Mountains and Mustard Seeds

Hey guys, it’s been a while. Nearly two months actually. I started to have people reach out and talk to me about this journal. I guess it made it real - that people would actually care to read what I have to say. It stopped being this stream of consciousness online diary and became something through which I’m perceived. And it raised a lot of questions for me.

How vulnerable am I really willing to be? Am I comfortable saying fuck and talking about less than Christian topics within the scope of other people reading this? If my end goal is to end up in ministry, how real do I have the freedom to be and how polished should I make this thing?

I have quite a few half written journal entries here. I started to read my writing as outside eyes peering in and second guessing what should be said and left unsaid. I also moved and took on more responsibility at work and entered into a new season with little man. I’ve been overwhelmed and unsure and on the verge of burnout these last few weeks. With the number one goal of seeming fine.

I guess I've landed in the place of radical and untethered expression. If I write and create from a space of being perceived, I’m almost sure this writing will be useless. Anything really worth a damn is out on the horizon of fear and exhiliration and risk. There is no safety in creation, only the mad determined will of that quiet voice begging you to listen. And though I could put on the face and the clothes and the voice of someone far more put together than my reality, I think it might be more fun and less soul crushing to be real. To treat you as a 2am friend in the corner booth of the bar where the prying eyes of civility have long since gone to bed.

So hi. Fuck. Let’s catch up.

I’ve been on my inward journey for five months now. To recap, I stopped dating and drinking and smoking (and really doing anything too fun,) in the interest of searching inward. I had a deeply spiritual experience in the jungle of Mexico and realized that everything I am seeking is within myself. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, I stepped back onto US soil sure that I had the key to existence. We simply have to let go of the momentary joys and fulfillment in the interest of something deeper. We have to cut off the quick dopamine and restless adrenaline to allow something quieter and mightier to come through. Here’s how it’s going:

I dread quiet time with God. Everything in me rebels when I grab my Bible and journal in search of somewhere quiet to listen to Him.

I spent the last week smoking pot and eating cake and didn't workout once.

On Saturday I had two drinks just to feel less socially awkward. It did not work.

My house is half unpacked, waiting for me to find the will and the time to make it fully functioning.

I made out with a long time friend of mine that I used to have a thing for. He leaned in, and for a minute, I just wanted to be a 28 year old girl having fun and not this 100 year old philosophy professor who lives in my head. It was fun. Him and I have nothing in common.

I have failed at being sober and alone. I have not had a grand spiritual awakening. I am not instantly fantastic at becoming a completely new person and I find that disappointing.

I am on the verge of tears but can’t seem to cry. I am mourning, I think. Quietly, in the background of my life. Mourning the life I thought I would live. The family I would have. The people who I thought would still be here.

I’ve been writing in my actual journal more as I navigated how to treat this little online forum. Here’s an entry from a couple weeks ago. It was during a serendipitous moment when everything cleared and I sat with God overlooking the ocean and wildflowers. One of those moments when everything felt gentle and peaceful and Roman slept and God and I chatted.

“Joyce sat on the couch across from me and told me her story. I remember thinking when she walked in, she had that perfect Christian vibe. The one I had never mastered. Then she started speaking.

She had gotten pregnant unexpectedly, like me. She was 22 at the time. She stayed with the dad for a few years, hoping to make it work, but knew in her heart he wasn't the right man for her. So she did the very scary thing of leaving, trusting that God had more for her.

‘Because that’s what God does. He takes our messiness and our mistakes and writes the most beautiful story out of them.’

Her words brought me to my knees. Not because they were eloquent or complex or dripping in metaphor. For the exact opposite actually. They were simple and true and full of the love of God. It’s something that can’t be faked.

‘Approach the Word like God having a secret for you. Let it speak life into you.’”

For all my plots and plans and determination to be someone else, I don’t think that is going to happen. I don’t think there is a finish line for me to cross. I think perhaps this is it. Perhaps the magic is simple. It is allowing God to speak life into you. Maybe the more I do that, the more polished I’ll become. Or perhaps, the exact opposite will happen.

I am a flawed and bleeding and profoundly human thing on this planet. I want to continue the work of going inward. Perhaps with less control. With hands more open to the approaching moment. I want to experience God as a secret waiting for me, not a box I checked for today.

In the interest of that, I am opening the Bible and asking God for a verse. I hear Philippians 1:3 - something about finishing a good work that has been started in you. Today it is with the faith of a mustard seed that I trust there is a greater work at play in my life. And for today that will be enough. Cheers.