In a flight of curiosity, I typed each letter into dictionary.com. F-R-U-S-T-R-A-T-E-D. As I read the responding entry, I couldn’t help but feel the pit in my stomach growing larger and larger with each line.

frus⋅trate:

[fruhs-treyt] -trat⋅ed, -trat⋅ing, adjective –verb (used with object)

1. to make (plans, efforts, etc.) worthless or of no avail; defeat, nullify

2. disappointed

3. having feelings of  or filled with frustration; dissatisfied

thwart:

–verb (used with object)

1. to oppose successfully; prevent

2. to baffle ( a plan or purpose).

From a 10,00 foot level the specifics that have been causing my frustration are a moot point; I think I’m in a season where life isn’t coming easily. I push and try, and my plans are worthless and to no avail. I have decided to not try, and I am still disappointed and successfully opposed.

Things don’t turn out the way that I want them to be. My professional life just hasn’t come together in the way that it should. There are moments where I look at my family and say, “I never asked for this God. This is not what I wanted.” There are even places in the writing when I feel like it’s a silly pursuit and easily thwarted.

The frustrations come and go in waves. There are days like yesterday when the frustration gets to me and makes me furiously angry.  My prayers sound much like, “God where are you? Have you left me to fend for myself? Do you even care? They call you the God who provides, but to me that is just hearsay.”

Then there are days where I feel at peace even though the tension is still there. On those days the prayers sound more like this, “God I know you are there. I don’t  feel you or see you, but they say you provide, so I am going to sit knowing that you are bigger than my frustrations.”

The feeling of frustration never leaves, it’s just that some days bothers me a lot more than others.

I imagine that this flux between being frustrated and ok  is just what life is like. School doesn’t work the way it should, there’s surprise classes that you didn’t know that you were missing right before graduation, there are cars that breakdown when you are late, there are husbands that pick fights with you when you don’t have a shred of patience to give.  At least thinking these things happen to other people makes me feel like God isn’t singling me out. Like he isn’t starving me of my plans or progress simply because He’s mean or wants to teach me some sort of lesson.  I hate it when people tell you that.

I was having this conversation with HNB last night, where he says to me, “Jenni, I don’t know why these things haven’t settled. Maybe God wants to make you learn something.” The problem that I have with this idea is that it makes God seem like the parent that starves their child so that they can learn to appreciate vegetables. Not feeding a child, and simply giving them snacks for several months might keep them alive, but I certainly don’t feel like it’s loving. And if God is not loving, then I don’t know that I want to do this anymore. “Thanks God, I really wish we could have stayed friends. But I can’t continue to trust someone who is so mean sometimes. Frustrating people isn’t nice. Friends just don’t do that for no reason.“

Pragmatism and Dreams.

The other theme that has been coming up this week is the idea of dreams. Unmet dreams. Impossible dreams. Dreams that burn your insides. Dreams that you look at and say, “Yeah, that would never happen.“

See, the problem is that I am a true pragmatist. When someone gives me an idea or dream my knee jerk reaction is to say, “yeah, but HOW?” I want to know how much money it’s going to take, and where is that going to come from, how much time do we need, and how many people do we need to get on board. What are the areas of expertise and how do I get those people on my team. I want to chart it, plan it, schedule it, budget it, and put it on a spreadsheet.

VS.

The problem is, this mentality takes dreams and literally smashes them at the kneecaps.

I have recently been awakened to the notion that I do not know how to dream big. I drown myself in questions. Instead of letting myself have big ideas, grandiose dreams, and  fantastic speculations I crush them upon  conception. Dreams are something that need to have a impregnation, an attachment, a nurturing, and a birthing. I discovered that I have a knack for stifling the process.  I question and rationalize and scrutinize them to death. It’s as if I implement a process of harsh criticism that results in spontaneous miscarriages.

I have been realizing that in doing this I don’t let myself to be free. I complicate the process.  It is just like running or dancing.  I am not free to run when I let the technicalities of physics and movement take over. There is no leaping, falling, jumping, bounding, or flinging when there are meticulous calculations.

Part of me is convinced that I have simply been so frustrated with the plans I have that have continually gone unmet, that I have forgotten how to dream. Dreaming takes an element of trust and vulnerability. In some ways I think my heart has become a bit hardened to dreaming. It almost feels like a waste of time. I hate to say that out loud because it makes me jaded, but part of me thinks that it might be true.

Frustration is a heartbreaking emotion. It is angry and hurt. And it is tired. Its hard to convince yourself to dream, and run, and breathe, and be risky when you are heartbroken and hurting.

So, my question is, “How do we start?” How do we leave the land of overwhelming questions  and find our way to the land of frivolous dreaming?  How do we stop planning? How do we hold frustration in one hand and hopefulness in the other? Do we have to re-learn how to dream? Is it even  possible to dream when you are this disappointing and frustrated? How do we look at your friends who are being catapulted forward in the same areas that frustrate you, but still know that God is a provider even when it doesn’t feel like it?

Ive decided that for me it is going to start like this with one simple statement:

“God, I am so frustrated by unmet passions that I have forgotten how to dream. Help me to dream. Show me what it is to dream wildly, and not to worry about if they’ll happen or not. Let me dream. ”

Im still wildly frustrated. I still have loads of unmet needs. But this is the only way I know how to get out of the corner Ive somehow been painted into.

Let me start this review by saying that I recommended this book to just about every Christian woman I have met this week. Yep, it’s fair to say that this is one of one of those books. You know, the book that you’ve barely finished Chapter 3 and you are already raving to your friends about, and by the time you finish it (which is most likely only 2 days after you bought it), you’ve managed to work it into every conversation – claiming that the book will change their life – regardless of their current circumstances.

Well, without sounding over zealous, I will venture to say with confidence that this book will change your life. I’ve already mentally gone down to the Christian book store and bought all of their copies for nearly every Christian woman friend that I see on a regular basis.

You see, Isaacs is a comedian.  She is sassy, and punchy, and brazen. And after waking up one day and realizing that she was single and 40, and had been through the crap-hole of life…she was PISSED. She had followed God, loved Him and His rules, and yet she was still jipped out her dreams or desires. She was 40, unmarried, career-less, a recovering alcoholic, and questioning if she even wanted to press on. She was angry because she didn’t understand why a loving God could make her life so dreadful, and if he was really “good” why did it constantly feel like she could never catch a break? Sound familiar? Oh right…maybe that’s just my life.

Isaacs did what any naturally sassy and brazen comedian would do. She reasoned that if she was “the Bride of Christ,” then God was being a dead beat husband – and she took God to marriage counseling. (I know what you are thinking: “Why hadn’t I thought of that yet!?”)

I found Isaacs’ memoir through the dark places of her life honest and …well hysterical. As she described some of the darker and more heart wrenching years of her life, her story resonated with me on many levels. She was passionate about God, yet couldn’t stand some of the “Churchy-ness” of Church. She seemed to grip the idea that there are real, raw, genuine and cool people in the world, and hated that the cross necklace and prarie dress wearers seemed to miss them.

Isaccs struggled with the same issues that I talk about on my blog all the time: trying to find her purpose in life, Christian men, Non Christian men, dating, not dating, career choices, alcoholism, sexuality, Church culture, loving Jesus and faith. And throughout her struggle, she was always refreshingly honest with God.  Sometime she would yell, she would get sarcastic, and candid about the reality that she felt jipped. Heck, she even threatened to divorce Him! (And man, you thought I had gall!)

In the end, despite punchy humor and sassy remarks, Isaacs manages to squarely nail some of the desperate realities of letting God barbeque her life. She not only answers the question of “why do bad things happen to good people,” but manages to encourage the reader to press into their own darkness in their lives. She shows the face of God for who He really is, darkness and all. Isaacs does not shy away from these harder issues of faith – but instead, through her unflinching work, she proves that God was really much much bigger and greater than she ever gave Him credit for. And not in some sappy Christian Book store sort of way. Promise, she doesn’t quote verses at you – yet by the end you really get a sense of passion for God that you would never find through the “3 Points and a Poem” books that fill the shelves at Sonshine Christian Stores.

In conclusion, walk away from your computer screen, get into your car, and drive to the nearest store where you can find this book. Or better yet, click the link below and order it. And then go sit patiently by your front door and wait for the delivery guy to come.

Now I bring this up not merely for the story element, but also because his return is about to signal a change in the relationship thus far. I have been so busy being excited to plant a big ole kiss on him in the airport that I forgot that after that picturesque moment, reality kicks in – we are in the beginning of a relationship.  And while that signals butterflies and floating around on pink clouds, there is another part of new relationships that isn’t quite so pleasant.

New relationships mean that you say to a person, “Yes I think I will decide to let you into who I really am.” I suppose it’s a decision to be discovered.  And from experience, sometimes this means that you feel like you are standing on the front lawn in your underwear holding a sign that says “Please still like me.”  No clothes to slim you or hide things. Just you and your chonies. And your hopes that they don’t walk away.

One of my hobbies is rock climbing. With a background as a gymnist and a swimmer, it is a sport that comes very natural to me. Plus as an outdoor enthusiast, nothing beats a weekend out in nature scrambling around on rocks. When you get to some of the higher climbs outdoors, there is a term that captures this new relationship feeling completely. Exposed. Usually this can happen when it’s really windy, or the route can change so that suddenly you become very aware of how high up you are, and how little you have to hold onto. It is a very indescribable feeling. Your holds can be good, you can have secure feet, but still you become cognizant of how vulnerable you really are.

This is the feeling of new relationships for me. The side of a rock. Front lawn. Clinging by your finger nails. In your undies. Feeling the wind and the height all around you.  And clinging to the sign that reads, “Please still like me.”

Scarlet Letters.

In light of HNB being actually local, I am realizing that as comfortable as I am in my skin and believe that I’m a pretty rad chick to date,  there are stories and events in my life that I with which I am well acquainted. [I am avoiding calling them 'skeletons' in my closet because I don't like that term.] I am really okay with the course my life has taken. However, just because you are okay with your life doesn’t mean that someone else isn’t  going to look it over and say, “Whoa. I didn’t know that was in there. I don’t know about all this.”

I suppose this brings me to my question – at what point do you bring up some of the harder stories of your past? I know there is a delicate balance between what our significant others should be made aware of  and what is information will fuel a fire for no reason. For example, I have a girl friend dating a guy who has been married before.  She should know, first of all that he was married, and secondly, someof the background of their marriage/divorce. However, she needs no gritty details. At some point, stuff like that just burns in your mind.

I have a friend that was engaged last year. Her marriage didn’t happen, and now she is dating again. And I know she asks the same question – at what point does she need to tell guys that she is dating that she was engaged before? She asks, “Why does it feel like such a scarlet letter?” Why does the fact that you nearly married someone else seem like the kiss of death to a new relationship? We all know the obvious answer to part of that – no one wants to think of their mate walking down the aisle with someone else. And because it didn’t work out we all want to immediately know WHY. “Quick, please tell me that you are still normal.” Right? Is this not the game we play?

When thinking about this girl friend, I would never call her “damaged goods” in the wake of the broken engagement. In fact, to me, the fact that she tried so hard to make it work before calling it quits speaks to her level of loyalty and commitment in the face of a struggle. She knew that not everything was perfect, but was willing to stick through to ensure that she had given it her best. I would call that integrity….which is a good thing. Still  – she is destined to sit at coffee tables with new cute guys and try to explain her way through that portion of her life.

Furniture Projects

Obviously we know that these conversation topics aren’t things that you start your first date with. “Hey, thanks for dinner. I had a great time. P.S. I’ve been married before.”  People have to earn the right to know that inner parts of your soul, and the parts of your story that may have left you with chinks in your armor or little scars.  That part takes time.

In some ways, these are like the things that antique us. I have been working on a furniture project for the past few weeks. It is a bed frame from my dad’s childhood. I love it that is is weathered and scratched and has stories to go with the scratches. In fact, on the headboard, there are little teethmarks. When my dad was 2 years old and apparently couldn’t sleep during nap time, he put his little mouth on the headboard and gnawed some divots in the wood. They are still there. My mom told me, “When you’re sanding this thing, leave these scratches. They’re important.” And she is right. I could have gone down to IKEA and bought a bed frame that was perfect, but I didn’t want to. And even with my dad’s bed frame, I could have taken the power sander and blasted out all of the imperfections. But I didn’t want to do that either. It’s a better piece of furniture with nicks and dings. So as people, we’re kinda the same way – we are all walking, talking, dating bed frames.

Ingrid Michaelson Wisdom.

As I sit here typing, I am listening to “The Way I Am” by Ingrid Michaelson. I am realizing that this song resonates with us for a reason. There is something powerful about letting someone in. It grows us. It makes the bond between two people that much more meaningful.  It shifts the basis of acceptance from what we do (are we perfect, we are beautiful, are we funny…) to simply who we are. Give it a listen.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jJOzdLwvTHA]

So, I am anticipating making the drive to the airport, these thoughts roll over and over in my mind. A little unsure. A little scared. Determined to be brave. Decided to climb through the route even if it feels exposed. Picking up my sign and headed out to the lawn. Wishing that there was a formula to follow, but knowing that in this life it is never really that simple. Instead, I know I should take things slowly, genuinely, and organically honest.   And then - I will do what the rules say you do - stand in the front lawn in your chonies,  and desperately hold the sign that says, “PLEASE STILL LIKE ME!”

This January I began something awful.  I began a process of a slow awakening. The more awake I am becoming, the more I hate what I am finding.  But at this point, I don’t know what’s worse – facing the ugliness or deciding to go back to sleep.

In January I was leaving a friend’s house late at night and driving down the 5 Freeway. We had just had a conversation about our friendship. It turns out that even though we’ve been friends for years, we weren’t quite as close as she’d thought we would be. She was disappointed that we hadn’t grown closer over the years, and I was grappling to explain the distance between us.

I couldn’t dodge the fact that while my friend was explaining her disappointment, I compulsively felt the need fix her feelings on the spot. I wanted to differentiate myself from our other friends that had also hurt her feelings, and show her with my actions “I’m not like them. I’m different. See, let’s still be friends.”

The ride home from her house was probably the most difficult car rides that I have had in a long time. I kept thinking, “What is it that makes me want her to like me so badly?” And suddenly there was the truth staring me in the face.

Oh, my God. I am selfish.

“I love her because of how she makes me feel.” I don’t love her for who she is, purely and simply – rather, I love her because she makes me feel good.

With that, images of friends began to scroll through my mind – like Facebook on a ticker tape.  And with each new face that clicked by, I realized that I felt the same way about them as well.  Out of all of the people that I know, friends that I hang out with, sip coffee and cocktails with, I could gather maybe 5 that I just loved because they were who they are.

I literally cried the entire way home. I cried for the black heart I have. I cried because I’m bad at seeing people.  I’m bad at listening. I’m bad at asking questions. I’m bad at caring. I’m bad at appreciating. I’m bad at sharing.

By the time I pulled up to my house, tears streaming down my face, I couldn’t for the life of me understand why someone would want to be my friend. “If they only knew the truth,” I thought, “I would be friendless in a matter of moments.”

Friends with Benefits.

Flash forward a few months later, and the reality of my heart has begun to rear its ugly head again. Just last week, I’ve had two of my friends get into little “talks” with me.

Both of them are women who have loved me, carried me, listened to me, and opened their hearts to me in my times of weakness and hurt. They have thrown parties for me in times of joy, and wiped my tears in times of laughter.

Suddenly, it has been my turn to be the supportive one, to cheer them on, wipe tears and show up with ice cream. I have failed them both. One of them even said to me, “Jenni, I’m kinda going through a lot right now, I’m sorry I just can’t listen to your stories today.”

Ouch. There it is again.

“Jenni you’re selfish. Can you please see beyond your own nose?”

Again, I wept upon seeing it. I wept because I hurt people out of my weakness. It’s one thing to be bad at something that doesn’t matter.  This isn’t something like dieting. If you’re bad at dieting, it doesn’t make your friends or lovers cry when you forgo carrots for fries and beer. This is something more serious. When you have parts of you that are jaded, broken, or weak – it’s awful to know that those failures can hurt people you love.

A good friend of mine has often said, “Friends hold mirrors for one another. We show you what is already there.” Sometimes this can mean seeing that you are stronger than you thought you were – or like this time, it can mean seeing things you hate. Seeing honest parts. Parts so honest, that we are afraid to utter them under our breath even when we know no one is listening.

So in light of all this, I am still a bit of a question mark. I’m not completely sure of how to move forward.

How do we become better people? Is looking in the mirror the first step toward changing? Are we destined to have dark hearts and hope that people still love us anyway?

I’m going to hope so – because of if not,  me and my ugly heart might be a pretty lonely person.

This is a very akward question to answer at this point. I’ve been without a job for about 6 weeks now, and I’ve about a month out of a relationship. Its Christmas, and everyday I am strategically planning my days to ensure that I avoid the big “D”.

Depression.

My mother keeps insisting that I call my doctor and ask to be put on medication. She says , “It will be easier to overcome these challenges and function efficiently if you feel better!” Which I can’t help at laugh at.

“Mom, I don’t need Prozac. I need my life to quit sucking.”

I really don’t have trouble with anger or frustration when I have an income and a busy schedule…its kinda funny how that works out. But ok mom, thanks for the suggestion.

Last week I was sent to a “Marking Seminar” on how to network and get your message out that I am looking for a job. It actually was really great, and had a lot of very useful information. Not to mention that it helps with moral to feel like you have somewhere to go when you wake up in the morning.

One of the things that the instructor had mentioned was the idea of making lemonade. We all know the famous, and mainly overused statement,

When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.

Here’s a little secret: making lemonade blows. No one likes to do it. In fact, I could argue that it is just plain awful. But here’s another little secret: you don’t have any other option.

Short of crawling in to your closet and ceasing to exists, you have to grab a some sugar, a knife, your lemons,  and start cutting. There may be moments where you would rather grab the knife and slice your wrists – but honestly, no one likes bloody lemonade.

So, now that we are about at the month marker of my officially being shitty, let me tell you about some of lemonade moments that I have encountered.

1) My girlfriend Roxie had a baby in the beginning of November. Taylor Evangeline is the most precious and amazing event that I have encountered in my entire life. Not having a job has meant that I have been able to have a front row seat into the miracle of childbirth, babies, and new motherhood. Its indescribable.

2) As most of you know, I’m a writer. (haha, duh). Not having a job has helped me to take a moment to seriously consider the possibility of changing careers. We all know that I wasn’t a very good admin (no kidding, I got canned!!) and now I have been exploring the idea of publishing, marketing, design layout…its amazing. I actually signed up to take a class at Saddleback College in magazine journalism starting next month. Now if I couldn’t only figure out a way to get paid to do all of this….

3) If you haven’t met my grandma, you are missing out on the world’s coolest person. She is amazing, and brave and courageous, and I have been taking her to acupuncture appointments two times a week. Which to her is THE most loving thing a person can do. She wrote me this card that said in Spanish “thank you for giving me the precious gift of your time.”…what she doesn’t know is that I’m actually getting the better end of the deal!

4) Language development. I have long since wanted to be fluent in Spanish. Hanging out with G-ma means that lately my Spanish has been kick ass.

5) Making new friends. Part of having more time means that I have been trying to meet people like crazy. Do you have friends that I can meet? Great! Cause I want to know them! I realize how easy it is to become comfortable with those who know us well, and never stop to see if there are other neat people we can know. Its been exhilarating and fresh to meet all kinds of great new people.

6) Old friends. Nothing is better than telling an old friend “I’m still just feeling really lonely.” And then having her plan a party/get together for that weekend. I really do have some of the most caring and loving people in my life, and it has been a blessing to struggle in their presence.

7) Then there are all of the little joys: finding out that I can make free business cards, going to the 5.10 outlet for new climbing shoes in the middle of the week, writing tons, searching the Internet for great Christmas Eve Dinner recipes…the list goes on forever.

In the end, making lemonade is uncomfortable. Having things go wrong is uncomfortable. Having to tell people that you feel awful is uncomfortable.  But the older I get, the more that I am learning that a big portion of life is dealing with hardship. Problems that aren’t your fault, and injustices that happen to befall on your plate. We don’t get to change or control the fact that life REALLY sucks sometimes.

The only thing we control is us; our responses to the tragedies and injustice. And for me, there are two things that I need: to maintain hope, and the ability to resist bitterness.

Which I heard somewhere that making lemonade is really simple….those are the only two ingredients that you need.

If I had a nickle every time someone has said that to me this week – I wouldn’t be as worried about being poor from my recent unemployment. And yes, the saying is ringing true because not only did I get laid off, but my boyfriend and I broke things off just a day or two ago. And I’m not looking for an Internet lark about how much I miss him or hate him….let’s leave that to the Junior Highers. For the record, it was seen in coming, he is a wonderful guy and unfortunately it was bad timing for the two of us. I’m sad to see him leave my life, but know that he has been nothing short of a gentleman toward me….which I suppose makes ending a relationship feel that much worse. Anyway, not the point.

What is the point is how this layered bad news has suddenly caused a very serious line of questioning in my mind. I’m angry. I’m crazy angry. And not at my ex, or at my job that laid me off. I’m angry I’m back here again – in the valley of life. When my ex first left my house after it was all over – the first thing into my head was simply “SERIOUSLY GOD? HONESTLY.” I mean I would LOVE to loose my job and my boyfriend in the same week – is there anyway that we can make that happen?

-I’m entering disclaimer here: The thoughts that you are about to read are on the bold side. Possibly even pushing the envelope. I’m not trying to be dramatic, or disrespectful. Just being honest and real about what today looks like from my eyes. Read on with caution, and please don’t leave condemning comments about what a blasphemer I am.-

This last year has been hard for me – in fact, the past few years have been hard for me. I’ve even had friends say to me “Man Jenni, this has not been easy for you”  In the course of 2008 I have nearly immigrated to Canada, nearly gotten engaged, nearly changed careers, then suddenly gotten dumped, suddenly NOT moved to Canada, NOT gotten married, and NOT changed careers, I’ve moved 3 times, I’ve started a new job, I’ve gotten laid off, and I’ve just said ‘goodbye’ to quite possibly the heathliest relationship with the most respectful guy that I have ever known. The words “Stripped Bare” come to mind….and shortly on their heels is “What the hell God?”

What the hell God?

The part that makes me angry is where the answer comes saying: we are all here to bring God glory. That people say “He will never give you more than you can handle” and “He knows what he is doing – it will all work out to bring him glory.”

See, that makes me angry. Part of me looks at this whole thing and has to question “Is God a drama queen?” Is there some reason that coming through for me with plenty of time isn’t cool  enough for God – He’s gotta pull some Disneyland Spectacular Firework show of coming through with just what I need in the 11th hour, withthe whole thing on fire and covered with glitter?

He can’t just be ok with me asking “Hey God, I have 8 weeks to find a job” And he says “Sure Jenni, I’m big enough where I don’t need all 8 weeks and won’t make you sweat…I’ll give it to you in two.” I feel like it always has to be this “stripping” experience…where the bottom falls out of my world – where its an 11th hour miracle – where its all fireworks and Fantasia. And part of me is beginning to look at it all in disgust.

 God if this is your glory – I don’t want it. It hurts too much.

I have this cousin, she’s 11 years old. She’s ADHD and an only child, but yet she’s wicked smart – ranking in the college levels. She ’s impulsive from the ADHD, and she talks al ot -  and from being the only child in her house she NEEDS to be the center of attention. If she’s not being listened to as she rambles away or cracks jokes, she gets her feelings hurt. And there were times today where I just looked at her and couldn’t help but ask “God are you the same way?” Are you like some insecure, impulsive, only-child that NEEDS us all to pay attention to you all the time? Where you need to decide that I don’t need a job or a boyfriend….so I’ll have more time to play “Old Maid” with you – like my cousin does? Don’t get me wrong, I love my cousin; she’s sweet and her habits are endearing…but I don’t want my God like that.

I don’t want a God brings glory through making me cry. Who “makes me a person of character” through destroying my life every 12 months. I get it that bad things happen to people – but honestly – I don’tknow anyone who has been as grounded as I have been and yet still has had to deal with this much shit so close together. I feel like I might as well be smoking crack and partying my life away – at least the consequences will feel justified.

But that’s the thing – I don’t want to party my life away. I don’t want drugs. I just want what seems to come so easily to my friends: a job that pays my bills and makes me happy, a man that loves me and likes to take me on fun dates and laugh withme, an interesting life filled with adventures and beauty.

Is that too much to ask?

As mad as this all makes me, I know God isn’t a show off child like my cousin, and he doesn’t need Disney to make his miracles worth it. God is good. He does not simply emulate goodness…the essence of goodness is his being. I know that. And I think I’m ok with thinking these kinds of things because I know that God is big enough to hear them. He’s not going to get his panties in a bunch because I’m asking hard questions. Am I happy with God? Absolutely not. But am I about to curse God, or walk away? Eh, not today. 

The thing is, I’ve realized it’s good to question truth. Because you are never going to be lead away from what is real. And at the end of the day, I’m not looking for a small fake God. I’m looking for the real deal. And if that means having the bottom smashed out of my world, and having me raise my fist and question God’s need to show off - so be it. I’ll be the one who’s bold enough to ask “God are you a dramatic, ADHD, spoiled only child who NEEDS me to be in pain so you can look cool?”

I’m hoping the answer’s no. I’m hoping the answer is that answer is God looks at me and simply says “Jenni, where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Or who laid the cornerstone, while all of the morning stars sang together and the angel’s shouted for joy? Have you every given orders to the morning, or shown the dawn it’s place? Have you journeyed to the springs of the sea, or walked recesses of the deep? Have you entered the store houses of snow, or seen the storehouses of hail? Do you send the lightning bolts on their way? Do they report to you, ‘Here we are’?” (Job 38-39)

Because I would rather have that God. A God that is the shit, and wants to create real Fantasia in my life for the purpose of something real; not simply sparkles and drama for the sake of anxiety and excitement. I would feel more ok with saying “ok God” to the one that has the world at his command. 

 I’m still mad. I’m still really hurting. And I don’t know where this whole thing is going – or what God is trying to prove by clearing my life. But I think when you are really mad an hurting, I need God to be the shit. Because if God is just the show off child, I’m more lost than I bargained for.

Heads were lowered and tucked with dark security, vowing to never come out. Curled in our hiding spots, we thought that we could exist; breathing in and out, but never lifting a foot to tred outside of our crafty secrets.

We didnt want to talk, to even whisper the thoughts that traveled through our hearts and minds – like that of a news ticker, clocking our very words as they ran along the bottom of the TV screens of our lives. We wouldn’t utter a single sound, but instead fastened our lips and pulled the covers over our heads, content and convinced that “It didnt really matter, and I’m better off inside here. Its soft and warm, and there are no other people to ask me questions or share my stories with. I think I’ll stay in here for quite some time.”

But then something happned one quite afternoon. As if we were bears waking from a winter hybernation, our eyelids lifted open to let in the first spring light. Suddenly our warm quite secrets didnt comfort us, but instead they began to make us aware of our tight quarters. They confined us not allowing us to breathe or stretch. We noticed that the sun was quite nice and quite warm, but in our little winter sleeping spots we were just out of the reach of the sun’s embrace.

The ticker clock at the bottom of our lives began to remind us more of a beating drum, like that of an marching band, calling us to fall in line in the parade of the world. The longer we listened to the pounding thud, the closer the walls came crashing in, reminding us that this space was not for us to sleep in any longer.

We were like spring seeds, pushing through the icy winter soil to be whips of flowers, proudly displaying the banner of Spring that was to be on its way. We heard the call, and we had to grow. We had to stretch from our winter’s sleeping place, and let our heads untuck from their quite nooks.

The light struck into our eyes and we were flooded with calling. To shed the sleeping, to push through the icy ground. To leap from the winter stifle, and rush into pastures of new green blades of grass.  Our paths were littered with small colored flowers, like confetti falling from the sky of a Spring Parade.

Our pace quickened as we drank in the crisp air. We were not the same. We had to run, to run like there was not a care in the world. To run like we would never tire. To run with arms and legs flailing, down hills of green pasture, the glory of spring’s climax rushing past our ever seeing eyes.

Winter could not hold us. Spring had called us. And we had to run.

It almost feels like when you understand algebra for the first time in high school. Your teacher has been standing at the blackboard with chalk-tipped fingers for 6 months saying “X = 3…X is three. Replace X with 3!” And then the grand day comes where you are sitting in your chair, and it all clicks. Magically all of the Xs on the blackboard morph into 3s and slowly you manage to drawl “Ooooh….X is IS three.” Maybe its also similar to the ever famous “There is no spoon” so eloquently put by Keneau Reeves.

So, without further adu, please pardon me while I try to usher you into my illumination.

For most of my life I have known that our God finds joy in restoring and reconciling. And in my experience this process is usually something that is completed with so much irony, I can’t help but shake my head and laugh at the sense of humor of God. Maybe its the idea that he loves a backward kingdom; the first are last, the strong are weak, the poor are blessed. The longer I am walking in this road, the more I expect that this backward kingdom is something that we get used to. But the longer I walk it, I realize that it only becomes more and more profound, no matter how you try to expect it.

Alot of my thoughts this evening center around this paraphrased verse (Luke 7:47): “For those who have been forgiven much, love much.”

Now, for most of my life, this has translated similarly to that of a loan shark. If you owe someone 10,000 dollars and they write off your debt, you love them! Who wouldn’t? And let’s pretend that this loan was accompanied by large amounts of insurmountable debt. The writing off of all of this would undoubtedly yield a grateful heart. But in someways, I also seemed to relate to the shame in that.  The thought “I had to be forgiven much, so I really owe it to you to love you much” seems a bit more realistic in my heart. 

I am taking a class with a wonderful group of women through my church. And although many impressionable things were said last week, there was something that snagged me. The woman in her 60s was speaking about her journey in healing from sexual abuse. And it was from this that she was saying that she really had a well of emotion to draw from. She was a painter, and although she considered her abuse unjust, she recognized that God was able to take that very broken raw emotion, and transform it into beautiful artwork – deep expressive colors, textures, skills and creativity. She said that she was able to find the darkest parts of her soul and invite God into them. And through her streaming tears, sleepless nights and unbearable pain, there has been a deep rooted sense of talent and stunning beauty that has grown out of that.

I guess this is the part where I fear it doesn’t translate. If you have grown up in the church, you have undoubtedly heard the overplayed Crystal Lewis song “beauty for ashes, strength for fear…” We all know that God does this. But maybe I am just beginning to experience this in my soul, because the gears are slowly turning. I am beginning to see that “loving much” doesn’t mean that you are obligated to love much. It looks so differently.

It means that I am growing and finding parts of me that I like more than I ever have. Not in a loud showy way, but rather in the same way you smile silently smile at a child that you thought was adorable – when you thought no one was looking. It means that I am beginning to see the things that I want for my life, and I am excited about them. It means that I am beginning to view the darkest places of my soul in a way that could very well be the strength, the courage, the texture, and art work that allows me to walk into situations with my head held high. Not even in pride, but more in oblivion. Due to the battles I have fought through, maybe art is going to flow out of the places in my heart previously occupied by my demon, guilt and shame. And it will flow out as naturally as water in a deep mountain spring.  Without thought or pretension, just as if it was always meant to be that way.

The thought that seemed to really relinquish me into this idea was simply this: I still don’t trust God. My story has been one of God continually displaying himself and saying “Jenni, jump out of the plane with me.” And in the real life story, there have been several real planes, and even more spiritual/emotional ones. “Trust me Jenni. Trust me Jenni.” I know that there are places within me that are so hard, and painful, and jaded. These are the areas that when I am really honest with myself I don’t think that God is big enough to save me from. And the thing that got me to the end of it was simply breathing “God, I am incredibly  sorry that my stupid wretched heart doesn’t trust you.”

And slowly, in that thought there was a breathing. A releasing. A widening of the vision. A showing me of my name. Telling me who I am. Showing me what I was created to do. A charging of responsibility. An excitement for the things that are to come almost in disbelief. And in the face of this, the ONLY response that makes sense is “Oh my God, I am so in love with you.”

Maybe this is the sense of humor of our God. To find the very things impossible, and over time expound them into earth shaking strengths. I do believe that God loves to laugh. And he does. As I write and share my heart, and learn more about my demons, my demons transform into pillars of strength. And I believe he laughs so hard he cries….kicks his feet and holds his sides.  The sheer idiocy of it all it astounding. Most of the time it reminds me if a child that has pulled a practical trick on you, and looses themselves in laughter because they love being so clever.

I like it that we have a clever God that laughs. A God that believes that doing things backward is important. A God that likes saving much. A God that proves that he is worth loving much. Maybe God likes being an equation that we can’t quite always get our brains around. 

“Wait…..X is  ….what??”

Unfortunately, I am not suggesting that I suddenly have arrived, or have my life figured out.  If anything, the more distance I get from the tender age of 21, the more issues I am stumbling upon. And it is this continual realization leads me to become more in touch with the places that I am horribly flawed. In some ways, I fear it leaves me nearly paralyzed.  Almost as if my issues are a sleeping giant that I do not know if I should wake until I have a plan in place – complete with a pack of matches, a map, 4 meters of climbing webbing, a Swiss Army Knife, some flares, and maybe a few gallons, of water…you know, in case my life erupts into World War III and we have to go into McGuyver style survival mode.

The most interesting thing is that I would think the more in touch I became with the places where I am tempestuously broken, the more I would become hardened or deflated in my soul. I would think that the surmounting issues would pile themselves in a way that would cripple any last sense of vitality that I had left. However, it just hasn’t turned out that way.  I feel like there has been a softening within me, much like that of a refined piece of leather that has been pulled this way and that way, and conditioned. Stretched far away from the stiff brittle piece of hide that it once was, and forming into a beautiful, valuable garment.

I am finding that I like myself a little bit more. I find my very own thoughts a bit more interesting when I have the resolution to voice them with conviction. I find that my failure are slowly becoming less like tremendous catastrophes, and more of an opportunity to respond to the landscape that my actions have painted for me. 

In my very first job out of college, I was given a responsibility much heavier than I had ever worked with. I was supporting several hundred business partners all across the nation for a large international company. And I remember the alarming chill that coursed through my veins when I realized that I had made THE biggest mistake of my life, and it had been broadcast across the United States. I remember quite literally asking my supervisor at the time if I was allowed to crawl under his desk, and remain there until the end of the day. But later that afternoon, when discussing my mistake with my boss in a “How Do We Salvage This” meeting, my boss said something very profound. She wasn’t a very good boss, but this was one situation where she hit the nail on the head. She turned to me and said very purposefully “Jenni, sometimes in life, the important factor is not that you made a mistake. Mistakes are inevitable. But what is important is how you respond to the mistakes you have made. You have an opportunity here to show us what you are really made of – to pull yourself up by your bootstraps if you can. And to me, that speaks more of your value as an employee, than if you never made the mistake in the first place.”

In that moment, her words were extremely valuable. She was giving me permission to fail. To make mistakes – even to make mistakes that could be felt by management all across the country. And even though I dont work for her anymore, her words still resonate within me.

 Coming from a background where I didn’t really feel like there was much room for failure, that if I did, the potential consequences could feel dreadful, the idea of failing is one that scares me. Maybe its that I dont trust- don’t trust God, don’t trust other people in my life, don’t fully trust myself. Maybe its something in me that needs to keep all things pretty, clean, in order, successfully humming like a finely tuned machine. But when I am really honest with myself, those ideas repulse me. Where is the life in that? Where is the vitality? Where is the growth? I think there is more vigor in thrusting yourself out there to be rejected, investing all of your money only to go bankrupt, or desperately trying but somehow missing the mark – than there ever could be in a little life of cleanly order.

Maybe I need to remind myself of this a bit more. That its ok to be wrong. That it’s ok to make mistakes. And that if I am going to fail, I might as well do it with conviction, and commit to the ideas that I am advocating for.  Somehow I need to convince myself of that. Maybe I will walk around whispering the words softly under my breath “Jenni, you have permission to fail….you have permission to fail…you have permission to fail…”