Believe: Part Deux

This is the part two to my previous post, Believe, so make sure you read that sucker first. (;

Where was I?

So, I showed up and went to the conference on Friday night. It was so, so good. There was a woman preacher, who absolutely captivated her whole audience. It was crazy, and she understood the dynamics of a middle schooler’s brain so well. So well. Even if only in that regard, I have such a high amount of respect for her. She was in tune with what it was like for her to be a middle schooler back in the day and she was able to pull those things up from within her when a middle schooler needed to talk with her.

On Saturday morning, I jumped at the chance to go to the conference again. It’s the second, and last, day so I wanted to make sure I was there and soaking up everything that I could. To be honest, I wasn’t quite sure if the Lord was going to speak to my heart, because let’s face it… it’s a conference for junior high students. What could be said to a room full of junior high students that needed to be said to me? Nothing, right?

Exactly. Nothing. Nothing that was said in the main sessions really hit my heart, and nothing that was said was something that I really clung to. Actually, there was something. It has to do with the story of Esther. Perhaps I’ll share about that another time. (:

That’s why on Saturday morning when they called a youth leader meeting in a back room (with coffee. hello!) I bolted backstage to see what was up. I’ve never been to Believe, nor have I ever been a sponsor to any big event like this where there was a meeting just for us big shots. I originally wasn’t going to go, though I sort of wanted to, because I thought that the youth pastor would want to go back. But he blew it off and let me and someone else go because he thought it was just going to be the conference leaders trying to sell stuff for next year. False! It was the woman preacher. It was Heather Flies, giving a little speech about connecting with the middle schoolers.

Here’s what she had to say about middle school: it’s important to connect back to when we were in middle school. It’s important to feel that excitement of maybe getting a boyfriend or girlfriend, and it’s important to remember how it felt to get rejected. It’s important to remember when we got that really awesome grade on that really awesome project that we did, and it’s just as important to remember when we failed miserably and thought our world was going to end. So, to help us remember, she had us do a little exercise.

First, she had us turn to some people around us and describe our middle school selves in two words. I turned to my old youth pastor, Brian, and a dear friend of mine, Kelli, who were both there for my old church and we shared words. I actually had Brian describe my middle school self, because all I could think of to say were things like “awkward” and “annoying” and “lame.” Brian, in his good heartedness, said that in middle school I was shy and had a sort of quiet confidence about myself. I nodded vigorously at the “shy” part, and gave a great big laugh at the “quiet confidence part.” “Brian, I was anything but confident in middle school!” He replied with, “well, you seemed pretty confident to me!” And again, I laughed a sort of amused yet sad laugh and said “fake it ’till you make it, I guess,” to which Kelli gave me a high-five. Never in my life would I ever say I was anything remotely close to confident in middle school. Oh man, that was a trip!

After our self-descriptions, Heather had us share about that one boy or girl in middle school who we just had the biggest crush on. I never had just one boy in middle school, as a matter of fact I don’t remember really having anyone. Okay, that’s a bold-faced lie. (funny, right? haha) I did have someone. I couldn’t think of it in the moment, but I just remembered a boy right now as I’m typing this. His name was Brandon, and I was completely head-over-heels in middle school love with him. It was pathetic, and it was a crush that I nursed for quite a while. Really, it was more of a crutch-crush. Just something to hang on to. But, he was an okay guy, and now he’s a great guy, I’m sure. But, I digress. Since only Kelli could really recall anyone, we moved on pretty quickly. Then things got real serious, real fast.

Heather had us tell each other about our biggest pain in middle school. Only Brian shared, and it was about his grandfather’s death. I mean, I think it was his grandfather. I might be getting this wrong. Oh, dang it. Don’t tell Brian.

In any case, only Brian shared. Kelli and I just sort of looked at each other and made a “no way, Jose” face. But listening to Heather talk about her biggest middle school pains (which actually started in elementary school, much like my own pains) really pulled at my heart. While she was talking, I literally got an image in my mind of a wound. Like a heart, a medical heart not the valentine’s day hearts, with a gash in the side of it. It was deep, and painful, and so real within me. And this image still sticks with me, and I keep thinking back to it. Listening to Heather made me realize just how deep and painful and fresh and real my own elementary, middle, and high school wounds are. I have never once tried to think of a wound, purposely, with the intent of sharing it. So, thinking of one to share with Brian and Kelli was quite disturbing. My heart literally ached inside of me, and I could feel my stomach start to knot up.

Heather shares her story freely because it gives her a platform to speak to young teens.
Heather shares her story freely because those painful chains don’t bind her any longer.
Heather shares her story freely because through her story, junior high kids can have hope for their story.

My prayer for quite sometime has been for the Lord to bring up from within me the things that I have so desperately hidden. I’ve been praying for the Lord to bring to light the things I lock away and forget about in the darkness. I’ve been praying for the Lord to dig up the lies of my heart at the very root and in turn plant His Truths, because, quite simply, I’m sick and tired of the lies being my truths. I have been fed and have fed myself these lies for long enough. I want Truth. I want to know what Christ says about me. I want to know what Christ sees when he looks at me. I don’t want to look in the mirror and see the person that the world has continuously and relentlessly and ruthlessly told me I am… I want to see the person that Christ has continuously and relentlessly tried to tell me I am, even though I’ve continuously and relentlessly ignored His words. I want to believe Christ’s words. I want to hear them and believe them. I want to see God’s heart for me, and I want to know His heart for me, and I want to know His love for me. I want to believe it whole-heartedly. And I’m on my way to that place.

In all of this, I’ve learned that it’s important to remember where you came from, and anyone can tell you that. It’s not a big revelation or anything. J.Lo says that she’s still Jenny from the block, Faith Hill says she’s still a Mississippi girl, and Eminem knows that Marshall Mathers is the son of a 15 year old mom in Detroit and a constant resident of trailer parks. The point is, people know it’s important to remember your roots. Here’s my thing, I try and forget mine. And so far, friends, it’s worked. With the exception of a few painful memories that just seem to lurk around the edges of my heart, I’ve done a pretty fantastic job of forgetting everything that went on from grades K-12. I don’t want to remember the things people have said, or the things people have done, or the things I have said. I certainly wish I could forget the things I have done.

But I can’t. You can’t just block those things out. You have to remember where you come from. You have to remember so that you can connect with the junior high kids. Maybe you’re reading this right now and you’re thinking “I don’t give a rip about middle school kids. I hate kids.” Well, shut up. You still have people around you who need deep, real relationships. And if you’re not being real with yourself about the wounds that probably haven’t healed, chances are you can’t be real with the people around you. You’re probably a sourpuss. You sourpuss. Stop reading my blog.

So here I am at this crossroads: do I keep ignoring my wounds and bury them deep inside again in hopes that no one says or does anything that rips off the little band-aid, or do I do something really daring and brings these fears and pains and lies to light? Do I acknowledge the reality of my life, or do I continue living in this constant and perpetual cycle of denial and self-sufficiency?

Clearly, my favorite option is to ignore everything and go on pretending that I’m fine. It’s less painful on the surface, people think I’m invincible, and for the most part… I am pretty okay. But how realistic is that? How much less painful is it really? Because, I’m pretty sure it’s even more painful to just ignore these things until they pop up again. The wound will get deeper, and uglier, and bigger. The wound will get infected. It probably already is. If this wound was a flesh wound, I would have lost a limb by now! haha. For so long there’s just been this sort of emotional blood clot that stopped the wound from bleeding. And that’s cool. But blood clots are dangerous. Super dangerous. They can travel to the heart and kill you.

I don’t want my heart to be dead.

So, my only option is the one where I let myself bleed. The only option is the one where I am being intentional about this. The only option is the one where I am intentionally looking at my wounds, where I am letting myself really feel them. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything, that even pain is welcomed right now. And I think the pain is a much better choice than being numb, don’t you agree?

This, my friends, is what happened to me this weekend. This is how the Lord moved in my life.

Did I mention how if I hadn’t of gotten sick, I would have been in Clearwater all weekend and not at Believe?

Yeah.

Yeah. God did that. God wanted me at Believe, and He wanted me in that leaders meeting Saturday morning. He works for the good in all things for those who love Him, doesn’t He? And didn’t He work for the good in my being sick?

Oh, friends. God is real.