Different

You know what movie scene has been playing over and over in my head recently? (No, not a part from Frozen or the Secret Life of Walter Mitty, although those were likely guesses). The part from The Incredibles, near the end, where Violet is standing talking to a friend at Dash's track meet. Her hair is pulled back, she's standing confidently, finally feeling like she has a purpose. And her crush, Tony Ryender, interrupts their conversation (which is rude, but whatever). He seems intimidated by her instead of the other way around, saying that she looks different. And she asks, "I feel different... Is different okay?" And he answers, "yeah, different is" - cough - "great".

Different. I feel different too.

I'm convinced that this skin takes some time to grow into. That who you are meant to be, who God has created you to be, it takes time to get there. I believe that it is a journey. But I also believe that He gives you moments, glimpses really, into His plan, and glimpses of His skilled hands and love, for you, His created beloved. That even when we feel like we aren't "there yet", we are just where He wants us to be. It's weird and hard to explain, but I like it. I like knowing that He is in control.

I mentioned in my last post how I feel that I am finally accepting and enjoying who the Lord has made me to be, and it has been such a cool experience. I'm not meaning this in a way to say that I am so great, but rather He is so great, because He is the One who is putting all these things in motion.

I don't know how to explain it, other than love. Other than peace. Other than an uncanny understanding that everything will be all right, that He is right next to me, holding my hand and my heart in His. It's golden, it's like summer sun. It's comforting, and it's also fleeting. Because just as He gives glimpses, He also tests us. Because as humans, we have the tendency to get comfortable, to forget how much we need Him. Because pride and self pity and sin creeps in, and He oftentimes has to do some repair work in our hearts.

I'm writing this because I want to remember. I want to remember the work He has done in my heart, to strengthen and secure, to teach and to love. I want to remember His warmth and comfort. I don't want to forget in the moments He feels withdrawn. I want to cling not to this memory, but to the truth that this memory brings.

And I want to live my life in response and pursuit of Him and His truth. Different, in a good way.

I haven't written in awhile.

I just haven't had much to say, or felt like anything I had to say was valid. The shame I couldn't name, the self doubt and the sadness, the bits of glass still left in my blood left me speechless and dry. I felt stuck, all summer. Trapped in an internship that was harder than it should have been, at home, burying myself in books and television and work. I told myself that if I just worked a little harder, then I would deserve rest. If I just earned a bigger paycheck, I would have worth and all my dreams would be attainable. That the hours I spent in silence in front of the computer, running from my thoughts, were worth it.

I was so wrong.

And I didn't realize it until the week before school started.

I'm only starting to realize it, only starting to allow myself to heal from the shame that has buried itself in my skin like a splinter, that has shaped my fingerprint and my worldview for far too long.

The shame that had slowly begun to motivate my work, my art, rather than passion. The art that was empty at the end of the day, dissatisfying.

This summer, I spent time with my family that was needed more than I expected. Met up with friends and laughed and shared hearts. I came up to school for a few weeks and enjoyed the mountain beauty. I relaxed and made a dent in my reading list. I designed, a lot. It was low key and for the most part, peaceful.

But it didn't make me happy, it didn't satisfy. I found myself running from silence more each day, emptied and feeling the void in my chest, black and silent, with a terrifying gravitational pull. It could swallow me. It almost did.

It amazes me, always, that God allows me to call myself a follower of Him. That He allows my brokenness to be associated with His grace and love. That despite my sin and self pity and unfaithfulness, He is still working.

This summer, He taught me that I have worth just by existing, because He made me. That my skill can and should honor Him, but my worth isn't dependent on that.

This summer, He taught me how to rest without guilt eating me up inside. That's still a work in progress, but I'm getting there. 

This summer, He taught me how to love who He made me to be. Quirks and all.

This summer, He taught me how to enjoy a day instead of looking toward the end result. 

This summer, He taught me how much more growing I have to do. But I welcome it, because it means becoming more like Him. 

And now this summer is nearly over, and I'm antsy and ready and terrified for my senior year. But - there's always one - He is in control, even though I have no idea where I'll be a year from now. 

You know what? I'm okay with that. 

Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High

    will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

 

I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress,

    my God, in whom I trust.”

Surely he will save you

    from the fowler’s snare

    and from the deadly pestilence.

    and under his wings you will find refuge;

    his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

Psalm 91:1-4