There's a journal entry I wrote during my first overseas mission trip to Haiti junior year of high school, and one phrase that's been jumping around in my mind--the idea that at the core of who I am, I am enough.
Junior year was rough. I had no idea where I stood with God---one moment I was worshiping and serving and loving God with everything I had and another I was crying on my bed, wondering why the Word seemed so empty, why it was so hard to see myself in those Jesus loved so dearly. Wondering if maybe I wasn't cut out for this whole Jesus thing, if I was letting God down somehow, if I would be cast in the fire after all. I so wanted to be a woman of great faith. I tried multiple versions of the Bible, devotionals, worship songs and books and solitary walks, and though I never stopped believing the Gospel, I wondered if I was missing something somehow. That if I believed hard enough or prayed the right prayer or had a really good devotion time, I would bear the fruit that everyone else seemed to have. I was frustrated, confused, zealous, and I spent a lot of high school stepping on a lot of toes, trying to force my faith to grow. And so, after struggling through another year of highs and lows, on June 20, 2012, a plane touched down in Archaie, Haiti, where everything changed. This shift mostly happened one particularly frustrating afternoon where I wondered if I could do anything right. I was tired and hot and completely in over my head. The language barrier, the flood of sights and sounds and smells were completely contrary to what I knew, and, again, I hid in my room, doubted whether I was even qualified for a simple mission trip. But that night, long after everyone else was asleep, I had an unforgettable conversation with a woman who has become a huge encouragement and dear friend over the past few years. To this day, I wonder at how well she loved me, how deeply I was known that night. Because of her, I saw myself through God's eyes. She planted the thought that continues to amaze me to this day---that in all the chaos, the questions, the insecurity, though I failed to see how God was working, He was. And he is, and he will be until all this is over. God shows up in the ways that He wires us differently, the ways of loving that come most naturally to us. He was working in the very things that I despised, that which made me different, awkward in my own skin. My round glasses, my lisp, my well insulated six pack. How, to this day, I sometimes feel one step behind everyone else. It takes me longer to run a mile, figure out technology, wrap a present, paint a wall, run a mile, climb a mountain. My entire life, I have felt different, slower somehow--like I was just one step behind everyone else. January will mark six years since I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer when, though my life was never in danger, I lost any chance I thought I had had of ever being normal. I missed a good chunk of school that year. While other kids were passing notes and comparing crushes, I was in and out of the hospital, trying to rid my lymph nodes of whatever cancer remained. I lost my voice for a few months, along with the first and only lead role in a musical I've ever won. (Still a little sore about that one...) But, gosh, guys---when I look back, God was there. The thyroid cancer scare in middle school brought me, a mousy twelve year old girl who spent most of her time on the sidelines, smack dab into a community of people who actually knew my name, who cared more than I had thought I was worth. It got me thinking about eternity, about the God I already believed in but now realized that I needed desperately. This weakness I have--this slowness, this awkwardness in my own skin--might actually be what God chooses to work through. He is not driven away by what I say or don't say, what I do or don't do. He loves me no less today than He did on the cross. I cannot earn his love and I cannot scare Him away. Whether I do more harm or more good on any given day, whether I spend my day completely tuned into His presence or get completely caught up in my own interests has no bearing whatsoever on his love for me. For us. For you. God is not fazed by the scary places of our hearts. He does not give up on us. Because of grace, because of Jesus, because of our mustard seed of trust, we find that He is well pleased with us, and there is absolutely nothing we can do about it. And that...that is a truth I'll spend my whole life trying to wrap my head around.
Junior year was rough. I had no idea where I stood with God---one moment I was worshiping and serving and loving God with everything I had and another I was crying on my bed, wondering why the Word seemed so empty, why it was so hard to see myself in those Jesus loved so dearly. Wondering if maybe I wasn't cut out for this whole Jesus thing, if I was letting God down somehow, if I would be cast in the fire after all. I so wanted to be a woman of great faith. I tried multiple versions of the Bible, devotionals, worship songs and books and solitary walks, and though I never stopped believing the Gospel, I wondered if I was missing something somehow. That if I believed hard enough or prayed the right prayer or had a really good devotion time, I would bear the fruit that everyone else seemed to have. I was frustrated, confused, zealous, and I spent a lot of high school stepping on a lot of toes, trying to force my faith to grow. And so, after struggling through another year of highs and lows, on June 20, 2012, a plane touched down in Archaie, Haiti, where everything changed. This shift mostly happened one particularly frustrating afternoon where I wondered if I could do anything right. I was tired and hot and completely in over my head. The language barrier, the flood of sights and sounds and smells were completely contrary to what I knew, and, again, I hid in my room, doubted whether I was even qualified for a simple mission trip. But that night, long after everyone else was asleep, I had an unforgettable conversation with a woman who has become a huge encouragement and dear friend over the past few years. To this day, I wonder at how well she loved me, how deeply I was known that night. Because of her, I saw myself through God's eyes. She planted the thought that continues to amaze me to this day---that in all the chaos, the questions, the insecurity, though I failed to see how God was working, He was. And he is, and he will be until all this is over. God shows up in the ways that He wires us differently, the ways of loving that come most naturally to us. He was working in the very things that I despised, that which made me different, awkward in my own skin. My round glasses, my lisp, my well insulated six pack. How, to this day, I sometimes feel one step behind everyone else. It takes me longer to run a mile, figure out technology, wrap a present, paint a wall, run a mile, climb a mountain. My entire life, I have felt different, slower somehow--like I was just one step behind everyone else. January will mark six years since I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer when, though my life was never in danger, I lost any chance I thought I had had of ever being normal. I missed a good chunk of school that year. While other kids were passing notes and comparing crushes, I was in and out of the hospital, trying to rid my lymph nodes of whatever cancer remained. I lost my voice for a few months, along with the first and only lead role in a musical I've ever won. (Still a little sore about that one...) But, gosh, guys---when I look back, God was there. The thyroid cancer scare in middle school brought me, a mousy twelve year old girl who spent most of her time on the sidelines, smack dab into a community of people who actually knew my name, who cared more than I had thought I was worth. It got me thinking about eternity, about the God I already believed in but now realized that I needed desperately. This weakness I have--this slowness, this awkwardness in my own skin--might actually be what God chooses to work through. He is not driven away by what I say or don't say, what I do or don't do. He loves me no less today than He did on the cross. I cannot earn his love and I cannot scare Him away. Whether I do more harm or more good on any given day, whether I spend my day completely tuned into His presence or get completely caught up in my own interests has no bearing whatsoever on his love for me. For us. For you. God is not fazed by the scary places of our hearts. He does not give up on us. Because of grace, because of Jesus, because of our mustard seed of trust, we find that He is well pleased with us, and there is absolutely nothing we can do about it. And that...that is a truth I'll spend my whole life trying to wrap my head around.
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