It was the middle of the night and we were driving 72 miles an hour; still nowhere near home. I swayed my head passionately and sang like I was on stage. Ryland stared forward to the black with white lines; ignoring Celine Dion and me for the 5th time. My mouth sings the words but my heart meditates on other things: don’t forget to email that bride, I wonder how i will feel when i see my dad’s house for the last time?, why can’t i ever get to the bottom of that laundry pile in our bedroom? is this all there is? life seems so much shorter now in light of this year. I am almost 25 years old—am i going to have time to become all of the things I have wanted to be? and even if I become those things, will i perform them completely?
My mouth pauses to keep up with my thoughts….Finally ambitions emerge: “Ryland, keep me accountable…someday, I want to learn how to play the cello.”
I know how to play the piano, flute, & guitar…but if I learn to play the cello—then I will really feel the music. Those slow deep notes dancing behind the melody stroke my soul and make me sink deeper into life. It’s warm, it’s full. I will feel life deep down in myself and then I will know God the most I can know him… because I will know life as much as I can. Is that the truth? Jesus says in John 10:10 that he has come to give us life to the full.
But so often, I don’t feel that way; the full life that Jesus promises. when I found out that I was pregnant, I immediately bought school supplies…invisible emotional school supplies at least. I felt the school supply feelings: hopeful. ambitious. charged up. armed for battle. “I am going to be the most awesome mom there ever was!!!!!! up up and away with a “M” labeled cape!” It was the same thing when Ryland and I were engaged, reading books on characteristics of a godly woman and my role as a wife. “Ryland will just be so blown away by how prepared I am to rock his world forever-more.”
Then life happens and I unravel disgracefully. The words in those books, my charged up heart, and I all fall together in a downward spiral; crying and stomping my feet to the rhythm of upwelling feelings that I can’t do it. I can’t do it. God must smile patiently at my skipping record that keeps playing the same tune; the constant convincing myself that the goal of all this yearning is to not need Jesus. When I get there, I will still want him; It is just that he will be a little flashy emblem on my life, like a stamp on a letter. In my mind, Jesus tends to be the “little something extra” at the end of my hard work instead of what he should be: the envelope. My life tucked in and sealed.
I admit with a loose tongue how sinful my heart is… but doesn’t it always hurt more when those confessions come alive? It’s easy to admit failure when it’s in the past but what about when my heart is wound up so tight in the very eye of the storm? There is comfort in the fact that it is socially acceptable for people to be generally messed up—everyone would admit a little imperfection. The problem comes when I let my “enemies”, the general public, my friends, my family, my husband, my son; or god see specific things that i am failing in. THAT is when I start squirming and overflow with anxiety—someone is seeing my ugly nakedness—someone is seeing my need for Jesus, and i don’t like it. Somebody throw me some fig leaves!
When will i be there? The place where I am completely covered and beautiful. Where I am good at everything. Where I am patient but also a go-getter. Where I put the laundry away but relax enough to breathe life in. Where I learn to cook and play the cello. Where I don’t clip my dogs toe-nails too short or spray Oakley in the face with the shower head during bath time. Where I feel the emptiness of my dad not being here but get over it and move on with life in the right amount of time. Where I have discernment of when to listen but also when to speak up and share the gospel too. Where I am the bride ryland thought he was getting instead of an emotional, needy, lazy wife. Where is this place? When will i get there? Oh I rest in this moment in the words of God:
“For Zion’s sake I will not keep silent, for Jerusalem’s sake I will not remain quiet, till her righteousness shines out like the dawn, her salvation like a blazing torch. The nations will see your righteousness and all kings your glory; you will be called by a new name that the mouth of the Lord will bestow. You will be a crown of splendor in the Lord’s hand, a royal diadem in the hand of your God. No longer will they call you deserted or name your land desolate. But you will be called Hephzibah (“my delight is in her”) and your land Beulah (“married”). For the Lord will take delight in you, and your land will be married…as a bridegroom rejoices over his bride, so will your God rejoice over you.” Isaiah 62:1-5
Jesus makes me beautiful. He brings me to “there” because he becomes those things for me. Jesus is not my means to an end; a place where he drops me off to get the rest of the way myself—he is my means to the end. I am there when I surrender and let him do it for me. He wears the cape. He is loving Ryland perfectly. He is guiding Oakley perfectly. He will think I am complete even if i never learn to play the cello. And he thinks my emotional mess is beautiful because it is the tower from which he can rescue me.
Don’t believe in the lives of people on facebook. We are all messy behind the screen. I assure you that am not there as a wife, a mother, a daughter, a friend, a photographer, and certainly not as a daughter of the King…I need Jesus. desperately. so so desperately.
Jesus, I have come to your salon/spa…do me up right and present me to the King! And don’t let me get up from that styling chair until you are done! I want to be the most beautiful bride.
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(Ryland and I on our wedding day)
