I have been in a funk. I have been dragged around by emotions I don’t understand until I feel like an empty shell and a lost cause. I have lots of questions and no answers. Confusion and discouragement pepper my journal pages:

– Somehow I got lost.
– Where am I? Where did I go?
– I feel like a failure. I feel condemned and alone and sad and afraid.
– I don’t know how to be. I don’t know who I am.
– I don’t matter. I am valuable only as I fulfill the roles I have been given to fulfill. I don’t enjoy my life. I don’t know how. I don’t have permission to. When I hear the words, “you do matter,” I think blah, blah, blah, that’s just a bunch of hogwash. Who are you? A fairy to grant me my dreams and wishes?
– “Be thankful. Smile. Be faithful.” Don’t feed me that crap. How can I love my life and hate it at the same time?
– Actually, I don’t think I hate my life. I think I hate myself.
– Surely there must be some relief. I don’t know how to be in this place.

Deep in my gut, my soul, my heart, I believe that my value is based on my performance. It is agonizing to perform poorly for weeks on end and be forced to face this monster. I have been wrestling the monster for years, and sometimes it gets easier. Right now it’s harder. As I wrestle and grieve and worry, God extends invitations.

Invited To Be

My brave husband, overwhelmed by the tearful shell of a wife he’s been living with, courageously asked what he could do to help me. I had no answer, so I took the question to God, and God said I need to be reminded of these things: everything is going to be ok. It’s ok to be broken and it’s ok to not know why. It’s ok to do the best I can and it’s ok for that to be small and basic. I don’t have to wallow, but I don’t have to fight either. I can just be. I can be grateful my daughters are relatively independent. I can be content with small things. I can learn to be safe with myself. I can praise God for being with me in this. I can be still. I can be imperfect. I can have a different capacity every day (I cannot express how frustrating this is for me!). I can read and listen to things that are affirming instead of challenging. I can be alone or I can reach out. I can have days in which my best feels more like my worst.

As I was driving downtown recently, a car passed me with these words big and bold across the rear windshield: “It’s ok to not be ok.” I took a deep breath. As the days pass, I keep circling back to these words and taking more deep breaths. It’s ok to not be ok. Discouragement and confusion does not make me unsuitable for life. When I feel tired and anxious, dialed up to ten, but seem only to have energy for emotional turmoil and none for the tasks of life: I can come and curl up in the arms of God, still and loved. I can trade lethargy and despair for permission to do less. I can admit my capacity is low. I can breathe deeply of love that is not earned. I can trust God’s strength instead of fearing my weakness. I can remember it’s ok to not be ok.

Jesus said, “But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things [the things you worry you won’t have] shall be added to you.” (Matthew 6:33, NKJV) That is a big promise. My skeptical side wonders if God knows how many things I worry about. Skepticism aside, what exactly is the “kingdom of God”? What would it look like in my life? It seems Jesus wanted people to know, because He told many stories beginning with the words, “The kingdom of heaven is like…”
– Letting myself be found and celebrated (Parables of the lost sheep and lost coin)
– Letting myself be cultivated – soil for seed (Parable of the sower)
– Letting myself be imperfect (Parable of the wheat and tares)
– Letting myself be the least (Parable of the mustard seed)
– Letting myself be slow (Parable of the leaven)
– Letting myself be treasured (Parable of the hidden treasure)
– Letting myself be sought (Parable of the pearl of great price)
– Letting myself be gathered (Parable of the dragnet)

When I look back over the list, I see – as if for the first time – the phrase “letting myself be…” God is inviting me to be. No explanations, no defenses, no requirements. No “right” or “wrong” way to be. My experience is valid as it is. I am invited to be. Lord, maybe today is less about what I do and more about who I am, and maybe who I am isn’t so scary if You are with me.

Invited To Be Seen

In God’s presence there is a priceless gift added to the permission to be: an invitation to be seen. I am learning to let God see me. But in the process of letting Him see me, I also see myself, and this can be painful and scary. I don’t realize how much I am hiding until He comes to find me. I am hiding from pain, but I am also hiding from love. I am hiding from my feelings, for fear that really feeling them will render me unable to function. I am hiding from the people I love, because I don’t want to frighten or burden them, and even more because I don’t want to be rejected by them. I am hiding from myself, because my own anger against myself is frightful, and my assessment of myself is scathing.

All this hiding is exhausting. Being seen is terrifying. It seems all options are agony. I consider an invitation from God to think about what I want, and this takes my terror to a whole new level. Wanting something is vulnerable. Wanting reveals my inner self. Wanting is frivolous. Wanting is not safe. Wanting is an invitation to be invalidated. In my heart, wanting is a minefield. Yet clearly, hiding behind my duties is choking me, and so – tentatively – I consider my wants. I speak them even though I feel mocked by them. I want to feel good at something. I want to follow God. I want some time when no one needs me. I want to have good posture. Gently God invites me to consider not just my general wants, but what I want today. This is getting very personal… I want to sit by the fire in my new chair and read. I want to laugh. I don’t want to think about meals, cooking, or food planning and shopping. I want to enjoy my children. Phew! I survived. I feel vulnerable, but to my surprise, saying what I want did not wreck me.

I am seen, and I am still invited to be. This means the invitation to be was not imaginary, contrived, or based on my being – my existence – turning out “right.” I am truly invited to be me – not the better version of myself that I am always competing with and losing to. Here I am, sad and vulnerable me, seen and affirmed in my messy existence.

Brené Brown ends “The Wholehearted Parenting Manifesto” with these words: “I will let you see me, and I will always hold sacred the gift of seeing you. Truly deeply seeing you.” God holds sacred the gift of seeing me. I am safe, I am honored, I am cherished. Even when I’m not ok.