the undoing: there is more (a journey from depression to expression)

A few weeks after the World Race, I spent a few days in Denver with a couple of good friends. I have a vivid memory of sitting at a tall table, drinking a coffee, and gushing in my journal to God, “I didn’t know you could be this good.”

Fast forward two months, I spiraled into an abyss of disillusionment. I realized the limitations and absurdity of my dreams. They were too small. And if I achieved them, what then? Was I chasing my tail? Am I really living out my calling? 

Is there more?

I shook my fists towards the sky and fought the urge to tear that “I didn’t know you could be this good” page out.

I was furious with God. I felt betrayed and confused. He didn’t seem so good to me anymore. It scared me sh**less (for lack of a better term… I know it’s juvenile). 

The last time I felt this depth of anguish was when my brother was killed.

Grief suppressed, 

now unleashed.

The thing about grief… it must be expressed. If you don’t give grief expression, it will wreak havoc in your life and relationships. That is a guarantee. 

In short, my new disappointment unearthed years of pent up, unexpressed grief.

It 

was

ugly!

I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety.

I started seeing a counselor.

And the healing rushed in…

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This morning, I sat at my mother’s table. Coffee and a book in hand, of course.

And something strange began to happen.

I lifted my gaze and stared out the small kitchen window.

It’s as if for that moment, I could hear the trees growing and the wind singing. 

Holy.

The phrase suddenly appeared, like a flicker of light burning in my mind:

I 

didn’t

know

you 

could

be 

this

good.

Time froze and my mind flipped through the memories of these past 6 months. Quick snapshots of conversations, heartbreaks, podcasts, walks, road trips, fights, meals, journal entries, counseling, prayers, dreams, tears flooded me at once.

Does he really use all things for our good?

A revelation... God has used my suffering as an instrument of his steadfast peace.

I know it sounds crazy.

But really, my pain has connected me to the source of life.

I want to take a moment to draw a circle around this moment and call it holy, or “Kadosh" as Isaiah would call it in chapter 6.  

As I think about this wild journey, I realize my desires have changed. I don’t want the same things anymore. My dreams have unfolded. My mind has expanded. I am becoming. I am new.

God is kind. (Thank you for saving me from what I thought I wanted.)

This new life is strange and awkward, but so fun.

I stood in a long line at a women's restroom the other night (shout out to my ladies, you know what I'm talking about) and I realized I have new eyes. As I looked around at the women surrounding me, I had this profound and heavy sense of holy/kadosh. I revered and awed at the beauty and potential I saw in each person... in the bathroom. What?

Have scales fallen from my eyes?

Nothing is black and white anymore. The world is exploding with color and possibility. I'm ready to risk it for the biscuit (haha).  

When Joshua neared the gates of Jericho, the Commander of the Lord’s Army stopped him. “Are you for us or against us?” braved Joshua (essentially). And he replied, 

neither.

The Commander was not about to give into Joshua’s binary thinking. This is not yes or no, us or them. I won’t give in to your limited perspective.

And by the way, you are on holy ground. Take off your sandals, boy.

(Joshua 5, according to Rob Bell with more sass added by yours truly)

Ok, God. I hear you.

Could it be that the holy is already here… that kadosh is all around us… but we are wrapped up in self-preservation and self-imposed anguish?

Could it be that Christ set us free to… be free?

Could it be that eternal life begins now?

Could it be that the Way of Jesus is the way of learning and growing and becoming, now and forever?

Could this be the collective work we are all called to? 

YES.

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I'm no longer ruled by depression or anxiety. Thank you, God.

I refuse to cling to my idealism (or cynicism) any longer.

For so long, I’ve tried to recreate the church in Acts with grand gestures of radical hospitality, only to miss the point… and new thing God is doing.

I am not Paul or Peter or John.

I am Paige.

I have been chosen and prepared for this great task, this holy invitation to mend and restore and create new things. Shalom today, and shalom forever.

It’s an active role… beating swords into plowshares, healing the nations with leaves (whatever that means, but I think it’s about essential oils… hehe)… life doesn’t happen to you. You happen to life. There’s no quick fix. It’s a process. And it’s good (and messy and painful and weird and comforting and confronting, altogether). 

This is the art of learning (and unlearning) how to be human.

What makes you come alive? The world needs that. There has never been another you, so you owe it to humanity to pour out your beauty and participate in putting this hell hole back together. 

There is more.

There is more.

There is more.