Feeling

If someone asks me how I’m doing, I try not to say that I am a feeling.

I’m not happy, I’m feeling happy. I’m not lonely, I’m feeling lonely. I’m not sad, I’m just feeling sad.

But recently it’s been the consuming type of sad, and I have trouble navigating through it. The kind of sad that demands to be felt. The kind of sad that refuses to conform to social expectations or work schedules or the forward progression of life. The kind of sad that tells me to sit in it and let it consume me. High-energy is a good way to describe who I am most of the time. I’m light and I’m quick and this usually dominates any negativity dwelling in my heart. I can bury anger, I can ignore anxiety, but the heaviness that sadness brings feels like cement blocks tied to my ankles that I desperately try to pull forward with me.

The holidays have made this feeling seem like it’s making a home in my heart, and I simply won’t have that.

Sometimes I wish I could just text Jesus. I’d say, “Hey, can you meet me? I need help and i don’t know where else to go”. Maybe He’d tell me that He’d be over in a few minutes, maybe He’d sense the urgency and just call. But He doesn’t, because I can’t just text Him, I can’t just call Him. I can’t get concrete answers or tangible support. Is it selfish of me to say that it isn’t enough? Probably, but it’s also human.

I asked for this. My prayer was answered, but it just doesn’t look quite the way I had wanted it to. So I panic and I say that I’ve changed my mind, I try to retreat back to Egypt but Egypt isn’t an option anymore. I’m walking into this season of uncertainty, and I can feel my heart trembling in my hands. Suffering isn’t something I’ve ever been capable of coping with in a healthy way. When I think of suffering and what that’s looked like in my life, my mind doesn’t take me back to moments but to feelings. I feel the tightness in my chest, gasping for air because my lungs couldn’t fill quickly enough. I feel my gut in knots and my ears ringing with the sound of the fragility of my heart, pieces breaking off and getting lost in the dark corners of my soul. I’ve never suffered with Jesus, though.

This hasn’t happened in years, and that’s because I’ve made sure of it. I’ve carefully built a sturdy foundation around the most tender parts of my heart, and nobody has access to that.

Oh shit, Jesus does, though.

A real-time realization. Is that what this season is for? I have all of these thoughts, and they typically spiral because I have a terrible habit of assuming the worst so my reality is never as bad. Am I walking into healing? If so, what will that look like? Re-living trauma, getting to the root of the problem? I will tell you, face to face, that I am an open book. I like to believe that my story holds power, that I wouldn’t be exactly who I am right now without the junk and gunk I’ve worked my way through. I’ll tell you the LifeTime movie synopsis of my life, where I emphasize triumphs and let you in on some of the mess. I’ve let go of resentment that I held over my head, and have found peace. Right? Have I found peace? Or have I buried the pain and called it peace?

Jesus is the Prince of Peace, and it feels like He’s here to restore my heart. That’s the big picture, that’s what we ask for when pursuing Him. Restoration, healing, purpose. That’s what I feel when I think about the way my life will play out. I have no doubt that I am walking towards a fulfilling life filled with His purpose, but I’m not sure if I’m willing to walk through the suffering to get there. How selfish am I? To ask for all of the benefits of His love without putting in the work to be granted it? I am unworthy, I know that. I am human, and He knows that. But it feels like the walls I’ve built to keep everyone else out are trying to stand firm to keep Him out. How unfair is that? How selfish am I? Why is my life ruled by fear?

He is who He says he is. I am chosen, not forsaken. I am a child of God. All truths that my heart knows but my head can’t keep up with. But why? Questions that snowball off of more questions, and I find myself more turned around, confused, and vulnerable than when I started. I think this is what He wants, though. I’m supposed to be uncomfortable, I’m relinquishing control, remember? But it’s so much easier said than it is done.

I’ve never suffered with Jesus. I’ve gasped for air, felt the physical pain of suffering in the fibers of my muscles. Jesus might have been there, but I just didn’t know it. I’m scared to ask Him where He was because that means going back and looking for Him. Healing isn’t easy. Healing doesn’t come from a 10-step wiki guide with poorly drawn illustrations. Healing is messy, and scary, and unpredictable. It’s frustrating that I can’t see through the fear of the chaos to the promise of His goodness. My heart knows, Lord. I wish You would text me back. Tell me where to start and how to get back up when it knocks me down. Hold my hand when it’s hard, knock down my walls and protect my heart better than I can. Please, take it easy and don’t let me lose sight of You through the process.

He can’t text me back, and no questions will be answered directly. He speaks to me through perfect moments, though. Music is where I found Him, and my Spotify has over 1200 songs saved. He tells me what He needs me to hear when I listen to a song for the hundredth time, but for the first time, I hear it differently. He tells me what I need to hear with perfectly timed conversations with friends. He speaks to me when I write and my heart flutters as I pour out my insecurities or my baggage or my fears.

I hear you, Jesus. I thank you for seeing me, for hearing me, for loving me. I am filled with fear, but it’s equally matched with hope, Your hope. There is light at the end of the tunnel, even though I can’t see it now just walking in. I trust you, even when I feel like I don’t. I will speak truth until I believe it. I will hold myself accountable, even if it’s through a blog. There is purpose to everything, especially feelings, because I’m certain that these are from Him.