a balancing act
Actions speak louder than words...which creates a sort of conundrum for us,
here in this place. Many of you can't see me, or bump into me at the
restaurant, or be around my friends and co-workers to verify if my actions are
matching up with all these words. Mostly, you either have to trust or assume,
both of which can be like walking a tight-rope.
I'd love to tell you that I am constantly practicing patience and love, exuding confidence and kindness, and pouring out words of wisdom in my day-to-day life. I'd love for you to think that what you read is what you get. And, for the most part, it is. These things that I write come from a very sacred place within, and I am honored to be able to express such honesty through this kind of art. However, I have yet to find the place where I don't worry about what to do with my marriage, the place where I am kind—even to the people who continue to wrong me or hurt me deeply, the place where all things are good—even the struggles, and the place where I never look down from the heavens. I'm just not there yet.
And most days I am able to acknowledge that I am in my mid-twenties (when do you go from young twenties to mid again? that happened overnight), and so it is possible that I am still growing into that. Other days, I look at women younger than me who are walking-talking women of the Bible. Most days, I recognize that my situations are currently quite rocky and each day presents a new battle, so I should cut myself some slack. Other days, I recognize the bigger picture--the picture that is telling me I've got to stand firm in faith and faith alone, regardless of the seas under my boat.
However you look at it, each day is a little different for me lately—ups and downs, hopes and letdowns; they all create a calendar for high-strung, out of control, wishy-washy emotions, and I just have a hard time putting those aside.
This presents—urges, rather—the opportunity for me to make a choice. I can trust that God has it all figured out and that He's handling the situation, or, I can assume He'll let me flounder here, gasping for air and peace. I can trust that He sees all the people in my life--the good and the bad—and that He knows their hearts, and He'll mend and heal and convict those hearts on His own. Or, I can assume that I'll need to fix everyone and everything, and let people know what they've done in order to obtain forgiveness. I can trust that even though this situation looks endless and hopeless, and it appears as though I'll never be in a summer season again, there is a God who saves.
I can't assume that God will completely turn the situation around in an instant, washing away all the trouble, because then I find a place of expectation of God to fit in my box. I can't ask Him to do it my way, for the sake of me, to better my world, just like I can't guilt someone into acting and reacting the way I want, but I can trust that I was not created for a world of such pain and hurt, and I won't forever be stuck in this place. You see, this tight-rope is tricky.
It's hard to get—this idea of not assuming God will do, but trusting that God will do, and not expecting Him to do it this way, but expecting Him to be great because He is and He's told us we can. Trusting is a lot easier than assuming or expecting because it's a lot closer to faith than those other words are. Finding faith in the forest is a very difficult thing, but very often all we've got. Plus, no one makes an ass outta you and me that way.
So, please trust me that I strive to be better, more faithful, kinder, but please don't assume that I've got it all together. That assumption almost puts me in a different category, and I like being in this category with you--the category of seeking and looking. My husband and I are working on listening to convictions instead of condemnation, hoping that we'll find healing and joy. I'd rather be one of "these" than one of "those" in this instance.
It's stinkin' hard out here, trust me. I won’t ever be perfect or what you might expect, trust me in that too. But that’s the best part—I don’t have to be. If I could obtain perfection, then why did Jesus die? He died because He loves you, because He does want to save you—and hopefully that’s what prompts you to trust in a place like this. Don’t assume He wants you to be perfect either, just trust that He knows you aren’t and loves you anyway.
Have a question? Need to talk? Email me at aly717@hotmail.com and we’ll chat. <3
I'd love to tell you that I am constantly practicing patience and love, exuding confidence and kindness, and pouring out words of wisdom in my day-to-day life. I'd love for you to think that what you read is what you get. And, for the most part, it is. These things that I write come from a very sacred place within, and I am honored to be able to express such honesty through this kind of art. However, I have yet to find the place where I don't worry about what to do with my marriage, the place where I am kind—even to the people who continue to wrong me or hurt me deeply, the place where all things are good—even the struggles, and the place where I never look down from the heavens. I'm just not there yet.
And most days I am able to acknowledge that I am in my mid-twenties (when do you go from young twenties to mid again? that happened overnight), and so it is possible that I am still growing into that. Other days, I look at women younger than me who are walking-talking women of the Bible. Most days, I recognize that my situations are currently quite rocky and each day presents a new battle, so I should cut myself some slack. Other days, I recognize the bigger picture--the picture that is telling me I've got to stand firm in faith and faith alone, regardless of the seas under my boat.
However you look at it, each day is a little different for me lately—ups and downs, hopes and letdowns; they all create a calendar for high-strung, out of control, wishy-washy emotions, and I just have a hard time putting those aside.
This presents—urges, rather—the opportunity for me to make a choice. I can trust that God has it all figured out and that He's handling the situation, or, I can assume He'll let me flounder here, gasping for air and peace. I can trust that He sees all the people in my life--the good and the bad—and that He knows their hearts, and He'll mend and heal and convict those hearts on His own. Or, I can assume that I'll need to fix everyone and everything, and let people know what they've done in order to obtain forgiveness. I can trust that even though this situation looks endless and hopeless, and it appears as though I'll never be in a summer season again, there is a God who saves.
I can't assume that God will completely turn the situation around in an instant, washing away all the trouble, because then I find a place of expectation of God to fit in my box. I can't ask Him to do it my way, for the sake of me, to better my world, just like I can't guilt someone into acting and reacting the way I want, but I can trust that I was not created for a world of such pain and hurt, and I won't forever be stuck in this place. You see, this tight-rope is tricky.
It's hard to get—this idea of not assuming God will do, but trusting that God will do, and not expecting Him to do it this way, but expecting Him to be great because He is and He's told us we can. Trusting is a lot easier than assuming or expecting because it's a lot closer to faith than those other words are. Finding faith in the forest is a very difficult thing, but very often all we've got. Plus, no one makes an ass outta you and me that way.
So, please trust me that I strive to be better, more faithful, kinder, but please don't assume that I've got it all together. That assumption almost puts me in a different category, and I like being in this category with you--the category of seeking and looking. My husband and I are working on listening to convictions instead of condemnation, hoping that we'll find healing and joy. I'd rather be one of "these" than one of "those" in this instance.
It's stinkin' hard out here, trust me. I won’t ever be perfect or what you might expect, trust me in that too. But that’s the best part—I don’t have to be. If I could obtain perfection, then why did Jesus die? He died because He loves you, because He does want to save you—and hopefully that’s what prompts you to trust in a place like this. Don’t assume He wants you to be perfect either, just trust that He knows you aren’t and loves you anyway.
Have a question? Need to talk? Email me at aly717@hotmail.com and we’ll chat. <3
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