How NOT To Drown

How NOT to drown when life gets drifty and dark and deep.

1. Admit to yourself that you are grieving and afraid. This helps make so much sense of your feelings and reactions. 

2. Tether yourself to the truth that God is good and kind and wise … which means we grieve with hope and we shall not fear. *This doesn't necessarily change one single thing in the dark and drifty deepness, but it keeps you afloat for sure.

3. Tell a trusted friend or two about your overwhelm, and ask them to pray over you. You will recognize the Holy relief - like floating hip-high in the ocean, breathing in several seconds of fresh, relaxed air before plunging back down to  resume the position of neck-deep, splashy-faced water-treading.

4. Say no. Be careful not to isolate, but carefully carve out respites of time for yourself and God and maybe a choice human. A 5-minute pause can preserve your peace. A 50-minute break from perceived obligation can preserve your life.

5. Say yes. God knows your situation and I would imagine He has good stuff (glory type stuff) that He wants to help you be and do … even before there is rescue or resolution. So get golden and look for ways you can treat people in the way you need it most: reach out, pray, encourage, help.

6. Keep talking to your counselor/therapist. Objective listening, expert insight and practical strategies for growth and healing are WAY more valuable than anything else you were going to spend that money and time toward. WAY.

7. Keep moving. (Like literally stretch or take a walk even when you don't feel like it.) But also, keep going. This can't possibly last forever. Mark your calendar for 90 days from now, and call me. Even if circumstances still seem unchanged, we'll be able to look back and find more than one benefit emerging from this difficult and draining season. One blessing I would bet and bank on is that we'll know even more deeply than we do today that God never leaves and His love simply cannot fail.

Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble, and he brought them out of their distress.

He stilled the storm to a whisper; 

the waves of the sea were hushed.

They were glad when it grew calm,

and he guided them to their desired haven.

Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for mankind.

Psalm 107:27b-31

Heavenly Mercies

We live an unbearable distance from the nearest Torchy's, and I love their queso more than I should. These are the facts.

After lunch, I ordered chips and queso to go. 

When it arrived, I promptly spilled the entire cup all over the table. I told Philip this was the saddest thing that has ever happened to me in my whole life. Somehow he doubted it.

Just as I was attempting to process my grief (which looked like sliding wads of napkins around to form a pitiful pond of queso in the middle of our table), a waitress stepped forward with a neat and tidy to-go bag and cheerfully inquired, "You need chips and queso to go?"

I stuttered words admitting I had already received [and squandered] my order. She listened like, "Cool, cool. But since there is nowhere to set this down (table is queso lava), can one of you take it?" Philip smiled, took the bag, and said, "Thank you so much."

I know God loves me. Every day, I know this to be true. But sometimes when the remedy to my [ridiculous] situation arrives immediately as I'm mourning the mistaken mess ... my soul feels the divine comfort of a God who sees me and who is more than capable to meet my every [real] need.

❤

The Unrest of the Story

This photo was taken nine years ago in Orlando. Ten minutes before this selfie, I had been bawling my eyes out at lunch, trying to hash out all my big feelings about life and calling and joy. 

I was overwhelmed by mediocrity and status quo. I wanted more. I wanted freedom and beauty, but when your life is intertwined in covenant with another human, you can only do so much inner pining.  You have to find a way to let them in on your upheaval. 

*And that might look like blubbering over a basket of fried shrimp across a noisy table at Bubba Gump's. "Waitress, can we have a few more napkins [again]?"

Philip heard me out, shared his own thoughts, and we walked away feeling emptied, filled, and unified. I didn't want to take this picture. But it was like the other thousand opportunities he has offered me over the years to get.over.myself. so I am grateful to have it.

One year later we were back in Orlando eating at that Hard Rock in the distance, looking at photos of baby Asa for the first time, surrendering everything in the hope of gaining something more.

I am learning to no longer fear the unrest. (Still not a fan of selfies in real time ha.)

The tilling turmoil of holy discontent is often a necessary preparation for the growth of something grand.