Sometimes the most poignant, impactful reminders of truth
come from people who are simply speaking candidly, graciously, and truthfully
from a heart that has been transformed by a loving, gracious, and truthful God.
This past week, there were many times when I needed to be
reminded of truth. This is a season of change for me, and sometimes the
magnitude of those changes is a little unnerving. College undergrad is
officially ending. My time in Lynchburg is drawing to a close, and relocation
is looming on the horizon yet again. Friendships are going to change, as the diaspora
of the tightly-knit community of Liberty nursing seniors takes each of us to different
places all over the nation—even all over the world. There’s the pressure of
finding a new place to live, of finding a job, of searching for a new church
community in a new city, of forming new friendships...
And when I think about all of that, and really sit back
and soak in the potential magnitude of each one of those factors, it’s a little
overwhelming.
I would like to say that being overwhelmed causes me to
pray, sing, encourage my friends, make cookies, read my Bible, or engage in
other effective, happy, admirable coping patterns, because that would just be
really great, right? Of course right.
But more often than not, unfortunately, I’m afraid I respond
with not-so-effective coping patterns like…fuming, being grumpy, making extensive
lists of things-I-should-be-doing-but-ain’t, and just generally not enriching
the planet by modeling how faith in action is supposed to look. Yeah. Pretty
much that.
By Friday of this past week, I had been looking entirely
too much at the veritable mountain of homework calling my name, the pile of
other responsibilities, and the river of uncertainties waiting on the other
side of the chasm called college graduation. I was a little overwhelmed. And
more than a little grumpy.
And I was frustrated with myself for being grumpy and
overwhelmed, because, I mean, hello? By the time someone hits their
mid-twenties, they’re supposed to be practically perfect in every way, like
Mary Poppins, and perpetually happy, and able to fly on their umbrella, and
stuff, right? Well, maybe not the flying on the umbrella thing. But whatever.
You get the idea.
Thus it was that I found myself sitting beside my awesome
man on Friday night, apologizing for the fact that I’d been stewing and fussing
under my breath all evening, and yet, even as I apologized, I confess I was
still feeling more than a little out-of-sorts as I thought about all that
needed to get done in the next twenty four hours. (My man, incidentally, I have
found to be practically impossible to exasperate, because he seems to have the
patience of Mother Theresa and the imperturbable good humor of Robin Williams…God
knew he’d need both, I’m guessing).
Jon is also one of the most patient listeners I have ever
met, bless his heart, and so he just sat there, and listened, and took my hand,
and listened some more, and nodded understandingly, and patted my hand, and
nodded again (I talk when I’m stressed, I found out. A lot. Like, a verrrry
lot). And then, he smiled—a very patient, slightly-amused kind of smile, and leaning
in close, he said in a low voice,
“You know…it’s ok to be human.”
That was all he said. And that was all he needed to say.
Somehow, it was what I needed to hear—to remember that it’s
ok to not have it all together. It’s ok to struggle. It’s ok to mess up, freak
out, fall apart, and just generally not be superwoman. Contrary to popular
personal opinion, the world doesn’t end when that happens.
So grateful for grace. For second chances. For people in
my life who remind me that it’s ok to feel and admit weakness. For a God who
accepts us as we are, and, in His wisdom, uses those weaknesses of ours to
showcase His strength.
Although I still think it’d be really great to be able to
fly on an umbrella. Talk about handy.