voice you can hear is Jesus’. Even then you strain an ear hoping you heard clearly.
A lot of the time, I feel like I’m not worthy.
Despite the dusty sports trophies in my parent’s basement, folder of certificates, followers on Instagram, compliments on my artwork, and love from so many, I struggle with this insecurity.
God, how is this possible? What is wrong with me?
How can someone who is so blessed, loved, and accomplished struggle with walking freely in who they are? Simple: I know people will love what I can do and offer, but maybe not who I am. How can they respect someone who struggled with pornography? How can they want to spend time with me when I’m feeling like a wounded animal inside? How can they love me when I made a comment in a condescending tone? I have more questions than answers. Yet, I find comfort in the acknowledgement of my humanity. I am a beautiful, chaotic, mess of a person and Jesus wouldn’t have it any other way.
Yeah, this cool kid has issues too, but they don’t define or control me.
As much as I hide behind a camera, and share the plethora of stories of the people and places I photographed, I’ve never stopped to reflect on how I tell my story. Brené Brown puts it this way:
“The irony is that we attempt to disown our difficult stories to appear more whole or more acceptable, but the wholeness — even our wholeheartedness — actually depends on the integration of all our experiences, including the falls.”
Why are we sometimes so ashamed to take ownership of certain parts of our stories? For me I thought I didn’t have anything super traumatic or exciting; most of the things I just saw as footnotes. I couldn’t understand why accepting love from someone, even God, felt like I was only getting a certain fraction instead of the full measure. I only seemed half human, and it was a painful realization. The question of “what if” can be a dangerous path full of snares and I refused to go down it. Which instead meant exposing my heart in a way I never wanted to do because more than just God would see it. It meant inviting people in and people are freaking scary. I don’t care how well I know them. On a long drive home I declared three things I had denied for a very long time:
1. I gave myself permission to fully experience emotions.
2. I gave Jesus permission to speak how he saw fit.
3. I gave people permission to see and love.
What happened from there was up to the Lord. My hands have been reluctantly open ever since, and it’s been frustratingly good. Sometimes people still don’t understand when I feel led to be vulnerable with them while I’m trying to explain where I am at even when I don’t understand myself. The moments when I wonder if I’m making progress Jesus reminds me I’m being as vulnerable as I can be, and that’s enough. Time and again I see his grace extended through them. They don’t get annoyed or shut down, they patiently seek to understand, and my trust expands. Through my broken lens I still try to anticipate disappointment and look for opportunities to affirm the lie, but I’m consciously choosing not to function in that anymore. I don’t want to see people that way, and especially Jesus. It’s funny because I have “I tell your story” tattooed on my left foot and I always thought I fully understood why I chose it, but if I was honest, how I would tell my story and how Jesus would tell it are drastically different. I’m almost afraid of what he’d have to say.
I want to believe. I want to believe and fully live it. There is worth in how Jesus tells my story. Worth in the experiences, words spoken, tears shed, laughter, and community. Strip everything about me down, and my simple existence has a worth to God and people I know I’ll never fully understand. In my own child-like way though, I do when I can just sit with someone for the sake of enjoying their company. That same peace and comfort I get I also give and I don’t even have to try. I can rest in that, and that Jesus is the one present the most in those moments.
Call this my thorn in my flesh or whatever. I spent days looming over this blog because it’s still an exposed, raw nerve I’m dealing with, but I knew God intended something to come of this. For anyone reading who knows me well enough, what I said might come as a shock. I’ve done the things, great things, and yeah, worth is still a struggle. Some days are worse than others, but thank God for grace and the loving people he’s put around me for this season. And I thought the race was hard…ha! Through all of this I am slowly piecing together this complex work of art that is myself, and I know God couldn’t be more proud.
