Disappointed

I think I blinked a bit too long, as this fall has flown by. Days melt into weeks before I can even realize I am behind in life. There have been breakdowns, tears, screams, laughter, successes, progress, and realizations - all of which have beckoned me to move forward.

To do that, I have a few confessions to make.

I am disappointed

I don't know about you, but as a child I constantly played pretend to be older. Whether it be "house", "college" or "work" my sister Lizy, and I (along with a few playmates) would be rock stars, popular college students, successful housewives, disobedient runaways, or adventurous orphans. I often dreamt of growing up, but in a fantastical way. Much like I dreamt about being in the Lord of the Rings, or a strong warrior out of the 15th century, I dreamt of being an adult going to the mission field living among the people of Kenya never to see the paved streets of America again. But I never thought I'd actually grow up. It was a dream, a fantasy - not a reality. Being raised in the 90's Christian sub-culture of Jesus' soon return, combined with fictional tales of being Left Behind, I was well aware that any moment everything could change and I'd be in heaven. As a tween college seemed ridiculous, why would I postpone my calling for a futile education? Then as I grew up I knew I'd have to make decisions, start putting one foot in front of the other to actually be anything.

I remember the first time I did something. I was all talk, until I chose to pursue my call. I had found out about a youth leadership conference up in Denver (a 8 hour drive) and asked my parents if I could go. My grandparents had family near there so we drove up and stayed with my Grandmother's sister for two days. I remember driving through the bustling streets of Denver going to the northern part of the city, my music playing - realizing I was going forward in my call. I had always been told I was a leader, and I wanted to get my feet wet. I was full of butterflies as I pulled into the parking lot of an unfamiliar church, seeing peers (my least favorite age group) and knowing I knew no one. But I went, and while I don't remember a lot of that weekend - it was that moment that defined every other moment for me, I could go and be what I wanted to be. 

Fast forward a year, and I'm heavily involved with church - the church mouse actually. When the doors were open, I was there. I was working at a local coffee shop, graduating from highschool, and had traveled internationally the year before - I was a pretty confident 16/17 year old. My family had gone to the International House of Prayer Conference in Kansas City over the new year, and I had felt a strong desire to participate in their Fire in the Night internship. I talked with the directors while being there, and they said that 17 would be fine, as long as I had a note from my parents and had graduated. So I did what any responsible ministry member would do - I began to prepare others to take my place. There was a young lady who had wanted to sing on Sunday's and I spent time with her and encouraged her to join, soon I wouldn't be singing on Sunday mornings. My involvement in tech, sound, kids ministry, and janitorial work was soon covered. I was ready to go to IHOP. Then came my first rejection - they had changed the policy shortly after the new year and I would have to wait till I was 18. I had finally made another step forward, pursuing all I thought I was to be, and yet a door was shut, slammed firmly in my face. In the pain I quickly picked myself up, and tried to go back to where I was.

I don't know how to articulate the weight of what happened next, because I know it sounds petty on paper - but the gut punch I still feel reminds me it wasn't petty. I had stepped down from the worship team for a month or so (maybe a bit longer) and our church was in a lot of transition - moving towards the arts, and musical excellence. After the plan changed, I approached my dear friend and co-worship leader, she and the pastor said I would have to audition if I wanted to rejoin the worship team. In that simple sentence, to which I know they had no idea the weight of, the wind was gone from my sails and I stood lost in the seas of pain. All the questions of self worth, all the doubts of my abilities, all my anger towards the church was now validated. See I had had a painful cut in another church a few yyears prior as a 13 year old, and it caused me to doubt the Holy Spirit's participation in our lives. Now the church that had given me my counselor, my first voice, the prayer partners, the mentors, my first boyfriend, my ability to be me - had kicked me out without a second thought.

It was here I met and fell in love with my now husband of almost six years. In the midst of the church's rejection I gave morality a middle finger, and said "I will be who I am, regardless of what you say". I told my now father-in-law (a pastor nonetheless) that I had no intention of marrying his son, and that we were just going to date for fun and they'd have to be okay with that. I was tired of being told who I was, so I formed who I wanted to be. I was strong, spiritually on fire (though certainly broken) and horribly emotionally vulnerable. The non-marrying thing only last a few weeks, before I looked at Phil in the fall and gave him my heart in a bracelet.

It was my World Vision bracelet that I had had since the IHOP conference back in January, it signified my calling to missions and my relentless commitment to it. I had been dating someone else a year ago, but because of their lack of similar calling, our relationship ended. I knew that if I was to be with someone, they had to be sold out to the same vision of missions as I, or no amount of love would be worth the heartache. Phil took that bracelet, and wore it for another two years - even in our "I do's" he wore it. It stayed on until it broke off his wrist while living in Israel for a few months together.

In the moment of pain, in the crushing weight of questioning everything I made an impulsive decision to marry, to grow up, to stop waiting for the world to happen. Wow, how did life happen! Within a 18 months of getting married we had live in two countries, two states, four cities, moved three times, had all our possessions stolen while living overseas, moved hundred of miles away from our family, finished our first semester of college, and had our daughter. I think we calculated that that first year almost 25% of our nights were spent in a hotel, with another 35% being spent in homes other than our own. At 19 and a few months, I was a mom, a student, a wife, an employee and completely lost. The plans I had, that pushed me forward for over a decade had not shaped out and in the midst of postpartum, I doubted I could even love the child of my womb.

Fast forward a few years, and I am here about to graduate with my Masters in Business Administration, my husband half way through his masters in Christian Discipleship, our daughter about to turn five and still living in the same town as five years ago. At the beginning of this year we started to get involved with a new church, and I fell instantly in love. During the season of Lent, I literally fell head over heels in love with the pastors, the people, the building, the sermons, and even with God, at least a bit. These last ten months have been a whirlwind, God breathing His life back into these dry bones, the Spirit challenging me to live again.

After one of my many recent breakdowns of tears, and anger, I fell into a passive and hurt silence. It was then my beloved husband began to chip away at it, and saw the cause - I felt wholly, entirely disappointed by God. The King of the Universe, the Spirit of Life, the Prince of Peace had let me down and I sat there with anger in my heart towards Him. I had put my value, my worth in all that I did. Now after 15 years of working hard, moving forward, pushing to be more, dying to myself, trying to grow up before my time - I had my list of accomplishments, my certificate of worth and God was silent.

How dare He not speak?! 

How after all these years of striving, of proving my best, of never settling, would He not speak? 

While the story of Martha is lined throughout this story, best not belittle someone's pain through pointing out its cliche. I always wanted to be Mary, but God never set the place for me to be. As a teen I looked longingly at those who 'sat' at the feet of Jesus. But someone  had to feed the disciples, someone had to care for families, work to provide a shelter - someone had to be the Martha and so I took up my cross and did. All the while looking longingly at the Marys all around me - a bit jealous and mostly hurt that that was not what I was meant to be. Thus in my first confessions of these changing seasons I need to say I have felt desperately disappointed by God, and I have found my value, my worth in all that I have done.

Selah.