I went seeking some clarity and solutions. I came home with neither, but I was still glad I went.

"There are lots of ways to tell this story. I can tell a perfect Christian salvation story, about God's hand and foreordainedness and teleology. In that story, the telos, the end to which everything has always been pointing, is Jesus, is the church, is the cross. That story tells of Jesus' dogged pursuit of me, of God's leading me through Judaism to Him, of everything matching and meeting and lining up just so I can say, ‘I had this dream about some mermaids, and it changed everything,’ and that would be true.

But there is another version of the story, one that is full of almosts and contingencies. Stop this story at any point and things look different. This story is harder to tell because it drips with more betrayal. It indicts. It reads more like a failure than a triumph. It is not the story of all the things that drew me to Christianity during my college years and before; it's the story of all the things that pushed me away from Judaism... This story is harder, the truth of it and the telling of it, but it's also true." Lauren Winner

That sounds right to me. I'm sure it's true for Lauren, and I see it in my life as well. It's not exactly like that; our four stories are not the same, but I can relate to her feeling that there are two sides to the same story. I have two stories, or maybe just one story, but I definitely have two sides to my story, one that I like to talk to people about, and one that I don't. I have the side I get excited to tell people about, the story where I was very  simply lost and found. The one where Jesus touched me and I responded. The one where I felt his love and my cold, hard heart melted away leaving something new, different, beautiful. That's the story that I'm comfortable talking about, for the most part. In this story I am moved by love. I am moved by the truth of the gospel. Those things all happened. Those things all are happening. Those things are all true.

But if that's how I told my story (and it often times is), that would be a lie. It would be a lie because it's leaving so much out. My story is not so pure. Don't let me fool you. My resistance, my apathy, my inconsistencies. There are so many things about this life, this world that I cling to, because I understand them, I know how to operate with those things in my life. This other side of the story isn't quite so simple. I am still moved, I am still found, I am still changed, but in the midst of those good things that I believe come from my father, I find comfort and identity in things that I can understand, smaller things, things that eat away at me. And I think he uses those things too. I don't think they go to waste. I don't think my first story loses any of it's merit because of these things, but I definitely don't like to talk about them and I am definitely becoming more and more painfully aware of these things. 

I like to talk about my cold, hard heart being melted away, and it was, but I don't talk about how it has to be melted and softened each and everyday, and some days I let it remain cold, some weeks, some months, I hope not years, but maybe. I talk about responding to Jesus' love, and that's true, it did happen like that, but I don't talk about the times that I don't respond. I don't talk about the times that I choose to ignore him altogether, I choose to walk away. 

I talk about how I once was lost. I talk about it like it was this thing that happened one day long ago. I talk about it like Jesus is my mom and I am a five year old that got separated from her at the mall. I was lost and it was pretty scary. I was scared and didn't know what to do. A mall cop found me in the food court and he paged my mom over the intercom to come claim me and then we were reunited and went home. But that's not what it's like. 

I feel lost at some point most days.

I just reread Girl Meets God, by Lauren Winner. I’m not a huge fan of the cheesy title, but I love, love, love her story and the way that she tells it. She feels refreshing to me, because she feels honest. She feels sincere. She doesn't always say what you might expect an author that you find in the Christian section of Barnes and Noble to say, but I think that's part of the reason I enjoy reading her so much. I appreciate her honesty. I appreciate her struggle. I appreciate the fact that she tells her story with no apologies. I think it's great. I think her honesty about her brokenness strengthens her story, her testimony. I reread this book before reading her new book that just came out, Still. She's got a few others out there too, and I just like her. I like how she writes and I typically really like what she has to say. 

Sometimes, I get scared that if I let myself be too honest about where I am, how I'm feeling, how I'm doing, and how I got here I might discover something that I don't like. What I've noticed while reading Ms. Winner's books these past few months is that I don't have to be so scared. It's off-putting, yeah, but more and more I am beginning to see how valuable an accurate, or at least a more accurate view of my sin is. I pray that Jesus would show me the darkness in my heart. I pray that he would show me the fundamental defect of my heart's condition. Show me, really show me the gross stuff, the things about myself that I don't like, that I hate, that I despise; show them to me. I want to see them. I want to know that they're there. As long as I am alive, I want to remember that they are there, that I am on a very basic level tarnished, because without that knowledge I forget how very much I need my savior. I like the idea of honesty in regards to my heart, because if I am always honest about my condition, than I'll always have to be honest about my need, my fundamental dependancy on grace. 

And it's freeing. When I'm honest about my condition, I don't always have to be right, I can't always be right. When I'm honest about my condition, I don't have to have all the answers, I don't have to have any answers. When I'm honest it becomes less about me and more about someone who is right, who does have the answers. Who would have thought that becoming less self-absorbed would feel so therapeutic? I didn't. At the end of the day, it just isn't about me. How do I always forget that?

Moving forward, I will pray once again what I prayed a post or two ago. Jesus, show me my sin, and Jesus, show me you. Show me that I am so bad that you had to die for me, and show me that I am so loved that you were glad to die for me. Let that never become something that I just say. Let that always bring me to a place of awe. 

Grace unending all my days, you'll give me strength to run this race.

I like it here. In this one place. Other places like the future, the past, and potential pasts and futures are pulling at me, trying to take my focus off of this one place. But for the first time in a long time, I am very content with where I am. I like it here. I don't want to be here forever, but I feel a sense of wonder and possibility as I sit here and look forward. I don't feel anxious. I don't feel sad. I don't feel unprepared. I only feel thankful for this one place and expectant that the next place will come and that is will be great, it will be necessary, it will be for my betterment. There is so much about my life right now that is not for sure. Seriously, I have absolutely no idea what my life will look like a year from now, two years from now, three years from now. The farther out I go, the hazier things get. I don't know where I will be, what I will be doing, or who I will be doing things with. Can you believe that doesn't scare me to death? I can't. It is wild how he hasn't given me anything that I wasn't ready for, and it's even more wild how he knows me better than I know myself. He knows when I am ready; often times I don't.

Can we take a minute to talk about that. Christian bubbles love to tell you that, "God will not give you anything that you can't handle." There probably is truth in that. I think that God loves us a whole lot. I think he gives us things that seem both good and bad, out of that love. I'm not really positive exactly what it means to be able to "handle" something, but I think I can get on board with the statement that, "our heavenly father will not give us anything that we are not capable of doing or learning from; he won't give us anything that's not good for us." That seems obvious. What is becoming more and more obvious to me is this: he may never give me more than I can handle, but he does push me, he does give me things to handle. It might not be more than I can handle, but sometimes it feels like exactly the amount of X I can have without having X become something unhealthy, without having X become something it shouldn't be.

This idea of God not giving me more than I can handle has always been something I have found comfort in, but I also hid behind it. It gives me an out. More recently God has been showing me how very true his promises are. I don't have to worry about tomorrow or the next day. I don't have to live in stress and anxiety. I don't have to be hard and guarded and sarcastic all of the time. I may not know what I'm doing with my life or even with next semester, but I am confident in the fact that he tells me he will always provide for me, care for me; he will always love me well. I am very sure of that. As I have grown in my understanding of what it means for Jesus to promise not to leave me, I have discovered that where there was once fear, peace now resides. Where there was once stress and anxiety, wonder and possibility are now abounding. Where self-doubt and sheer terror once ruled, surety of my ability to meet God's plans for me now reign.

I am not sure of a lot of things, but I am learning to be content with that. I am learning to hold on to things bigger than my plans. I am learning that part of the ride is just sitting back and appreciating the current view. I am learning how to enjoy the ride more and more. Nothing about the ride is perfect, but there is so much for me to learn right here and right now.