Whoever said a day wasn’t enough to change a lifetime?
So much can change in a day, in an hour, in an instant. Life can end, worlds can crumble, and love —
can die.
Nothing is for certain and nothing… is forever.
And perhaps that’s the beauty in living a messy life; all the lessons you learn along the way can fall into place at exactly the right moments.
I used to grow up wondering why God would allow homelessness to be a recurring theme in my life, but now I think its because He knew that by the age of 26, I would have to make a decision that chose confronting homelessness over clinging to a life that was no longer meant for me.
And just like that, any youthful resentment I’ve harbored over the decades have turned into a gratitude that’s fueling all the strength I have today.
I’m not happy to leave, but happy I left.
God places conflict in our lives that we can endure and that’s something I’ve come to appreciate. I know now that if something is placed in my lap, it’s there because God knows I can handle it, and I take comfort in the fact there’s a lesson here that, if I can remain faithful enough to learn it, I’ll understand its purpose later when I need it most.
So here I am, picking up my mat, surrendering all my steps to the Lord, allowing Him to pave my way, and taking it one day at a time.
And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? Matthew 6:27
But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. Therefore, do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble. Matthew 6:33-34
And one last quote to finish, a quote I take everywhere I go, from a show I’ve loved forever.
“Move, change, do something; if it’s a mistake, do something else.” Frasier, The Good Son
The only way to honor the death of your old self is to live the self the old you always dreamed of.
I’ll admit, some days I look back. I’ll look back at the part of me that was always sad, always dreading the next day, always anxious without rest, trapped inside a box labeled depression without a destination or home that would open me up and take me out. I’ll look back at that part of me and wonder, if in another world, I’m still living that ruin; that even though I have officially transitioned into a better life, is there a space that exists where I haven’t arrived yet?
The thought makes me sad because I hate to think there’s someone out there that feels the way I used to.
It happens most when I’m dancing, making a new tune on an instrument I never thought I could play, or singing my lungs out in the car; it happens most when I’m alone. I’ll look back and wonder if she’s there. The old me still suffering. All the things I find myself doing now I never did with her, my old self. I wouldn’t dance because I was afraid to overstep; wouldn’t play as if that one spot on the wall, I’ll check to see if she’s watching; as if my old self is in the room with me. Hiding. No one can see her anymore.
Sometimes, I think — that if I could just see her again, maybe, just maybe, things could have been different.
The thing that draws me back to my old self the most is the thought of my new-self. The self that is me, now. And when I’m actively thinking about my life now, all I want to do is tell my old-self to be patient; as if there’s a world where I’m the future, the thing I had been waiting for all my life.
I didn’t realize it was a prison, I’ll look back at her and wonder why she’s always in a cage, and then I’ll realized it’s because something doesn’t want her to get out.
But I got out, and it was the best decision, I wonder why anyone wouldn’t want someone to experience this.
And then it hit me, no one good would want to keep us from experiencing happiness, joy — peace. No one good.
That means if we’re in a cage, it’s because someone badis keeping us here. And if its hard to get out, its because that someone is really good at convincing us the cage is for our protection.
I’ve shed my oldest layer of skin; the layer I never thought would come off, the mother skin. The invisible weight that pressed down on my shoulder every time I wanted to do something different; something new, something daring. To be bold enough to surrender your shame regarding The skin that didn’t want me to grow, the layer that told me I’d never be good at anything at all.
I’ll never not come back to her.
Such a toxic trait to miss her, mourn her, grieve her. To want to talk to her one last time after crossing over to the other side; the side where its water, where its green, where we don’t have to worry
anymore.
It’s the feeling of, how did I end up here? I look around and the ground is crushed by my landing yet I myself, am fine.
How did I fast-forward all this time when it seems like just yesterday, I was suffering from depression? It’s like I skipped all the work it was going to take to heal because life no longer feels like work, it just feels like living.
I take a deep breath like I’ve been under water for so long, waiting for this wave of clarity, this gasp of air, this moment that says I’m alive.
It’s the feeling of I made it, like when you take a picture you weren’t ready for but somehow managed to like. You made it, just in time. The right angle, face, clothes, moment.
I look up to my Creator and say I get it now. Everything adds up, it makes sense, joy exists, and no one can tell me I’m wrong.
I get it now.
And all I had to do was be brave, sacrifice suffering, and shave off the skin that kept me warm in a body of sadness. Sadness is so warm and oddly comforting that sinking into it seems like a good idea. Sad bodies crave the heat and any layer taken off makes us so cold, we can’t even imagine such devastation.
I look back and wonder if I’m everything she thought shedding that skin would be worth it for.
And then my heart aches over stupid things; like sometimes, when I feel really good, I feel guilty, because we both couldn’t live at the same time. Sadness doesn’t exist in the daytime, and one day, I chose to open the blinds.
I did do the work.
It’s been months now, almost a year, since I started the road to recovery from the depths of my sadness.
The age of this blog is proof alone that I have slowly committed to changing my life from what it once was.
And what it now is, is joy.
So, when I’m dancing, I feel this sense of freedom that’s so full that it’s like a balloon one pump away from overinflation — a balloon just about to pop, that’s how full I am. Sometimes, it’s so overwhelming that I look back at that point on the wall, where I just so happen to know that’s where she’ll be, and I look at her; she looks at me, and her eyes tell me thank you.
And it makes me sad because she was the sacrifice I had to make in order to get out of the cage, but she looks at me like she’s happy I did.
What about you? What layer of skin do you need to shed?
“Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.” Matthew 19:24
***
I get this sort of pain in my throat every time this verse comes to pass. It’s as if all the air in my lungs release to the point that my body becomes so small, smaller than it’s ever been, and then it’ll just stay there; in child’s pose, waiting for whoever was there to leave the room.
And it’s in that moment when I realize, that’s my body telling me it feels shame.
And it makes me so sad to feel like I’m watching myself in third person, because I find myself practically drowning in empathy, just for my heart to sink at the realization that I’m not the bystander, I’m not the witness, I am this.
I’m not the jury, I’m the victim.
And as I write this, I’m winded, my breath — nonexistent.
It’s the pain of holding back tears that are strong enough to break a damn, the pain of pretending that everything’s okay because for some reason, it’s more important to me that everyone thinks I’m fine instead of knowing the truth because the truth is, and it’s a pain to know, that deep down, I’m way richer than I say I am — and that’s what’s going to keep me out of the kingdom of God. *** “Jesus said to him, “If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me. When the young man heard this, he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions. And Jesus said to his disciples, “Truly, I say to you, only with difficulty will a rich person enter the kingdom of heaven. “ Matthew 19:21-23
On my knees, I fold. My heart tussles with the flesh; my mind falls down to it — like a beggar. We don’t need it [possessions], my lord, it cries. Surely, we could do without. But then I get whiplashed with craving, with urge, and somehow in the mix of it all, my lungs sneak in enough air to last me until the next time Matthew 19:24 decides to make an appearance.
It covers up the pain, it covers up the problem, and God’s Heavenly Kingdom.
“No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and [flesh].” Matthew 6:24
It’s the flesh, for me. I’m not rich in money, I’m rich in flesh — and it’s the flesh that’s going to keep me out of the kingdom of heaven.
I’m ashamed to love the flesh, the reward of the flesh, and how immediate it is; how its currency is so accessible that it’s overflowing — a land of its own milk and honey.
I’m hopeless. I can’t rub my eyes hard enough to see through this tunnel of darkness. They never tell you this is what faith feels like. To fall down on your knees, bow your head, and truly mean it when you say, “Lord, have mercy on me.” How broken you can feel and how desperate you can be; there are nights when you can’t sleep and days when you can’t breathe.
But this shame is meant to tell you that the beauty of feeling this way is that it means you care what God thinks of you.
And why would someone care about God if He wasn’t real? It’s because you believe that He is.
And I hope this gives you clarity like it does for me, because it means the hiding can finally be over; I don’t have to hide anymore, because I can’t. I can’t hide from God.
“…even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with you.” Psalm 139:12
For nothing is hidden that will not be made manifest, nor is anything secret that will not be known and come to light. Luke 8:17
No one can make you change, but if you truly loved someone, you would. You would stop what’s hurting them and spend your days wondering what would make their better. Their problems would be yours and their goals would be too. When you love someone, your life stops being all about you and more about others. You find compassion, you find patience, and you find grace; add in forgiveness and that sums up the Lord Himself.
And just when I thought this post would be a bottomless sob fest, there’s light at the end of the tunnel after all. Kind of makes you wonder if that’s the whole purpose; to know more, to love more, to change for, to live for.
And Lord, you’re worth living for. You’re worth changing for. I surrender.
And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. Galatians 5:24
No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it. 1 Corinthians 10:13
I can do all things through him who strengthens me. Philippians 4:13 ESV
I was rich in flesh before, but I won’t be anymore. in Your name, I pray, Amen.
Dear Lord, bless my room, minimize the worldly things and replace them with Your Presence. Send me Your Call and prepare me the way You did John and Jesus; Abraham and Moses; Paul and David. Have it take 30 years, 40 years, 80 years — I’m patient. O Father in Heaven, how hungry I am for Your Flame and Your Kingdom. Day in and day out, I find myself hungry for Your Word. O Selfless One, trembling am I who yearns to be Your child, Your student, Your faithful servant. Instill in me Your Spirit and Your Will for the sake of Your Works. From now until my purpose is fulfilled.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
…
I’ve wanted this for a while now; a clean room — and not just clean, but empty. Empty of all the worldly possessions that don’t serve my walk with God and rather, keep me from Him all together. How easy it is to engage in the pleasures of ‘nice’ things, and yet, how heavy they are — like cuffs around my spiritual soul. How heavy, though how strong I must be to carry them, and I do carry them.
Like in the morning, when I wish most to surrender, my surrender gets interrupted by miniscule things.
And in the afternoon, when I wish most to serve, my service gets interrupted by trivial stuff.
And in the night, when I wish most to pray, my prayer gets interrupted by digital devices.
Material, material, material.
How material I am.
Lord, have mercy on me.
Because eternity doesn’t come from things, or stuff, or devices; from phones or fancy furniture; from Alexa or Google, Instagram or Facebook. It comes from Calvary and the crucifixion of Christ that bore all our sins in his body on the tree (1 Peter 2:24). And the more I read Scripture and the entirety of the Gospel, the more I find myself drawn to His depiction of love and sacrifice and selfless living; His touch and reassurance; His guidance and spiritual wisdom; His trust and faithful service; His confidence and humility; His forgiveness and endless giving. His posture, which is free from pride, and full of peace. These are the things I gravitate towards and ultimately the things I find myself missing; like a glove without a hand to fill it — empty.
And the truth is, I’ve been empty of Him for so long. In fact, I’ve led the past decade with a dimly-lit fire, a puffed up chest, and the pen to my story in the palm of my hand. And I’ll be the first to admit I hate my writing. It’s cluttered with anxiety and doubt; worry and fear; insecurity, dysmorphia, depression, and this constant penetrating thought that I’m not built to stand. I’m the seed that shrivels up on the rock; full of cheap faith and no root (Matthew 13:5-6).
And you know what comes to mind when I think about these things?
I’m a sinner.
I’m a sinner, and that’s exactly who Jesus came down here for.
“And when Jesus heard it, he said to them, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.”
Mark 2:17
He came for me. And so, to step into this new season of surrender, I release my hand from the glove of worldly things and replace it with an emptiness that allows Christ to fill in the space.
And the concept is easier said than done, of course. It’s taken me since Mei to actually take a step towards minimizing my space and originally, God wasn’t even the reason behind it. I wanted the aesthetic, the look — of being small. Needing less. But deep down, the look wasn’t enough to get me to move.
But God is.
Jesus said to him, “If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.” When the young man heard this he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions. And Jesus said to his disciples, “Truly, I say to you, only with difficulty will a rich person enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.
Matthew 19:21-24
So, let’s go corner to corner, until it’s all gone, so that the Lord may be glorified with the space I leave for Him. Corner to corner. Room to room. Until all that’s left to to do is
rebuild.
…
He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose.
Jim Elliot.
What does your space look like? Does it serve you well? Does it serve Him?
The Processing Mind 