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.