maybe he was right

I keep hearing my former pastor's words, spoken to my 19-year-old self over 13 years ago. "The worst possible thing you could do with your life is become a missionary."

And I am starting to wonder if maybe he was right.

I've always felt confident about my decision to step into ministry when and how I did -- against all the odds, really.

I've seen fruit of lives changed and considered it all the proof I needed that I was doing something far from the "worst possible thing".

But here I sit, late at night when the darkness is darkest and the doubts and unknowns are the loudest.

I sit here with my heart pounding and the tears flowing. And now...

Now my confidence is cracked and crumbling. Now while I know lives were changed by our team and years and service in Africa, I still hear my former pastor's words to my faith-filled teenage missionary heart.

And I've gotta be honest. I no longer have my youthful faith and energy that bounded me away from the fateful words spoken over me. I don't have the fight left in me that it takes to stand up against these kinds of roadblocks.

Even when they are only internal.

I simply don't have any fight left.

And I can't help but think...

That maybe he was right after all.

Maybe he was right. Maybe my decision to be a missionary was the worst thing I could've done because of the domino effect it would cause. Because while people got saved, pastors and churches strengthened, young leaders equipped to teach their peers in public schools about abstinence and AIDS prevention, and so many other mind-blowingly amazing things were done that led to transforming a nation... simultaneously my marriage fell apart, the man of God I loved decided to pursue another woman and walk away from God, me, and the ministry, and everything crumbled to pieces.

So maybe he was right all along. Maybe had I not gone to Africa, someone else more suitable and prepared and strong would have gone. And the end result of years of ministry would be so much more than what it currently is.

Maybe he was right...

I know to live in past-tense hypotheticals is completely futile. I know this. But in dark moments of deafening quiet, my heart immediately goes to that place. And I can't help but cry as my chest caves in under the weight of it all.

Maybe he was right...

Maybe He was right.

I gasp, and my breath catches in my throat.

Why do I trust so easily the words of the meteorologist and yet hesitate at the words of God? Why do I more easily trust the negative, fearful voices in my head than I do God's truth?

He told me to go. I went. Lives were changed through the grit and the glory. Including my own.

And so through the ugly tears, I'm starting to hear a growing whisper.

Maybe He was right.

Maybe He was right.

scarlet letters

I'm divorced.

::Deep Breath::

That's the first time I've actually said that word out loud.

Over the past two months, I've used varying versions of "my divorce was finalized", but I've avoided saying the actual word.

I feel a shameful sting in the word divorced. I hear unspoken judgments, like What's wrong with her that made her husband leave? and She's used goods and even simply a sigh of disappointment.

I hear them because my heart has also condemned others that way.

My good Christian upbringing left me judgmental. Pious. Spiritually stuck-up. I've unconsciously viewed divorce as the ultimate failure.

And now here I am, walking around with a red D on my chest for the world to see. And I feel not only the weight of others' judgment, but also the historical weight of my own.

Oh how arrogant I have been...

A friend recently spoke some healing and freeing words for my heart:

Divorce is no more a sign of relationship failure than marriage is of relationship success.

And even just typing those words out, my breath catches in my throat. Because I know it is true.

Even when it is hard for me to believe.

I hope someday I won't feel completely defined by my divorce. And that I can eventually say the word without hanging my head in shame, or feeling the need to justify it with an explanation, or wincing as I hear it megaphone my insufficiencies.

Because though it feels like divorced has been written on my heart in permanent ink, I need to remember... So has beloved. Chosen. Loved. His.

And those are my true scarlet letters.

[Originally posted at Deeper Story...]

what i know for sure

These days, there's a lot I don't know. A lot.

A few years ago, things felt pretty certain. Now... Notsomuch.

In some ways, I feel like I've gotten used to the uncertainties. I've grown accustomed to all the question marks.

But they still suck.

In December I said a final goodbye to my home, my ministry, my job, my everything... For the two years prior to that, I'd already been bouncing between guest rooms, hoping for a very different ending than how things ended up.

It's been a long season of limbo. Transition. Change.

And even the few things I've hazily viewed over the past few months as possibilities for the future... I feel less certain about them now than I did before.

I don't know what's next for me. I don't even know how to start thinking of a next when I spent my entire adult life living my dream. And then it crumbled out from under me. To be honest, I don't even want to start thinking of a next.

Not yet.

I am often asked questions about my current season and what's down the road. The questions come from hearts that care, and that is an invaluable gift to me. I know I am loved and thought of and prayed for by many, and that is unbelievably humbling. I am beyond grateful.

Still, I'm left tired.

It's not the questions I'm tired of. It's that I've grown weary of not having answers.

So let me tell you what I know for sure:

:::

I am living in Southern Oregon with incredible friends. Friends who are family. Friends who are a safe place for my heart to land.

I've unpacked my suitcases. The Hodges had my room amazingly set up just for me -- complete with a closet and a dresser and a desk. And I feel more settled than I have in a long time.

I am trying to give myself permission to just be right now. I've done a lot. And I'm spent. So I'm trying to just give my heart some breathing room for a little while.

Extending myself grace to just be -- to not do, to not feel guilty about not doing, to not worry about what I'll be doing next -- is much easier said than done.

Some days it's hard to simply get out of bed and put my two feet on the floor. Physically. Emotionally. Life feels hard, inside and out, and I'm struggling with my inability to see ahead. At all. But I'm trying to be okay with all my not knowing. Trying.

I am still battling my chronic health issues. But I feel hopeful -- for the first time -- that I might get my very own Dr. House sometime soon. And that makes things a little easier.

I am grateful for my friends and my community (you!) who have walked with me through the past few years. Like I said before, I know I am loved and prayed for. And that's just... Wow.

I feel doubly grateful for those friends who knew me in my "before" life, and love me still. Because I feel like a very different person now than I was then. And there's such exhale in simply being known.

I am amazed anyone at all shows up here to read the scribblings of my heart. Thank you. Truly.

God is not absent. Not distracted. He sees. He knows. He cares. And He's doing something about it.

:::

So I guess that means I know quite a bit more than I thought I did...

sleep

"Sleep good," my friend called from her bedroom doorway. "Sleep well," her daughter replied.

Instantly -- before I could even take a breath-- the words flooded to the forefront of my mind. Right on cue, they were all I could hear.

"Sleep however you want."

That's what my husband would always say. And though I haven't heard it, or even thought it, in a very long time, it crept up on me tonight. It took me by surprise and left me with tears. And a smile.

For all the hell the past few years have been, my ten-year marriage had a lot of good in it. And I am grateful for those memories, those instinctual thoughts, that still come. Though they sting, and though I am tired of tear-stained cheeks, there are some things I hope I never forget.

Sleep however you want.

Sleep however you want.

it's done

I never imagined this moment would come at all. I certainly never thought it would play out like this. By myself.

In a Kinko's.

I print out the paperwork my attorney emailed me, and I just stare at it. With trembling fingers, I pick up the pen, and still... I just sit here. Aware of each breath. Fighting tears---and losing. Unable to swallow.

I read and re-read the letters on the page, trying to wrap my mind around the legal jargon. I worry there's something I'm missing or misunderstanding. So I read and re-read again. And then... I just sit here. I sit here and stare. Motionless, save for the uncontrollable trembling in my fingers. And my legs. Yeah, they're jittering as well.

I sigh.

I brace myself, steeling for the inevitable. I hold my breath as I put ink to paper... and sign. Painfully. Heart-brokenly. Yet peacefully...

Tears stream down my face and I try to make sense of this collision of emotions. There's a deep unspeakable ache... and an overwhelming sense of relief. Neither stronger than the other, these emotional opponents are equally matched. Pain and peace, dancing together to the somber music of my heart.

It's done.

And yet deep, deep down I know...

It's just beginning.