Jesus Paused

This post is a sequel to the post titled "Come (pause) Follow Me" so if you haven't read that one, you may want to read it first, for context. 

We have one of those "little golden books" that focuses on the Story of Jesus. Some time after writing the blog entry about pausing after we come to Jesus, before we can follow him, I was reading this little golden book to my youngest daughter. One page of this book stood out that had never stood out to me before. 

I'll go ahead and share just a snippet of the scripture reference for the story:

"And Jesus being full of the Holy Ghost returned from Jordan, and was led by the Spirit into the wilderness, being forty days tempted of the devil."

Luke 4: 1-2

The thought that came to me, that I've never had before, was that Jesus Paused. I suppose I've always thought of this story as an example of Jesus being beyond amazing, because he was that guy that fasted and prayed for 40 days. Something I never intend to do, because I'm not that amazing. Right? I've acknowledged that it's an example of Jesus being tempted... but at the same time never really given Jesus his due for this story. It always felt something like... "okay, he was tempted, but not REALLY tempted... because he's Jesus." Right? I think that we don't give Jesus credit when we assume that he was tempted but not really tempted. I am reminded of a quote from a book I read recently:

"I mistook a candle flame for temptation, and I was unprepared when it became a raging wildfire stealing oxygen from the air." (Tender Leaves of Hope: Finding Belonging as LGBTQ Latter-day Saint Women by Meghan Decker)

I suppose I had always assumed that Jesus only faced that "candle flame" of temptation, and never a "raging wildfire," which seems unfair in retrospect. People always say "Jesus understands how you feel, he felt temptation too." And in my head that was always followed by the caveat "yeah, but only sort of." We have to acknowledge that in order to truly understand how we feel, we have to assume that he experienced being overwhelmed by temptation. 

But what I also find interesting to note here is that Jesus was "led by the Spirit into the wilderness." We often talk of time in the wilderness as a "time of trial" for biblical characters. And the Spirit led him there. He needed this time before he could go forth and truly begin his ministry. He needed to pause. He needed to wrestle with his feelings, wrestle with God, wrestle with Satan. He needed those experiences before he could be firm in his resolve, before he could be ready to face the upcoming trials like the Cross.

A quote, from Ben Schilaty that I also find applicable here is 

"It is Christlike, to not want to do hard things."

Upon the cross, Jesus prayed that if it be possible, the cup might be removed. He was overwhelmed by the trial he was facing. He was facing unmeasurable grief and pain, and he didn't want to do it. 

I think it is powerful to remember that it is Christlike to feel temptation. It is Christlike to pause. It is Christlike to wrestle with the path God has laid out for us. It is Christlike to not want to do it. It is Christlike to feel like it's a little unfair. And yet, it is Christlike to feel those things, and still choose to follow God anyway.

Not Gay “Enough”

One of the reasons it has taken me so long to start talking about being gay, is that I have always felt somewhat like my feelings are invalid. Like a fraud. I didn't fit the box of being straight, but I didn't quite fit the box of being gay. I just didn't fit. Because I have never lived the lifestyle, and because I was able to ignore it and deny it for so long, and because I dated boys and kissed boys, and am now married to a man, and because I don’t know if I was born that way or if I was influenced by the sexual abuse I experienced, because the abuse happened so young, I can’t really remember before that. I wasn’t sure if that made me less “valid” or not. It just felt like I couldn’t call myself gay, because I wasn’t gay “enough.” And despite wanting to and coming close to, I have never kissed a girl on the lips. I wasn’t gay in the way that other people perceived me. I worried if I talked about it that people would call me out for not being gay “enough.” And because more than one person asked me if I was a lesbian in high school and I told people over and over again that I was not. They asked that question because of how I interacted with girls. I even had a girl feel the need to tell me she didn’t think of me that way. I didn’t feel that way about her either, but I lacked the boundaries necessary to make that clear. I had told myself that the way I interacted with girls was normal so that I didn’t have to face anything different. I wasn’t flirting… I was “outgoing” or my friends and I were just “so comfortable” with each other that we could be physical and it didn’t mean anything. Something. Anything but gay.

In high school I told myself that I appreciated looking at girls bodies because I was artistic and I was just admiring something beautiful. The way you would admire a painting. I ignored the fact that I didn’t look at boys that way. I rushed the physicality of my relationship with my first boyfriend because the only thing exciting about it was trying something new. I didn’t actually enjoy any of it. When I finally told him I was attracted to girls, he offered to bring girls into our relationship. It was awkward because he (like so many others have since) assumed that I was bisexual. The “bisexual” label has never felt like it really fit me though. But this assumption included the idea that I would be interested in a three-way experience.  As tempting as it was to say yes in order to experience kissing a girl, I also worried that I would be more interested in her than him and that that would hurt his feelings. And the whole idea of a guy getting off on two girls kissing just felt like…. So not the context I wanted to experience kissing a girl in anyway. And there was the guilt I felt that kissing a girl would make me a bad person. That wanting to kiss a girl made me damaged. There were times when I felt like I could hardly think about anything else. There were friends that I considered asking if I could kiss them because I knew they would let me if I asked and it wouldn’t make it weird afterwards. In reality, I think that would have been emotionally difficult for me. 

Something that has been healing for me is the realization that I am not alone. There are so many people out there under the “queer umbrella” that do not feel like they totally fit in the heterosexual box, or the homosexual box or the female box or the male box or any box. The boxes are too small and don’t allow for the fluidity in which we all experience the world on any given day. The feeling that you don’t quite fit in is certainly not uncommon. Nor is the feeling that you don’t quite match the expectations people have for you, or that you believe they have for you. 

I remember reading articles on the various labels for sexuality and one particular article said sexual identity is yours to choose. Even if you are sometimes attracted to men but are normally attracted to women, you can still identify as gay if that is what you feel most aligns with your experience. You choose. And it doesn’t matter what other people think. And that helped me a lot. It was probably the main reason why I was able to finally choose the label of “gay” years later because I felt it best aligned with how I felt, even if I didn’t quite fit the norm. 

I’m still trying to feel comfortable in my shoes. I have accepted that being attracted to women does not make me “bad.” But the possibility of that attraction being directed toward a specific person does still make me feel like a bad person sometimes. I suppose that is made more complicated by the fact that I am married. So obviously right now I feel like my attention shouldn’t stray from my husband. But I am also learning that it is okay to acknowledge that I find someone attractive. That doesn’t make me a bad person any more than my husband admitting a certain actress is attractive makes him a bad person. Acting on those thoughts is an issue. Dwelling on them can be an issue. But having the thought that someone is attractive? Not the issue. 

Sometimes I think I might just have to keep telling myself that for a while before I fully believe it in my bones. Another mantra to repeat along with “I am enough,” and “I am loved, and I am wanted, and normal is different for everybody.”

Empathy Acceptance

I once asked a new friend if they were at all uncomfortable with me being gay. I just needed to know how much this person could love me for who I am before I allowed myself to settle into really loving them too. Because if I loved them without knowing if that part of who I am made them uncomfortable, and then found out later that they were in fact not at ease with that… I knew it would hurt more than if I found out then, at that stage of our friendship. 

And when I asked the question, this person responded quite sincerely and emphatically that it was not an issue. Genuinely enough that I really felt like I could believe her, which, given my anxiety at the time was a feat in and of itself. Even still I listened to those words over and over and over again because I needed to hear the words a hundred times before it could drown out all the self-doubt and worry. She expressed that she was impressed because "I was stronger than she would be." It’s hard for me to be comfortable with that kind of praise, and she’s not the first person to give it, or the last. But what strikes me about the statement is that it means at least for some small period of time, that person has taken the time to ask themselves “what would it look like” or “what would it feel like” if I was told my whole life that I couldn’t marry the kind of person I am attracted to? To flip the narrative, “what if I was expected to marry a woman, when I myself am straight?” And she had determined that she would really and truly struggle with it, and was therefore impressed with my ability to be married to a man and have children, and truly love my spouse. To emphasize... I do not think of it as some great strength or trial to be married to my husband. I love my husband and enjoy being married to him. And I am very lucky to have him. But I respect, admire and appreciate the act of someone else trying to put themselves in my shoes, and sharing this moment with me.

And that kind of empathy is rarer than I used to think it was. I remember when I was 9 years old, learning about the Tonkawa Indians.. and my teacher told me that I had a gift for putting myself in someone else’s shoes and empathizing with how they would feel. I liked that she viewed it as a strength and honestly I think that was one of the things that made me prioritize actively growing that skillset. That was the first time I realized that not everyone has that ability. But it still felt foreign. Because it came so naturally to me, I couldn’t understand how other people couldn’t do that. I think a lot of empathetic people feel that way. Which is why it can hurt so much when other people don’t care as much because it feels so natural… they must really not care to not love the way I do. Does that make sense? It’s taken a long time to understand that not everyone can put themselves in someone else’s shoes. And not everyone cares the same way about people. When I find empathetic souls... it tends to feel a bit abnormal these days to be honest.

I once asked this person how she could be so open and at ease and accepting of me. And her response was something along the lines of “everyone needs to be loved.” And it was with this casual shrug like, “duh, this is no big deal” kind of attitude. But it is a big deal, because there are so many people who (most likely) without even meaning to, make me feel like the elephant in the room. Who make me feel like I should just not say anything so they can quietly pretend away the parts of me that make them uncomfortable. And feeling the constant pressure to be quiet makes me feel trapped and unlovable.

And I want people to be comfortable. I desperately do. Perhaps in part because I desperately want to feel comfortable and so I want the same for others. When I asked this person if they were comfortable with me being gay, I told her if she wasn’t then we could totally pretend I wasn’t and just move on and that would be okay. And it would have been okay in that I wouldn’t have held it against her… but it also would have told me exactly where we stood. I would never have allowed myself to be vulnerable with her in any way ever again. And that would have made me sad. I would have put up walls to emotionally distance myself from the relationship and I would have devoted less time to the friendship. It would have made me feel a little broken and unloved. But that’s not something I’m unfamiliar with, and I could have dealed. Some of you may disagree with that attitude, and I certainly wouldn’t have hidden that part of me just because of one person… I was only saying it didn’t have to be something the two of us actively discussed. If that makes sense. 

I recently had a scripture pointed out to me… and this person was relating it to their struggle with coming out to people.

"But with some I am not well pleased, for they will not open their mouths, but they hide the talent which I have given unto them, because of the fear of man."

Doctrine & Covenants 60:2

They were careful to point out that being gay is not a “talent”… but I like this analogy. They felt like the times they had "come out" to people had served a greater spiritual purpose in either their own lives or in someone else’s (or both). And there were times they hadn’t shared this vulnerable part of them because of "fear of man"… and therefore likely missed some opportunity to do what God wanted them to do. I feel that sometimes. I feel sometimes like I have a work to do, and part of that work relates to having been sexually abused, and part of that work comes from being gay, and part of that work comes from being a mother, and part of that work comes from being a friend, and part of that work comes from being a wife, and part of that work comes from struggling with depression and anxiety, and all of that work relates to being a daughter of God. And keeping any part of me quiet would lessen the amount of work I can get done. I am not some loud voice in a crowd. My voice doesn’t reach very many people. And not many people read my blog. And that’s okay. But I still feel like part of my work is to speak, and it doesn’t matter if it only affects one person, although obviously I hope to reach as many as I can… But sometimes I don’t even post my blogs to Facebook because it feels like I was probably the only person who needed those words. Still, I remain grateful for the people who can put themselves in my shoes, I remain grateful for people who love me when I don’t understand why, and who seek to understand me when I feel alone and misunderstood, and who help me to feel comfortable. I am grateful for the experiences I have had that allow me to help others.

I am grateful for who I am, if who I am can make someone else comfortable when they feel uncomfortable as much as I do.

Gay and Okay

 I recently attended a devotional featuring Ben Schilaty as a guest speaker. Ben Schilaty is an openly gay member of my church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This prompted me to check out his blog. I admit I sort of binged and read several of his blog posts back to back. And I loved several of them, and could probably write a blog sharing something I learned from each one. But today I want to talk about one he wrote in April of last year where he talks about a crush he had on a boy. 

What sticks out to me most about this aside from the sheer amount of vulnerable detail shared in that post, was that he acknowledged that struggling with his decision to stay within the bounds we believe God has set… is still a present struggle. It’s not something that he struggled with for a while, got good at, and now that his decision has been made it’s easier now. I mean maybe it’s easier than it once was but it doesn’t go away. Does that make sense? I guess you look at a guy who’s written a book on the subject and is older than you, and is giving speeches at devotional meetings as someone who’s got his life figured out. And I guess I have spent most of my life feeling like I was “doing well” if the subject of same sex attraction was far from my mind. And when it was on my mind that meant I was “struggling.” But here’s this guy that I guess in some ways I look up to (without any of that star-struck celebrity nonsense)… as someone who has figured this out… and he still thinks about and regularly acknowledges that he’s gay. He can be gay and okay at the same time And I guess that sort of said to me… I can be okay, and I can be thinking about it, and acknowledge I am attracted to women, and also be okay. It doesn’t have to mean I am “struggling.” And for the most part I had already come to that conclusion on my own, but it just sort of helps to not be alone in that. 

Unrelated to that blog post, but I woke up this morning feeling particularly unashamed. Not that I’ve been struggling with shame lately. More just the general anxiety about me being awkward, because sometimes I am awkward ;) and I still worry that I make other people uncomfortable. But I woke up this morning feeling particularly aware of the fact that I can feel the way I feel, and it’s okay. It doesn’t control me. And I can experience things differently and be okay.

And then I went to church. And I sat there in the Sacrament meeting, and just felt peace. I can’t remember the last time I really felt that way, enveloped by that feeling. And I thought to myself, I am feeling the Holy Ghost. And it really had nothing to do with anything anyone was saying. Honestly I don’t think I was really even listening. All I was focused on was that feeling. But I just sat there, sitting in the feeling of peace, that I was where I was supposed to be, that I was whole and unbroken, and I think more importantly, a feeling that I was worthy of being loved. And as I sit here writing this I think… maybe the Holy Ghost had an easier time talking to me when I was at peace with who I am. With less noise in my head… I could better connect with Him. And as we left church I hoped the feeling wouldn’t leave. 

And I hope for you to have that feeling too.

Safe to be Vulnerable

Today someone asked the question, "How do you make someone feel comfortable when they tell you they don't want to come to church anymore?" And what came to mind, was to let them know they're not alone. Some days I don't want to come to church anymore either. Sometimes my doubts overwhelm my faith. Sometimes I feel like I have more questions than answers. Sometimes it feels like that lack of balance should knock me over and take me away from the answers that I do have. And I sometimes feel very very alone in feeling that way. And sometimes, going to church and being surrounded by people who are either very good at faking it, or are filled with more faith than doubt leaves me feeling like I don't belong. And I get that there is a pressure at church to focus on the positive, and to fill people with light, but... there's something that just doesn't fit right. You often hear people say that the church is like a spiritual hospital. Hospitals aren't full of healthy people. They're full of sick people trying to get better. And churches aren't full of perfect people. They're full of imperfect people trying to get better. But when I walk into a hospital, I know that the people there aren't healthy. I know that they have problems just like me. And they are all unique problems, and I don't know who has the same problem as me, and who has a very different problem, but I know we all need help to get better, or find an answer, or understand the answer we've been given. And church isn't quite like that. It's not so easy to remember that everyone there needs help of some kind or another because we can't see it. But if we can't see it, maybe we could at least talk about it. 

One of the things I said in response to this question, was that in my experience, people are more willing to be vulnerable with you, when you are first willing to be vulnerable with them. Maybe that's not fair, but it's true. And when I find places where it is safe to be vulnerable, I find that that is a place where I want to be. There is nothing that I crave more in this life than the space and the people with whom I can feel safe being vulnerable with. And if we could make church feel like a space where it is safe to be vulnerable, safe to admit things like "I'm not so sure I even want to be here"... then maybe more people would want to be there in the first place. 

I mentioned that to me, it is important that when I feel prompted to share something at church, that I do so, even when it feels vulnerable. I try to prioritize being vulnerable. Because I have been in the meetings where someone shared something vulnerable, and it made me feel safe, and loved, and not alone. It made me feel at home and at peace and like I was in the right place. And if I can do that for even one person, then I have done something to repay that moment of safety that was offered to me through someone else's vulnerability. 

And I provided an example. I mentioned sharing in a church meeting that I was gay. Because it felt applicable to the lesson, and it was the most authentic and vulnerable thing I could do in that moment. And it felt important to be true to that. And I could have gotten my point across today without sharing that story. And it would have been fine. But it felt like a way to say "Here, this is what I mean. I'm giving you an example by being vulnerable and sharing this. It's okay to let people see you for who you are outside the cookie cutter version we think people want to see." Being vulnerable creates a space, where other people can do so too. And what I shared today felt good and it felt right, and I had no fear in sharing it. And that was empowering, for a moment.

But after a moment of awkward silence, I came away from that comment, on the fence as to whether it was a good thing that I shared or not. Did the shock factor take away from the value of what I had to say, or did it add to it? I don't know. And the silence made me want to bolt. I wanted to leave and never look back. Which to me... just reinforces the need to help people see that they are loved for what makes them different, and not just what makes them the same. That's not to say that I didn't feel loved in that meeting. Just that I was surrounded by people who didn't know what to say. And I totally understand and relate to not knowing what to say. But feeling like the elephant in the room is never a comfortable thing. But maybe we just need to worry a little less about knowing the perfect thing to say, and focus a little more on communicating what's in our hearts. And for me, when people choose to share their vulnerable with me, what goes through my mind is "I feel so honored that you would share that with me. Thank you." And sometimes, at least in the moment, I don't need anyone to say anything. Sometimes I just need a hug. Or for someone to look in my eyes, with the certainty that says “You are seen. And I still love you.”

But I didn't bolt. I figured I would do my time, and wait until I had paid my expected pleasantries and then leave as soon as I had fulfilled the bare minimum expectation of awkward small talk. But I actually had very pleasant conversations. In part because one person made an effort to engage me in conversation when they could have averted their eyes and avoided contact, and that ease of conversation seemed to spread to the rest of the table I think. And for that, I am grateful. And nobody said anything to me about what I had shared. And in some ways I wish someone had, because sometimes it feels like the elephant in the room... but in other ways I was grateful to just feel normal despite what I shared. We've all heard Emily say that one before. It's nice to feel normal. I think we all want that. And feeling not normal... seems to be the real normal that we rarely speak aloud. And maybe that's the real thing that needs to be celebrated. It's normal to not be normal. And today, I am grateful for all the spaces and people that make me feel safe to not be normal, so I can walk through the uncomfortable spaces without feeling any less than. 

In the oft-repeated words of a friend of mine “You are loved. You are wanted. And normal is different for everybody.” Maybe you need those words, just like I do.

Privilege

I was recently listening to a book titled “Uncomfortable Conversations with a Black Man” by Emmanuel Acho in preparation for book club night. There’s a chapter about white privilege and while I won’t say it’s a perfect comparison or anything, I found myself emoting with what he was saying, but in the context of how I feel as someone who identifies as gay. 

Statements like these:

“Privilege is the power of feeling normal”

“It’s the silent reinforcement of being able to walk into a store and see its main display show products that cater to you”

“It’s the ability to turn on the TV and see people who look like you represented in all walks of life”

“Privilege is the omnipresent benefit of the doubt”

“It’s the safety of moving through the world without being profiled”

“Imagine having to avert your eyes so you don’t make a [woman] uncomfortable”

“Imagine always having to be on guard to gauge whether you are being perceived as a threat or are in some way playing into some [person’s] negative image or idea of you”

These are all things I emote with. I relate to feeling this way. The thought that I had was that anyone who is in a minority, especially a minority that the majority historically holds some kind of bias against, can relate to. 

Something I hear straight people say A LOT is that they don’t spend very much time thinking about their sexuality and that it’s not a part of their daily experience. This is said as a way to express their confusion and frustration with gay people who seemingly “over-focus” on this aspect of their lives. Honestly it comes across as a bit patronizing. Like “I am better than you because I don’t waste my time with things like that.” Not to say that everyone means it that way, but sometimes that’s how it hits. And while I understand the attitude, I also believe that this attitude comes from a place of privilege. There is less need to weigh and evaluate your actions, thoughts and feelings when you are surrounded by people like you and the belief that you are normal. 

It can be something as simple as sitting down to watch a chic-flic with a group of girls and knowing someone is going to comment on how attractive the male character is, and that person can trust that most everyone will nod and agree, but yourself knowing or feeling like if you said the same thing about the female lead, all that would follow is awkward silence. And maybe a pity comment from someone trying to support you but you know they don’t feel the same way. That’s the kind of moment that makes you feel isolated, alone, taboo.

I am still trying to figure myself out. I am still trying to feel comfortable in my skin. I am still trying to feel like who I am and how I feel doesn’t change how people feel about me. In some ways I still feel like that awkward middle school girl that I thought I had outgrown. 

One question I am occasionally presented with is “Why do you have to talk about this?” For this question I like something from Meghan Decker’s book “Tender Leaves of Hope: Finding Belonging as LGBTQ Latter-day Saint Women,” 

“Generally, ‘coming out’ is more about healing and trust than advocacy.”

I am trying to heal from years of shame. I am trying to trust you. I am trying to trust myself. 

Feelings

 I used to think that healing from being sexually abused meant no longer feeling emotional when the subject came up. I thought being able to feel like nothing triggered me meant that I was over it. I thought it was better to feel nothing than to feel sad. But the thought occurred to me recently, that when I tell people about what happened… they usually have some form of an emotional response. Whether it shows on their face while I’m talking to them about it or not, gears are turning in their head, thoughts are forming, and emotions register like sadness, grief, anger, maybe even confusion, guilt or worry. And those things happen even if they have never experienced anything akin to my trials themselves. Those feelings come even if they have nothing to heal from in regards to the subject. The feelings themselves aren’t indicative of healing or not. The feelings are part of the human condition. Part of being empathetic. Part of loving one another. Part of putting yourself in another person’s shoes and realizing what it would be like for you to walk in them. And not many people would recommend to the person listening to the story, that they distance themselves so far from things that they no longer feel emotion. You can’t get wrapped up in it. But losing your ability to feel those things isn’t good either. And me feeling those same things when I think back on my life doesn’t mean I haven’t healed from them. It just means I’m human. And that is okay and it is good.

Feelings are never innately bad. Feeling sad is not bad. Feeling anger is not bad. And feeling happy is not the only good emotion out there. I guess it’s another one of those lessons in “moderation in all things.” But we just can’t get lost in those feelings, any of them. Or give away our self control while we feel them. I have never felt more lost than when I felt completely disconnected from my feelings. I think at this point that I would rather feel depressed than feel nothing. Because to feel depressed is still to feel human. Feeling nothing was just empty. 

I recently completed a training on protecting children from abuse. And it has been updated since the last time I’d taken it. Honestly the new version was mildly triggering. But I suppose it made me feel compassion. It made me feel protective. It made me feel hopeful for the future. It made me sad these trainings are necessary. It made me feel a shared bond with the scared, ashamed, and sad faces depicted. It made me realize that while bad things happen, and those that make them happen will be held responsible… there will always be people who can love you. Even if you haven’t found them yet. 

And all the feelings hold a place in teaching us in this life. We can hold every emotion in our hands and hearts when it’s their turn. But when it’s time to put them down, we need to learn to put them back on the shelf, and not throw them away, because they are just as important as the emotions that we like. And it’s okay to come back to them. It’s okay to share them. It’s okay to cling to them for a while. As long as we don’t hold on so tight we forget how to feel the other things. 

Come (pause) Follow Me

A few years ago, leaders of our church initiated a new scripture study program entitled “Come, Follow Me.” The focus of this program being to encourage more gospel learning in the home, and not just depending on being taught at church on Sunday. Now, admittedly, I have not made much effort in following the program personally, or with my family, although I hope to do so this year. But I want to share with you something that was pointed out/discussed in our Sunday School lesson this week.

The title of the program is not “Come Follow Me” but rather, there is a comma after the word ‘come’ making the title “Come, Follow Me.” Now, I’m not a huge fan of commas because I know they are one of the rules of grammar I tend to struggle with. I tend to overuse them. But, they can serve an important purpose. I have always said that to me, grammar is most important when it changes the meaning of what is being said.

I own a book about punctuation entitled “Eats, Shoots and Leaves” and one of the very simple things that it points out is that the meaning of the sentence is changed by the presence of the comma or lack thereof. With the comma, the panda bear on the cover of the book eats something, shoots a gun, and then leaves the scene of the crime. Without the comma, the panda bear sits down to eat a lovely meal of shoots and leaves. The meaning of the sentence is changed greatly by the presence of a comma or lack thereof.

So, let’s look again at the title of the “Come, Follow Me” program. What does the presence of a comma do for the meaning of the title? Well, without the comma we are being issued a command: “Come follow me.” To me, I read that phrase with an attitude of “get your butt over here!” But with the comma, we are being given two separate invitations/instructions. The first being to come. And then after we have followed the invitation to come, we are offered a second invitation to then follow Him. The “Him” being Jesus Christ.

But something that was pointed out in our class is that one of the purposes of a comma is to provide a pause. To me, that added one more layer to the invitations to “Come, follow me.” It becomes 

1. Come
2. Pause
3. Follow Me

Our first instruction is to come. Come to the places where we can feel of His presence. Participate in His church. Gather together to listen and learn. Feel the spirit of truth. Witness the fruit of the gospel. Prioritize Him. 

The second instruction to pause gives us the chance to make an informed decision. It gives us time to sit with our doubts. It gives us time to ponder on whether we want to continue in the course or not. It gives us time to ask questions. It encourages agency. 

The third instruction to follow him can only truly occur after we have come, and paused, and then made the choice that based on what we have seen, heard, felt and learned, that we want to do all that we can to do what Christ would have us do. Go where Christ would have us go. Become who Christ would have us be. And accept Christ is the leader. Embrace Him as your leader.

It may seem silly, but in some ways, the hardest part of that to me is accepting Christ as my leader. Accepting that anyone is in a position of authority over me chafes my pride. I have issues with authority figures. As an adult I recognize this. I don't like being told what to do. But I appreciate the instruction and the allowance to pause. It is okay to pause. It is okay if pausing is where I’m at right now. It is okay to spend a little more time on the first invitation to “come” before I take the next step to truly engage in following. Now, part of “coming” in my opinion, is to experiment with the activities of following Him. But it is okay if the conversion involved in that step is a little slower to manifest. 

Everyone’s journeys are unique. And that is okay. We have merely been issued loving invitations to try, to see for ourselves, and then embrace the path when we are ready.

Terrified to be Eeyore

 By middle school I had gained a reputation. I was the one who was always happy. I was also the friend people went to for advice and counseling. When they needed help or a listening ear, they came to me. I was the one people trusted with their secrets. I remember kids joking that I probably knew things about everyone in the whole school because everyone felt safe talking in front of me even if it wasn’t to me because I didn’t gossip and I kept things to myself. I felt destined to be a therapist one day because it seemed to be something I was innately good at and I liked that people trusted me and felt safe with me.

But when crap hit the fan in my own life things got heavy fast and I realized that it was hard to shoulder everyone else’s burdens in addition to my own. And I felt I had a duty to keep being who everyone expected me to be. I was “the happy one.” I didn’t have anyone I could talk to and share my burden with because they had their own crap and I felt I had an obligation to be the strong one for them. The happy one. The one they could rely on.  

It was okay for a while. For a long while really. Because helping other people gave me a sense of purpose and a sense of worth when I couldn’t find those things in my own life. But I did eventually break. I stopped having the energy to be the strong, happy one, always there for others and ready to listen and shoulder their burden. I barely had the energy to keep myself afloat let alone help anyone else. 

There’s a song I like that talks about mental health with the lyrics “Like you have empathy inside but you don't really care; Like you're fresh outta love but it's been in the air” And that hits hard because that’s exactly what it felt like. Losing my ability to help other people took away the one thing I had in my life that gave me a sense of purpose and worth. I cared about my friends but couldn’t find the feeling necessary to act on it anymore. I became a terrible friend. I was lost in a sea of apathy and couldn’t find the energy to care about anyone including myself. I knew I cared. I knew I loved people. I wanted to care. I just… couldn’t do it. 

And it took getting a therapist to become whole again. The beautiful thing about therapists is that there is no expectation to be anyone but yourself. No expectation to be strong or happy or reliable. No expectation to be nice or nonjudgmental or perfect. No expectation to shoulder any one’s burden but your own. You can say the inappropriate things in your head that would make anyone else uncomfortable. You can just be yourself, with no need to be tactful or politically correct or socially acceptable or not-awkward and you can accept help. Because you’re paying for it. Which is the down side, right?

In reality, for most people, what needs to happen is a certain amount of give and take in their relationships. I help you and you help me. I shoulder your burden and you help shoulder mine. But in order for that to work we can’t put people on pedestals. There are no “strong ones” or “happy ones.” People who are always strong or always happy don’t exist. And to have that expectation is unrealistic, unfair, and unhealthy for everyone involved. It doesn’t help to always view others as perfect and yourself as imperfect, or to be viewed as perfect and in reality never measure up.

And I have tried multiple times in my adult life to let down the walls of “always being happy” and try to let people help shoulder my burdens by sharing them with others. But it’s really hard. I get strangled by a sense of guilt. I don’t feel like I have the right to do that to people because it’s never been allowed of me within the confines of fulfilling the pedestal role of “the happy one.” I’m grateful for the intimacy involved in being myself with people. The feeling that they are seeing me beyond being happy. But I am terrified that in reality the real Emily is a bit more like Eeyore than I care to admit. I am terrified that if I’m not happy at least a majority of the time that people will eventually tire of being around me and will leave. I am terrified that my sense of self worth is wrapped up in my ability to be “the happy one” and the “strong one” and the listening ear for others. And if I allow myself to be anything but that I will be worthless.

Of course Eeyore had friends in Winnie the Pooh who loved him despite his demeanor. But I struggle to relate to that image because it’s not like you get to witness him falling off his happy pedestal and then still being loved. There were no expectations for him to fail. How does one walk away from the pedestal of needing to be happy to have value to people? 

I know that feeling this way isn’t unique to me. Which is in some ways comforting. And I also recognize that if I have always been able to love people in their Eeyore states that I should be able to accept that other people can love an Eeyore Emily too. But logic doesn’t easily change feelings or fears. And even now I feel obligated to tie this up with a nice, positive and uplifting bow. But sometimes, I haven’t yet found the ribbon to tie things up with yet 🤷‍♀️

Normalizing Mundane

Funny moments, memorable quotes, big life events, the occasional rant or whine, memes... these are the sorts of things that fill our social media feeds and even phone conversations. Right? I'm always a little frustrated when I call someone up and ask them how their life has been, and they have nothing to report. You have things you can share with me! It's okay if you talk to me about the kids or the laundry or what have you! You don't have to have some magical or disastrous event to happen in order to have an excuse to talk to me! 

Something I have been thinking about this week is that I am very grateful for windows into people's mundane moments. I've had the opportunity lately to witness regular moments, or at least have them incorporated into the conversation, of "I'm doing laundry" or "I'm doing the dishes" or "I'm making dinner" or "I'm cleaning the bathroom" or "I'm going to vacuum the floors" or "I'm picking up the clutter" or "I just took a shower." And honestly it's been the best thing. I have never felt great at being a normal functioning adult. I don't have the habits or frame of mind most people seem to have. The mundane "every day tasks" fill me with a sense of apathy or dread and they do not happen every day or even sometimes in a week. It's hard for me to explain. But it's been so helpful to have a model for those things.

It also makes me realize that if I can master those things, then I have the opportunity to be that model for my own kids so that they can have a more successful adult life than I have thus far had. And that the attitude that I take with those things will also affect the attitude that my children have. Can I make doing dishes into something that is a fun, memorable moment my kids can remember, so that there are positive associations with it, and not just "the dreaded chore" ? Can I help them feel a sense of pride for their work? Can I help them feel like the every day is possible, and not just expected? And not just that, but I feel like the opportunities that come up to serve other people in those things turn into moments I can be grateful for, because once again, it becomes a model for my children. If there is one thing that I learned from my mother, it is to serve and help others. My mother has spent most of my adolescent and adult life giving a large amount of her time and energy to serve her friends. And that is definitely one of my strongest priorities. It brings me joy. And I want that for my kids. But I also want all the mundane things for my kids too.

So let's normalize the mundane. Let's normalize finding joy in it. Let's normalize including people in it. Letting the kids see it. Letting your friends help you with it. Or at least letting me help you with it 😉 Because at least for me, I am finding that helping others with the mundane, and witnessing more of the mundane, makes my own mundane feel more possible, and less out of reach. And letting your kids see people serving you? That's a good thing too. It's teaching your kids that it's okay to have help. It's okay to ask for help. And that's something I want my kids to learn too. That it's okay to include people in your mundane... that joy can come from the mundane, and not just the extraordinary. Because at least in my experience, joy often comes from moments shared together, and usually, it’s the little things.