Just ask for the ice cream [The follow-up]

"These things-the beauty, the memory of our own past- are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself, they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers.  For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited."

-CS Lewis in The Weight of Glory

***

Recently, I wrote a post about asking for what you truly want. What started as a simple conversation quickly turned into something much bigger, and before I knew it, I was receiving a lot of feedback on the topic.  For whatever reason, the post climbed in readership, where it sits second only to a post about  this website.

[Disclaimer: if you know nothing about Maddie the coonhound, or 

Theron Humphrey's current project, 

stop reading this and start reading that. It's much more interesting, I promise.]

***

I never thought the topic was particularly profound- in fact, I felt mildly guilty that people were sharing it under my name.  The concept was not original to my mind- I simply decided to write it down. But I think I get it. I think we all like the idea that we might get what we want. We want to believe that our desires matter, and sometimes good things just happen. Our human nature is programmed to receive more naturally than to give, yet we spend much of our lives fighting grace and good things that come because we think we should.  I think it's a beautifully intricate concept to learn how to accept gifts, and it was refreshing to think that sometimes, it okay just to ask for what we really want, and even more beautiful to experience hopeful anticipation.  

But here's the thing: I didn't get what I wanted.  It's weird to want something so badly & not get it. Sometimes we can want something for an extraordinary amount of time, to the point where we are consumed by the desire for it. Other times, we simply wake up one day & realize that we just don't want it any more. The latter is a bizarre experience, because in the days that followed, I found myself genuinely contemplating whether or not I actually had ever wanted it in the first place. Desires of the heart are complicated like that.  The past few weeks, I've been thinking about what I want. Here's what I've concluded: 

Even when I get what I want, it just doesn't fulfill me. I want what's next & I will always want what's next. My desires are cheapened when they are always granted.  My prayer is that God would not necessary grant for me what I ask from him. Instead, I pray he awakens & transforms my desires by giving me himself- my deepest, yet unrecognized desire. I pray that this transformation allows me to turn from the wells that I believe give me life & reveal to me a fountain which fulfills me beyond what I am aware I want or need.  Breathing freedom from want-for the first time, or for the hundredth time- is a beautiful thing. 

Just ask for the ice cream

The other night I got a phone call from this girl. She & I met my junior year at 

CSU when I found myself leading her freshman bible study & desperately wanting

her to think I was cool. My plan worked, & we became fast friends, sharing a love for trail running, nutrition, Jesus, & the outdoors. Over the next four years, we built a friendship that I 

grew to deeply cherish. 

The phone call was short, & for the most part, insignificant. It was a welcome relief from the marathon

of paper writing I was participating in, yet I wasn't able to give it much time. I had briefly stepped outside of the coffee shop I was working at for the night, & before I had to return to my papers, I 

mentioned to her some of the prayer requests I had lately. She was familiar with most of them, &  I shared with her my frustration that nothing was really moving forward. 

She assured me that she would continue praying, &  I knew she meant it. It's a rare thing

to be able to fully trust someone in that way, & I have been recently reminded of the blessing

of friends who just know you like that. One of the last things she said to me is this: 

"Laura, just ask for the ice cream. It's what you want."

I've been thinking about it ever since. 

Out of context, it sounds a little bit bizarre. But the simplicity of the analogy contains

a profound truth about what I believe about God, & I am so thankful she pointed it out. 

Lately, when it comes to prayer, I approach God from a standpoint of, 

"If it is your will, do                        ." & there's nothing wrong with that. 

In fact, there's something beautiful about abandoning control through praying for God's

ultimate direction in your life. It helps me recognize how big he is & how small I am.

But somewhere in the process of wanting him to transform & awaken my desires,

I've lost the childlike anticipation of asking him for what I really want. 

It is easiest for me to envision God when I think of myself as his child, his daughter.

A child approaches her dad and says, "Dad, I want some ice cream." It's simple.

But instead, I find my requests sounding a little more like this: 

 "Dad, if you want to, could you maybe give me some ice cream?

It's totally fine if not, because it might hurt my stomach, or I might be allergic, 

or it will totally ruin my dinner plans, & I really don't want you to 

think I'm greedy, & actually, nope, I'm fine with what I have because 

you know what's best for me, & you probably would have given it to me 

already if you wanted me to have it." 

It's crazy, & all of the innocence & expectation of the request is robbed by my

inability to vocalize what it really is that I want. I fear the request itself,

 but what I really should be wondering is whether or not I am okay with

the answer I might receive. God has the power to say, "No." Because

maybe I am allergic, & maybe eating ice cream will be more detrimental to me than good.

Or maybe he'll say, "Sure thing. But how about you wait an hour, because you just

ate & you won't appreciate it fully in this moment." 

But maybe, he'll say, "Yes." & like any good dad, he is delighted by

my request with abandoned hope that he is good & he wants to give me

the desires of my heart. 

***

So here's to asking for what you want. Not the filtered, watered down

version of what you think you deserve, but what you really want. & here's

to expectantly seeking the answer with the full conviction that he is, indeed, a good dad. 

Lessons on provision.

I found myself lying awake at 4 this morning, after a fitful few hours of attempted sleep. I got into bed completely exhausted, & it made little sense as to why sleep just wouldn't come.

My body, mind, & soul all felt restless in every sense of the word.  

My head raced through conversations, scenarios, & interactions I'd

had over the past couple days. If I'm honest in my introspection, I could say that I sort of knew a night

like this was coming. I spent most of the day unsuccessfully battling a heavy heart & I attempted sleep at the summit of the heartache. I hate sleepless nights like this, but lately

I've become more familiar with them. 

I can't help but relate to the words of this song:

"Even in my dreams, I am restless... looking for you."

It's strange how sleeplessness & the hours in the middle of the night can 

influence your perspective so deeply. As I sat in my bed, I felt a hopelessness fill

my bedroom, & every small thought on my mind- from my growing to-do list to

the deeper matters of my heart- seemed to be magnified by my exhaustion & lack of rest. 

In that moment, I was overwhelmed by my inability to control even the simplest thing

like sleep. 

I checked my phone in an attempt to distract my mind from my heart, 

& saw a text that said this: 

"God is our strength & our portion. He is more than enough."  

The timing & truth of those words was magnified in that moment, & as

that understanding grew, my mind slowly grew more clear.

For the first time since I had gotten into bed hours before, I felt myself relax. 

At 4 in the morning, in my dark, quiet bedroom, I felt my spirit change.

It is moments like these when I am paralyzed by God's timeliness & provision.

He uses such creative ways to speak to my heart, & it is truly beautiful. 

My prayer on this day is that I might consciously choose to return to that first

love that I have abandoned when I find myself hopeless or heavy-hearted.

It is my prayer for you, too. 

Reflections on a Year of Growth

“Rejoice, my heart. You’ve been made whole by a love that will not let you go.”

        Just hours before I found myself sobbing in his passenger seat, I had clicked “publish” to my most recent blog post titled,  “1095 days.” The irony in the documentation of our third anniversary on the day he broke up with me stole the breath from my lungs, but seemed eerily conclusive at the same time. For a moment, I almost appreciated how on-schedule things had come full circle. In that moment, I saw our entire relationship-- from the moment he bravely grabbed my hand, 1095 days before, to this conversation in his passenger seat-- flash before me. Despite knowing in my deepest heart that our expiration date had arrived, I remember thinking, “If he were to propose in this very moment, my answer would be ‘yes’.” I knew nothing about how much could change in a year.

            The following days were a blur of crying-induced migraines followed by emotional numbness. I didn’t know it then, but the numbness would stay with me for a while. For the first time in my life, I was afraid to be alone & I found every excuse to be in a room full of strangers as often as possible. I avoided anyone who knew me, [who knew us] because tangled within my broken heart lived the fear that verbalizing our break-up validated its reality. Denial seeped into my bones,  & immediately, I began preparing for restoration. For 3 weeks, I waited for his call. I waited for his realization that letting me go was the biggest mistake he’d ever made, & I waited for God to just answer what I asked of him: Why wouldn’t he just fix things? I knew nothing about how much could change in a year.

        I spent the next 8 months floundering in and out of frustration with my heart’s inability to heal, & if I’m really honest, still waiting for that call.  I dreamt of him every night for weeks at a time, and I feared each morning that followed because it brought the perpetual discovery that brokenness was my reality. Each day felt like the rebirth of sadness, devoid of healing. My heart ached like it never had before. I knew nothing about how much could change in a year.

-----

Here I am, a year later. For the first time in 4 years, I watched April 8^th pass without any significant value besides the fact that the weather here in Nashville was the most beautiful it’s been in quite some time. The year that has passed since I sat in his passenger seat for the last time has been so different than I ever imagined. I dreaded this day for so long. While there were countless moments of peace and understanding, there were also moments when I genuinely believed I wouldn't know happiness again. But as each day passed, I slowly rebuilt my life without him, finding sincere joy in the process. I discovered the miraculous beauty of being honest with myself & others, and I began to taste the sweetness of redemption in a way I've never known before. I will forever remember this year as a time when I learned true surrender, deep healing, & the freedom of a foundational trust in the direction of my life by a loving, gentle God. I felt what I never thought I'd feel: This chapter is over, & it's good.

On this day,  I have more to be thankful for than I ever thought possible. As I reflect on the past year, I can truthfully say that I am falling in love with the day-to-day journey I am on.

 I know much about what can change in a year.

-Laura

Mental Health & Brokenness

“There are some who take anti-depressants and communion and there are those who think both are a crutch.” –Ann Voskamp

Last Saturday, upon hearing the news that Rick Warren’s son had committed suicide after a long battle with depression and mental illness, my heart broke.  My heart broke for his family & those who knew him well, & my heart broke for the realization of depravity, that death always seems to reveal. Despite our efforts to recognize the beauty that can result after it is over, death is never a pretty thing.

Humans weren’t meant to suffer.

Humans weren’t meant to take their own lives.

Humans weren’t meant to die.

           But as it often does, heartbreak reveals the disintegration of what was meant to be.  Hearts weren’t meant to break. But they do, & their brokenness mirrors a broken world that will continue to break, aching to be redeemed. On Saturday, I found myself painfully aware of my desire for redemption here. I wanted it now.

          When I chose to pursue occupational therapy, I knew that mental health would be a world I would become submersed in. Despite my habituation to the topic, hearing about these tragedies never gets easier for me. & I hope it never does.  As I first sat down to write this post, I wanted to talk about the broader scope of public opinion behind mental health. But after reading comment after comment about how this man’s death could have and should have been prevented-most lacking a shred of compassion or understanding for the complexity behind depression & mental illness- I changed my mind. I couldn’t handle the stigmas I found, the ignorance, or the lack of sensitivity for such a painful subject. My cynicism didn’t need the fuel. Instead, I found myself thinking about the bigger picture. Not everybody is depressed. Not everybody wants to take his or her own life. But everybody is broken.

He is.

I am.

You are.

Thoughts like this keep me up at night, but thankfully, that is not the end of the story.  All week, I’ve been thinking about the conclusion that is yet to come—the redemption that I feel my heart longing for, where there is no more death, longing, or pain.  My heart aches for it now, but I can rest in the promise that it is coming. 

“Light pried through the dark. A shaft came through the window like a lifeline.  & The birds sang, & we heard them.” 

What Might Have Been [Part 2]

          Every once in a while, I experience an epiphany that I've already had before. They are the same thoughts twice, & the only difference between the two is the recognition that I have changed between the first and second occurrences. This morning, as I sat in church, I had an overwhelming realization that this was happening. For almost an hour, I sat in contemplation of how my life has progressed over the past 12 months and how things might have been had things not have unfolded the way they did.

           I have dreaded the month of April for an entire year now. It hasn’t hung as heavy upon me recently as it once did, but the idea of a year passing has gently pressed on my mind on good days, & pervasively stolen my concentration on bad ones. While sitting in the darkened sanctuary this morning, thoughts regarding “what might have been” leaked into my mind in the softest way possible at first, but before I knew it, I could think of nothing else. 

[I’ve mentioned it before, but this tends to be how thoughts sneak up on me.]

            Back in June, I was reading “Bittersweet” by Shauna Niequist and was struck by the truth that time was passing like it always does, yet my circumstances were drastically changing. I was crippled by an inability to fix things or slow life down, and I wrote this blog post. In that moment, I dreaded the following year more than I’ve dreaded anything. The proceeding months after that post brought a slow wave of peace into my heart, & until this morning, I genuinely thought I wouldn’t think of it again.

            But this morning I did. As I confronted the beauty that has unfolded in the recent months, I became instantly overcome by thankfulness that things did not happen like they might have last April. Sacrifices that I could have [& was willing] to make don’t need to be made. Compromises that I could have [& was willing] to make don’t need to be made. I am so very thankful for the opportunity I was given to start new. It’s a new year, and I am thankful for it.