I cried on three separate occasions in the car on Sunday afternoon. All of the feelings I had been cramming down in the trenches, the reserves of my mind and heart, came flooding towards the surface in an uncontrollable torrent. Days like that are few and far between now. We were on our way to lunch with friends after church when the tears came pouring and I learned that the mascara that claimed to be waterproof was anything but. I pulled down the visor mirror and gasped, quickly pressing tissues to my cheeks in hopes of minimizing the chance of anyone noticing the very obvious streaks that had appeared.
I wrote in my journal awhile back about being a highly sensitive person + introvert. I wrote about how hard it is to make friends as an adult, post college. As the hot salt rolled down my cheeks, daring to dive off my chin, I had assured myself — no, let the enemy assure me — that there was no place for me. My mind wandered to the girl who practically turns cartwheels to welcome people into our church, the girl who makes the color-coded spreadsheets and makes sure everyone knows where to go; the guy whose face exudes joy in spite of not enough hours at work, and he leads worship with such tangible passion; the girl who sings and has the perfect
teeth everything, even my husband working in the tech booth each week.
I bang maniacally on these keys, pounding and smoothing out my thoughts like a blacksmith who can’t ever get it quite right, but for the life of him, can’t fathom giving up. I sew together a few syllables now and then that show up on a screen for the whole world wide web to see, but sometimes that doesn’t seem very meaningful. And I sit and hash this out, chewing my bottom lip, poring over all of this and realizing how it all sounds incredibly whiny. Its a vicious cycle that leaves me all the worse for the wear, until I remember sweet Bekah, who said she was in the same boat. She asked me to keep going, to keep being real about this season of my life.
Because at the end of the day, there’s more to this than not being picked for the kickball team.
The Word says that we are His masterpieces, but honestly, most of the time I feel more like my flower girl’s finger painting, still hanging on my fridge almost ten months after the wedding.
Ephesians continues that the Lord has prepared something just for us: before the foundation of the world, He knew us; knit us together for a purpose.
Me — highly sensitive, introverted, deeply caring. Designed to house glory and promise. Divinely purposed. There’s no use in dressing it up, though. Not knowing what that purpose is can be incredibly deflating. It can be lonely, even for an introvert who draws energy from being alone. Its isolating, no matter the season of life.
I would venture to say that the first year after finishing college is one of the loneliest of a person’s life. Quarter life crisis time, we shrinky people like to call it. Faced with choices like whether or not to start a family or get my masters degree or keep working in social services or what in the world am I doing and what do I possibly have to offer to make the world better?
Do I really believe that I am here in this right now for such a time as this? Do I believe that the Lord is in control, and that He really is unequivocally for me? Sometimes it seems as though the electrical line between my head and heart shorts out.
Lord, I believe, but help my unbelief.
Will you pray with me, friend? The promise is that He will generously provide wisdom when we are in need. He will make the path straight. He will provide for our needs according to His riches and glory. He is able to do immeasurably more. Pray for vision and opportunities to minister, for open doors, divine appointments.
I’m saying yes and amen.
Please let me know how I can come alongside you in prayer, as well. I would love nothing more than to hear your story and how the Lord is working in your life.