I didn’t think I was going to write about this. But if I start off writing these posts without being real, then that’s going to get difficult for me very quick. And probably a little boring for you. I wonder how many blog posts I’ll write this year that I never thought I’d write, but here goes the first.
The day before my birthday was beautiful. I sat on my roof before sunset and made a post about how my first batch of support letters were ready to go. The roof and trees glowed with a golden tone, and I soaked it in. A few minutes later a friend and I decided to hang out in San Marco (one of my all time favorite places). It’s only a few minutes from my house, so I told my mom I where I was heading and left with my ukulele in tow.
I felt calm, clear headed, and comfortable. With no distraction and my hands at ten and two (or nine and three, whatever floats your boat), I pulled to a stop sign on the edge of my neighborhood. I stopped. Looked. Drove forward. There weren’t many cars in sight, except one truck a solid distance away.
At least I thought it was.
I was wrong.
Ha.
If you’ve been in any accident, whether it be a small fender bender or a huge wreck, I’m sure you know the feeling of, “what just happened? Did that just really happen?”
The rest is a blur. I’d never been in an accident, and with only one functional car in our family, panic took over. Would our car have to go into the shop? How long? How would I get to work? How would I get to my birthday get-together the next day? Finals was coming up, how would I get to school?
Hearing the sound of our incredibly old truck come around the corner was music to my ears. My brother David’s car was in the shop, so the truck was his new ride to cross short distances. He left work to be with me, because my dad was out of town, the kinda-sketchy motorcycle was the only ride at home with my mom, and my other brother Steven lives out of state.
My brothers and I have gotten along well, especially the past year or so, but never in my life have I been so happy to see one of them. David didn’t seem surprised when I basically tried to hide myself in his hug, disregarding the fact we don’t ever hug. He was calm and understanding, fully aware that adrenaline and emotion made me feel like the situation was a lot worse than it actually was. He was just there.
While sitting on a curb next to my brother surrounded by broken glass and my own snot, I felt something I didn’t expect.
Security.
The next day a friend took me out to breakfast for my birthday, and that night my friends helped me get to Towncenter. I could sense the concern in my friends, and for most the day I thought I did well convincing them I was okay. I was myself. I was having an amazing birthday.
Then my brain did this thing. My friend once described it as, “the zone.” If you struggle with anxiety I’m sure you have your own version of the zone. For me, the zone is a state of anxiety that makes it hard to converse without an occasional, “Rachel, you okay?” The zone wraps me up in my head, whether it be caused by something someone said or did, something I said or did, or maybe a memory or a fear. Sometimes I’m unsure what causes it. But I’m just going to get it out of the way and say I know a lot of you have seen me in it, especially friends and family who see me on a regular basis.
So alright. If I’m being honest: I can’t stand it. I want to be a great friend and daughter and an easy going person, but in these zones I don’t feel like myself. At my core I want to be someone who can show the joy of the Lord even when going into the zone is easy, or even while in the zone. I’m learning to drag God’s truth into it, and to reach out to others I can trust when I’m in it, but truth is, it’s hard. And it’s even harder to put it into words so others can understand.
But hey. It’s a good thing I serve a God who does.
He understands. He doesn’t judge or pull away or look for a quick fix. He invests and pursues and He has brought me through these zones time and time again. Sometimes it’s with a song, sometimes a sunset, other times an unexpected smile or hug. These anchors vary, but they all have something in common: I can always trace them back to God’s beauty, grace, and provision.
You see, the zone will always have an end. But God’s beauty, grace, and provision? They don’t.
The zone I felt the night of my birthday and the day after no doubt came from being overwhelmed. The wreck was one of those things that causes you to evaluate all the hard stuff in your life all at once, even when there’s good all around you. But while walking around Towncenter with my friends, I saw them treat me no different, even though I was acting different. When they drove extra slow for me, handing me fidgets to keep my hands busy, I felt the unexpected yet again.
Security.
The next few days held more challenges. People around me said and did things I didn’t understand, and I had questions and insecurities I never expected to have. As the wreck weighed less on my mind, finding rides to work and school took over, as well as one number: $15,000.
I knew fundraising wouldn’t be easy, and I knew doubt would come knocking on that number eventually, but I didn’t want to let it win. In every aspect of my life, I didn’t want doubt and insecurity to win. Not over my health, not over my friendships, not over my academics, and not over this Race. Plain and simple, I needed Jesus. I always have and always will. I think sometimes during these lows, that fact really sinks in.
On Wednesday nights I serve at Redeemer on a leadership team. As worship started I slipped away to the back of the room to focus, pray, and to think. I listened to the sound of a room full of people I love worshipping. As the second song began, I noticed someone turn around, spot me, and make their way towards me. A young girl, one of my old Camp Araminta campers walked up.
“You’re all alone,” she said with a shove.
I told her it was hot over there (which no doubt it was. Molly, if you’re reading this, don’t be surprised if I start bringing my own personal fan for worship) but I wasn’t sure how to quickly explain my desire to be in the back of the room. But I didn’t have to. I was stunned as this young girl, who I’ve gotten to pour into and watch grow through the years, took my hand. She stood there beside me and continued to worship. Such a small, gentle gesture.
But it’s impact was powerful to say the least. Not only did I feel overwhelmed with love from my camper, I felt overwhelmed with love and a sense of protection for her. Suddenly I couldn’t help but think, how much more does God love her and protect her? How much more does He love and protect me? I smiled as I felt the unexpected once more.
Security.
His love for us is more powerful and present than we can imagine. The past few weeks I’ve seen more than ever that it’s Christ and Christ alone who will bring in the funds and get me to the Race, not my own efforts. And it’s Christ alone who can truly calm my doubts and insecurities, not my friends or family (as helpful and amazing as they are). No matter what comes, and no matter where I am, God won’t leave me. So one step at a time, I’ll venture deeper into this Race. I know there will be challenges and “zones” to overcome, but in this time of trusting and growing in my life, He is good.
And He is secure.
[Thank you all for reading and supporting me. You can subscribe to blog updates here, as well as donate. Please prayerfully consider supporting me financially, and I ask for your prayers as June 15th (my first deadline for $5,000) approaches. I’m still selling tee shirts, and with the money I’ve made from that so far, I have about $900! I love you all, and keep the faith]
