I spent so many years lost. When I was 18, I saw my first counselor. Therapy wasn’t helping, especially since I spent my sessions discussing how fine I was and wasn’t the weather just lovely?
Years later I got caught. The woman whom I had stolen from decided not to press charges. So finally, right there in her presence, I decided that I was not fine, not at all. I walked right into my church, into my pastor’s office and said, “Someone needs to help me.”
People who need help sometimes look a lot like people who don’t need help. I remember calling my parents and telling them I needed to see a counselor. And I often think about what that day must have been like for them. Maybe they desperately wanted to say: No, no it will be okay! We are your parents! We can fix this! But they didn’t. The moment I became brave enough to admit I needed help, they believed me, and despite the shock, pain, and stigma, they gave me the exact help I requested.
During my first year of college, my God-sized hole was big. It was big because I had stretched it wide. But no matter how frantically I’d fill myself with whatever was available—the sunrise would come. I hated the damn sunrise. The sunrise was God stopping by every morning to shine light on my life, and light was the last thing I wanted. So I used to close every blind and try to sleep through daybreak. I’d stare at the ceiling and think. I’d think about my parents who were paying for classes I wasn’t taking. I’d think of my coaches who believed in me but had already had conversations with me about how I wouldn’t be able to play next year because I wasn’t passing my classes. I’d think about my friendships that were falling apart. And I’d think about my sisters, to whom I wouldn’t even speak, since I couldn’t answer their simple question: How are you doing? I’d think about how I had no money, no plans for the future, a deteriorating body, mind, and soul. My brain would torture me for hours, while that sun rose, while the rest of the world started their day. I believed I had no day. Those were some of the worst days of my life—those sunrises during my freshman year of college. All the thoughts I thought during those morning sunrises were neon flashing signs that I was using the wrong hole-fillers.
God’s love is like that sunrise. That sun shows up every morning, no matter how bad you’ve been the night before. It shines without judgment. It never withholds. It warms the sinners, the saints, the druggies—the saved and heathens alike. You can hide from the sun, but it won’t take it personally. It’ll never, ever punish you for hiding. You can stay in the dark for years, and when you finally step outside, it’ll be there. All those years, I thought of God and light as judgmental, but they weren’t. The sunrise was my daily invitation from God to come back to life.
You see, the hole had gotten bigger and bigger until God fit right in. When you’re all hole, God fits.
God provided me with an invitation to share of my own healing and freedom with the congregation in Cambodia. The people lost in their lives, ashamed of their past, or doubtful that God could still love them. And the grace that Jesus was asking me to share was a breath of fresh air to those with a suffocated soul. I shared parts of my story that I had not yet shared with my current teammates. Through my story, God wanted to offer proof that He, in His loving-kindness (Hessed), is faithful to pursue His people. Some people just need a reminder that—in heartache, in disappointment, in failure—the gospel not only breaks the bonds of sin, but also removes all our guilt and shame. The freedom we all long for is found only in Jesus, and Jesus is better.
I still have a God-sized hole. Even when I try to fill it with less poisonous things now, they are still ineffective. I’m good at filling my hole with busyness. I used to jump at every opportunity that friends would invite me to. My FOMO (fear of missing out) was real, people. I got antsy and uncomfortable, and instead of sitting with this feeling, asking God what it means, and using it to grow, I would grab my things and head out the door. At the end of the day, I would feel tired and frustrated from using a whole lot of energy to gain not a lot of lasting satisfaction. Instant gratification—sure—but, lasting satisfaction—no.
Me focusing all my energy on other people didn’t help, but I found a few things that do: writing, reading, water, walks, forgiving myself every other minute, taking deep breaths, sitting with the Lord, and petting my dog. These things don’t fill me completely, but they remind me that it is not my job to fill myself. It’s just my job to notice my emptiness and find graceful ways to live as a broken, unfilled human. Some Christians will swear that their God-shaped hole was filled when they found God. I believe them, but I’m not that Christian. My experience has been that even with God, life is hard. It’s hard just because it’s hard being holey. We have to live with that.
If there is silver lining to the hole, here it is: the unfillable, God-sized hole is what brings people together. I’ve never made a friend by bragging about my strengths, but I’ve made countless by sharing my weakness, my emptiness, and my life chasing after the unfindable. Holes are good for making friends, and friends are the best fillers I’ve found yet. Maybe because other people are the closest we get to God on this side of heaven. So when we use them to find God in each other, we become holy.
At the end of my sermon I asked my teammates to step forward. I then provided the congregation with an invitation—not an obligation. That we as their sisters in Christ would love to pray for them. That God sent his only Son to earth as a sacrifice to make sure, that when we get lost—we always have a way to get back home to claim a place in God’s family. Jesus is the way! I asked the people: what is your regret? What is the Lord asking you to bring into the light and share so that you can finally start living that better life God wants you to have—and so that you can finally achieve healing. My teammates and I laid hands on the beautiful people of Cambodia as they stepped forward in bravery and asked for prayer.
So let’s talk about the things that get buried in our attempt to make great impressions. People need to hear stories of struggle and how God can redeem and redefine our brokenness. If you’ve ever wondered if there is room at the table for someone with a story like yours, you’ll appreciate the resounding yes Jesus offers as he pulls up a chair beside you.
