You Are Enough

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You are enough.
Words spoken that cover the immeasurable
immensity that is human insecurity.
You are enough right now.
For one small instant you allow those words
so subtle, so pure
to free you.
To free your striving
Your perfection.
You alone are enough in every way.
Void of any conditional fragments
that one small phrase stands alone
firm
lovely
in front of all humanity.
You are enough.
But you throw off this simple phrase
struggle to grab the chains of perfection
that had finally fallen to the ground
to become your own slave master
Every minute, punishing, critical.
Every minute unworthy.
Chains of doubt and worry cling to you
painfully etching scars into your wonderfully flawed skin.
You, my love, in every single way
are not perfect because humanity’s beauty
is found in our many unworthy imperfections
But you, my darling, are in this moment
and in every way
As you sit alone, smiling but struggling beneath these heavy chains
you are completely and utterly enough.

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What I Learned about Love from a One-year-old

ImageChildren can teach you many things about life.  Just from watching my young nephews I have learned: snot is always a good and ever-present snack option, milk cures all woes, Daniel Tiger is a boy’s best friend, nap is a very, very bad word and every trip to the park is an exciting new adventure. All extremely important lessons, if one is to take care of toddlers.

At Georgetown, I took a Childhood Development psychology class where we spent a week on every step or progression in a child’s brain and social development from infancy to adolescence.  While we did not learn about the snot thing or that nap is the worst curse word, many of the concepts we did cover are very evident when observing my nephews.

One of these is the idea that young toddlers, when they see sun rays coming through a window, grasp to touch or hold the sunshine.  What a beautiful idea that shows a hope or longing for the beauty of this world.  Yet after a certain age children develop the knowledge that sunshine is not necessarily tangible.  They feel the welcoming warmth of the sun on their skin but they can’t actually grab or hold onto that sun.  No matter how hard they try to grab those enticing rays, the sun will always elude them. But before their brain’s develop and they learn more about the sun, toddlers will continue to try, reach, and strain for the rays despite constant failure.

Part of this instinct comes from a stage of development known as egocentricism.  If you have ever been around a two year old for longer than ten minutes, then you know what I am referring to.  I like to affectionately refer to it as the “me-monster.”  Actually, many adults seem to have regressed to this stage as well.   But anyway for a young child their wants and needs are the center of their world and they lack the ability to put those needs aside for the sake of a more rational end.  When a toddler sees the sun’s rays coming through his living room window, I wonder if his “me-monster” brain automatically thinks, “that’s pretty and I want to have it.”

Therefore, while at the root of this developmental phenomenon there is an innate human longing for beauty and for warmth, the toddler seems to constantly be striving to own or hold onto such beauty in a possessive and egocentric way.  Okay, okay, I will admit that maybe toddlers are just reaching out and there’s no deeper meaning behind it.  I mean, hell, we probably don’t know a quarter of the crazy shit that goes on in those kids heads (which is probably for the best), but stay with me for a minute longer.

As I watched my youngest nephew leaning against the pane of glass as the sunshine poured in, I wondered if we ever really grow out of that innate reaction or desire to own beauty.  Maybe that’s why all of us are so bad at this whole “love” thing.  We see something or someone that brings us warmth, beauty and comfort.  We can usually pause and recognize such beauty and even marvel in it, but only for a fleeting second, because then our first reaction seems to always be “I want that.”

The reaction is innate, evolutionary, and important to survival, but it’s also the very reaction that we have to curb in order to experience true, genuine unconditional love from another human being.  Like the sun rays, which toddlers try so very hard to capture in their small outstretched hands, when we feel that tingle of human attraction or friendship we often try our hardest to cling to it, hold onto it, possess it for fear that if we don’t we will lose it.  I wonder if the toddler, as he watches the sun rise and set each day, fears that one day the beauty will disappear from his grasp, making his effort to hold onto those rays even more fervent and anxiety-laden.

Love, in its purest form, asks us to forfeit that part of us that is so fearful to lose the other that we try to own the other, to make the other ours, or even better to make it no different than us.  Love asks us to enjoy the one we love, to relish in him, to gaze longingly for him, but to always hold loosely and gently to him.  Love asks us to live a life interdependent on the other, like we are to the sun, without confusing the other with our selves.  Once our grip starts to tighten around our love’s beauty or being, love is no longer present.  Love is replaced by envy, jealousy, and greed.  Like I said, maybe that’s why we struggle so much with this whole “love” thing because we are confusing selfless, life-giving, beautiful love with fear-driven greed.

Beauty and love is always around us.  I see it in my handsome nephews and beautiful nieces.  I see it in the steady rain outside that nourishes the parched land.  I see it in my family’s struggle to love each other and remain together.  I experience it in the taste of strong coffee and exquisite chocolate.  I experience it in the warmth of the sun.  We will remain disappointed and discontented with this beauty if we treat it like the toddlers do with the inviting rays of the sun.

Beauty requires a response, but not one of fear or anxiety.  Beauty requires a gratefulness that is only born from a deep and genuine love.  So if my nephew could actually understand anything I just said, I would tell him to never stop reaching out for the beauty of the sun for a meaningful life must contain a desire for such beauty.  But I would remind him that, instead of grasping with desperation, he should pause in silent reverence and appreciation.  That is where love is found, in those silent moments when we are in awe of something other than ourselves.

“Get Over It Already” and Other Harmful Christian Messages

As a painfully awkward and overly sensitive child, I was no stranger to irrational fears, worries and anxiety. In fact, I often carried with me a long list of the many social situations to avoid for they were all sure to be ways that I would die a slow painful death by humiliation. Don’t worry this list was entirely comprehensive including everything from slipping dramatically on a poorly placed banana peel to calling my second grade teacher “mom” in front an entire class lacking the psychological development of the empathic response [and yes both of which have happened to me]. Although in some ways it may be obvious, being this type of child was only made more difficult by my parent’s choice to attend one of the largest mega churches in Orange County. Therefore, I not only had to deal with negotiating a vast social obstacle course during the week at school, but my only time of refuge, the weekends, ended in a near panic attack inducing obligation to not only socialize for one’s own good but also by doing so show that somehow one was a ‘good’ Christian.

Like most quiet children, I learned to cope by clinging to the few friends that I knew at a church of thousands and sitting in the far back corner praying the whole time that I would somehow be ignored by the overly-aggressive ‘church welcoming crew.’ I’m sure if you have been in a church at least twice in your life you have encountered this posse. Well I had gained a myriad of techniques to avoid the social advances of this well-meaning, but terrifying group. I had found my own way of still enjoying my time at church without having to cross off anything on my ever-growing humiliation list. That is, I avoided this until around 6th grade.

Not only had puberty reared its ugly head escalating my awkwardness to dangerous proportions, but also my church decided that this was the right time for children to publicly declare their “relationship” with Christ. Seems a little fishy since most of us could barely form relationships with our peers, but you know the God of the universe…cakewalk. Anyway, being a good evangelical teenager, but mostly being one that wanted desperately to avoid standing out from the crowd obviously my only choice was to get baptized. [Yes, funny how the way to fit in during junior high was to attend church as much as possible. Trust me, this is why I will continue to have years of therapy.] But, sounds easy enough, right? Well, if wearing an oversized shirt and standing in a kiddie pool in front of all your friends and family while being dunked forcefully in not-so-warm water wasn’t enough social torture, try giving a speech beforehand.

Yes, you read that right. A speech.

Sorry, had to pause for a second to do my breathing exercises because just thinking of this moment gives me all-too-familiar panic symptoms. As if the baptism was not enough, my church required that every teenager that wanted to be baptized give a five-minute speech outlining their ‘testimony,’ which for those of you that are not familiar with Christian-ese means telling your life story of how you “got saved” essentially. Alright, this must be some cruel joke, I thought! Not only do I have to get dunked in water in front of everyone but I also have to pour out my whole life story for a crowd of a couple hundred junior high students.   Looking back on this decision, I must have been having an out of body experience because there is no way that I would have willingly agreed to something like this, but two weeks later I found myself anxiously awaiting my turn at the mic with my typed speech in one hand and my list of humiliation in the other, which now had the words testimony starred and circled in red ink at the top.

Looking back on this event, I’m always struck by this unusual phenomenon that I’ve experienced in churches long after this one moment in junior high. Something about hearing a ‘testimony’ of a person that has struggled, despaired, screwed up BUT, by the ‘grace of God,’ made it through the storm and now lives a cookie cutter, joyful life is intoxicating to many Christians. We ask people to stand in front of a crowd of people, mostly strangers with the exception of a cordial smile each Sunday, in hopes that their story will be a Hollywood-type of redemption narrative. A story that truly proves to any doubters in the crowd that no matter what type of despair you are muddled in now, only with a few prayers and some sort of eternal hope in God your life will be a fairy tale. And if it does not turn into this fairy tale ending, if you find yourself lost in despair without a way out, then that just means that you must trust God more and we would rather you wait until you get out of that despair to tell your story, for there is bound to be a happy ending in their somewhere.

I’m sorry if this is sounding rather cynical, because that is certainly not my intent. I also do not want to make light of the many rather miraculous testimonies of redemption and healing that I’ve heard over the years. But, returning to my junior high self preparing my testimony, I was convinced that I had to somehow wrap up my story in a nice bow in order to show that God was somehow present in my daily life, which honestly, in my actual experience, was pretty miserable. God forbid I would admit that in front of my church-going friends, though, in order to face the barrage of answers about finding the deeper meaning or the silver lining in my own struggles. No I didn’t want that, so I got through my testimony ending it with a rather trite statement that was probably something like “and now I can find joy in my relationship with Christ,” whatever that means. When on the inside I had to find a way to deal with my own years of depression, doubt, and self-hatred.

My struggle with depression did not end in junior high; in fact, it is still a constant presence in my adult life. Years of counseling and medication have helped, yes, but I am not naïve in thinking that I have seen the last of this familiar foe. I did not know how to talk about my depression when I was younger, because so much of my life at school, at church and with my friends was about putting on a happy face so that I could move past my troubles, because the only way to move on is to ignore any negativity right? I couldn’t give my real testimony when I was in junior high because it would have included my anger, despair and doubt in God without a perfect resolution or feel-good ending. Luckily I’m not in junior high anymore and my faith has changed and grown along with my understanding of myself.

Moving beyond depression is not the end goal for me anymore, because when I’m honest with myself I know that will probably not be possible for me. My purpose isn’t to find the light at the end of the tunnel, because in my experience I have found peace and connection with my understanding of God in the darkness of the tunnel, not the light. Hope and depression are not opposing forces. Hope for me looks like accepting my own darkness and living there with the realization that in despair redemption is a constant reality.   I believe, though, that redemption does not mean overcoming depression in order to be made new, but instead redemption means embracing my fragile state and reaching out to those stumbling along with me in the darkness. Depression is isolating, I mean, it’s not exactly something people like talking about in casual conversation. In my most depressed states, the last thing I want to do is build some sort of community. I want to yell at the world to get out of my face and be alone in my pain. And trust me that is definitely necessary sometimes; I’m not always the most loving person to be around those days.   But in those times when the people closest to me, often those that have also experienced these days of darkness, force me to be my most real and honest self with them—even if that just means giving me coffee and sitting in an understanding silence—I find hope and redemption through community. If I were to simply ‘move past’ my depression or pretend like it’s not a constant reality in my life, then I would miss this opportunity for raw human connection. That is God to me.

I write this as a plea to churches obsessed with proclaiming and exalting the next encouraging testimony. While showing people that there is a way out is often helpful and uplifting, you might be doing a disservice to many people in your congregation or even in your life that know deep down there is no end to their suffering. That does not mean hope is not present in their stories, but it means that they are seeking deeper, more meaningful answers than ‘well, at least you know that when you go to heaven there will be no more suffering’ or ‘have joy because you know God has a purpose for you.’   They are waiting to hear the church tell them that despair is a normal reaction to this screwed up world in which we live. They are waiting to be welcomed into community that doesn’t force them to have everything together prior to membership. They are waiting for someone to sit with them in their despair with no anticipation that they will move past it soon. They are waiting for the gospel message that even in darkness redemption is happening. They are waiting for the church to truly embrace the messiness of life, mental illness, and doubt without the hopes that sooner or later they will catch the good news fever and never have to bother with any of these temporal struggles again. They are waiting for the beauty and pain of their suffering to be honored without only seeing it as a means to an end or a temporary state to rise above. They are waiting for it to be okay for a confused, nervous, and awkward teenage girl to be able to give an honest testimony that is allowed to end in the unknown, but persistent hope of the gospel. For I know that: “The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” and that being saved is so much more than a happy ending, but instead a hope that embraces a brokenheart without forcing it to heal in the same swift way in which it was broken.