Think of this post as a letter from God to you. Obviously, His real letter to us is His Word. But I felt like God was sharing these things with me when I was let down recently. He spoke words of comfort, assurance, and strength when I felt distressed, insecure, and weary.
Your therapist told you to feel your grief. To stop avoiding your frustration. To sit in your discomfort. To face your pain. And you promised her that you would. So you did. You felt your grief, stopped avoiding your frustration, sat in your discomfort, and faced your pain. But you didn’t feel any better. Instead, you felt more upset and more hopeless than you did before. Why?
What did you want to be when you grew up? And what did you end up being when you grew up? This is what I realized recently: "Wow, I’m grown up now…and I’m not what I wanted to be."
I know you’re eager for all the suffering to end. Right. This. Second. But God doesn’t want us to get too comfortable in a place that isn’t our real home. We only have to rest for a little while longer.
I’ve entrusted my heart to way too many people in my life. Thus, way too many people have disappointed me. Although this is difficult to admit, it’s partially our fault when people disappoint us. They can only disappoint us if we put too much faith, hope, or trust in them. No one deserves our hearts except the One who created them and holds them tenderly.
I know that I almost allowed anorexia nervosa to ruin my life. Thankfully, God intervened. Perhaps you also realize that your eating disorder could’ve ruined your life. But also realize this: you are not your eating disorder.
I bet we would all say that we hope 2021 is better than 2020. But what if it’s not? What if 2021 is worse than 2020? My goal for this post is not to make you lose hope but to point you to a hope that we can’t lose.
I know how icky our emotions can seem at Christmastime. They bubble up and bubble over, and we panic. We don’t know what to do with these uncomfortable feelings, so we do anything and everything to not think about them. To brush them to the back of our minds. To forget they exist. And that seems to sort of work. At least temporarily. Until we are completely and utterly alone.