DJ: #57 Talents, and More

“The servant given one thousand said, ‘Master, I know you have high standards and hate careless ways, that you demand the best and make no allowances for error. I was afraid I might disappoint you, so I found a good hiding place and secured your money. Here it is, safe and sound down to the last cent.” Matthew 25: 24-25

Much of my walk with Jesus can be summed up in the italicized words above, “I was afraid I might disappoint you.” From an early age, I felt I needed to be more than me. What ever I was wasn’t enough. My interests were not important. My thoughts and emotions to be trimmed and conformed into “what I ought to be.” There’s a songs to this affect. We sang it in Sunday school.

This type of indoctrination is dangerous. When we constantly teach our children how f-cked up they are, how they will never be enough, but must strive to please God, we set them up for failure. It is the equivalent of asking someone to leap from one side of the Grand Canyon to the other, every day. At some point they are going to lose heart. They know it can’t be done. Why try?

But what if…hear me out…we can please our Father? What if He’s in love with us, as scripture says He is? I don’t deny human imperfection or sinful nature. They are well established. But the idea we must conform to an unattainable standard is dumb. Even more so, when did Jesus ask us to squeeze into a box? He didn’t. He asked us to love. He asked us to pray. He asked us to pursue, and take risks. In return Jesus promised the Father would take care of our needs, be present in our trials, deliver us from our flaws, answer our prayers, and give us His Kingdom.

All too often what I wrote above is sold as a formula: go to church, don’t sin, pray rehearsed prayers, be good, don’t cuss, tell your neighbor about Jesus, make everything in your life an evangelical touch point, wear Christian t-shirts, vote conservative. This is all backwards. Prayer and voting habits ought to be a response to the Lord’s love in our lives, not a compulsion to conform. Formulas are easy. They test formulas in labs with rats. We are not rats.

I want to see an end to being what we “ought to be.” That’s religion at its worst. Masses of people all trying to avoid hell by trying to please the God of Judgment. The sticky part is being in the Mystery of God Almighty. It’s not a plan or goal. It’s a state of being. It is also a trust, to allow Him to change and move us in uncomfortable ways. He will expose our hearts biggest fears and oldest grudges. Love does that. Love says “let go” and offers healing in exchange.

To this point you might be yourself asking the question “what does this have to do with talent?” It is a valid inquiry. I will now answer.

In the Talent parable of Matthew 25, Jesus explains we are to use what we have to take risks. And then He says something people on the political left rail against but is no less prophetic “those who have will be given more, and those who have little, even that will be taken away.” It’s a chilling prophecy, but also an encouragement.

A few months ago the Lord asked me to answer my calling, which was to pursue the life-giving parts of my heart. Eventually I said yes, to writing, to showing my creativity, and yes to loving people without a need for validation. I let got of control and my formulas. It was a good day, with a perfunctory sob session (of course.)

I recently celebrated my 40th birthday, and I am no closer to being married or having a career or being settled than I was at 30. Yet…I am unmoved by this. For the first time, I don’t care how old I am. I have no more formulas to use. I don’t care what I “ought to be.” I am where I am. I get the honor of waking up everyday to go for a walk with Jesus. I get to explore the depth of my heart. The double blessing is I time to practice being me, to write, to create, to read.

Moreover, I know I’ve got more talent to explore and use. This is only a beginning. When I started to walk this new road, I knew I was at the back of the line. It’s like starting over, but with a great new twist. I am no longer ignoring my talents. I am, in faith, taking risks. So I believe, one way or another, I will receive more (whatever more is.)

For now, I very happy living a more simple yet focused life. I still want to have a settled career- though it may never come- and I definitely want to find Mrs Curfman. She’s out there, and I trust I will find her when we are both ready.

Lord, thank you for loving me. Thank you for continuing to guide me back to where I need to be, and to what gives me life. Thank you for watching over me and my life. Remove the dull and the cursed.

Your will be done.

Amen.

A: Not Every Day is a Winner

I sat down to write about how today, this Tuesday in early September, isn’t going my way.

My brain is obsessed with situations I can’t affect, a customer is nervous about her campaign results, a friend has cancer. In truth, this is an ordinary day. I am strong, healthy, loved, appreciated, and lavished with opportunity. What possess me to look and greive today?

And people say evil doesn’t exist. But it does. It does when a man has every blessing yet can’t find peace. Yes. Evil is real. Its only goal to separate us from Him.

JESUS, thank you for my life. Thank you for loving me, even when I'm stuck being a twat. Even when I focused on me, you never fail. In fact I suppose you laugh, as I chase my tail. My troubles not trivial but momentary.

I lay down every desire and hope, every dream and fantasy, every source of security and joy. For You are all of those things, and inside my striving is nothing but more struggle and death. And I am no boy.

The title of this poem is a lie. I’m not conceding shit to my enemy. More importantly, I am choosing to allow Jesus to be the Prince of Peace, the author of my Life, and holder of my soul. I am not my own. I am His. And I am worth the victory.

DJ: #56 Fight for Yourself

I am weary to sound authoritarian in this space. I am no expert or sage. But, if you’ll allow, today I feel the Spirit. So stick with me.

Outside of us are a thousand voice trying to sell us a solution. Amazon made it a one-click fix. Wal Mart will deliver your answers. Apple will stream what you want to soothe your soul. They aren’t the only ones though. Have you read the latest “life-changing” book? Or tried the newest “energy-boosting” diet? But retail therapy and self-help literature are no substitute for the act of loving yourself.

Here is a million dollars and ten-thousand days worth of wisdom:

What feeds our soul and nourishes our spirit is free. The food we crave is in the doing and being. The problem with these acts and motions is they require inner motivation. We must believe they are worth doing and are as crucial as oxygen. We must prioritize ourselves, confess “I’m worthy of love and I love myself.”

When I decided to love myself, I finally found the strength to sit with Jesus and feed my heart. When I choose to face my fear of failure and rejection, I found acceptance. Every time I decide to battle the insecurity of the day I move bit closer to complete victory. I am important, and I deserve to treat myself as well as I can. My world is vastly different than it was, despite the world around me being mostly the same mess it always is.

To you, my loved reader, I say advise this: love thyself. Please. Your soul has parts only you can feed and grow. Find what gives you life and engage it everyday, no excuses. If it’s reading, then read. If it’s having coffee on the back porch, then sip away.

My favorites are:

1. My morning walk with Jesus, to pray and affirm myself.

2. A good diet. I eat well and it’s good for me.

3. Writing. I’m not particularly talented or skilled, but I enjoy watching words appear on a screen or on a paper.

4. Being creative. Fortunately my job requires creative thinking. And I began to make art again. Which is scary, but thrilling.

5. My evening grounding session. I find a patch of grass to plunk down upon, pray, and listen. Usually I will also journal and read.

All of these activities give me space to breath and find my center in Jesus. They allow me to connect to who I am. Find yours, then guard them as though your soul depends on it. You need you as much as you need anyone else.

DJ: #55 When Songs Have Meaning

The first church I remember is Hillcrest Baptist Church in Elgin, South Carolina. It’s a red brick country church with wrought iron hand rails and the iconic white steeple. In the sanctuary, beyond the wooden pews, were a piano to the right of the pulpit and an organ to the left. It was in this setting I first encountered God in the joy of worship. While I couldn’t read, I was able to memorize songs, and probably made up verses when I needed to fill in the gaps. 

Later, our family took a dramatic turn when we started making the trek across Columbia to Church on the Rock. They met in a warehouse, used modern sound equipment, and danced. I hated it. From the get. While this congregation believed in an active, powerful, and miraculous God, they had no concept of love or grace. They were very binary in their views, and saw demons around every corner. 

Soon after Church on the Rock, and comically even further from our house, we began driving to Morning Star in Charlotte. The music quality was outstanding for the mid 90′s, and Morning Star was bit more free than the others. However, I in was high school at this point, and decided church wasn’t an institution for me. I’d seen enough bullshit and hypocrisy. 

But, the Lord being ever faithful, met me and pulled me to Himself. In my early 20′s, I committed to follow Him and wound up in ministry school. Despite this rebirth, I would continue to loathe corporate worship. The songs meant nothing to me. They seemed to be written and sung by hipster douche bags who settled for worship leader because they couldn’t hack it as an artist. 

When I did sing to the Lord is was usually the older hymns of my childhood. I also found songs by U2, Sufjan Stevens, and even Pearl Jam to be more meaningful and relevant. The rare exception did exist, but when I moved to Redding- home of Bethel Music- I lacked any desire to learn their songs. So I didn’t. 

Here, in the 2020 AD, among all the upgrades, challenges, and changes, the songs have meaning. It took me a week or two, and admittedly against my will. But damnit, the songs have meaning. 

In early June I watched the train of my life completely jump tracks. I was sick, single again, and in need of a new career. And instead of sinking into self-pity and despair, I sat before the Lord and bled my heart out to Him. Part of this process included sitting with my friends*, allowing them to love me. Which they faithfully did. 

For two to three weeks, I visited my friends Jesse and Rob everyday. My visits lasted hours, and Jesse, who believes in ‘soaking’, usually played worship music. Since it was their home I said nothing despite my aversion to it. Then, during a quiet moment on their couch one song caught my attention. It was So Will I as sung by Amanda Cook. 

God of salvation

You chased down my heart

Through all of my failure and pride

On a hill You created

The light of the world

Abandoned in darkness to die

I cried a deep sorrowful cry that day. My raw heart was finally ready to let go of all its justifications and rationale. I was ready to accept imperfection. Whatever the sins of the songwriter, there is a reality of Jesus I didn’t understand, couldn’t relate to. And now totally humbled and submitted, I understood.

While I have no problem with secular music, I have observed a difference in my attitude and approach to life with these songs in my head. I find it easier to overcome the shitty moments with the line “You’re never gonna let me down” stuck in my head, in opposition to “We all live in a yellow submarine.” 

My new appreciation for worship music is a great gift. God is so so so so good. 

Some current favorites:

DJ: #54 Leaving Them Behind

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”
- Henry David Thoreau

One of the glaring difficulties of recent life is the dread of letting some relationships go, as I move onward with Jesus. I want and intend to live my life from a place of joy and hope, not cynicism and fear. It follows then I have less tolerance for those dedicated to their slop. I get it. I was in their shoes. I have no hate for them, only compassion. 

I just don’t want to hear them complain about their jobs and lives. Mind you, the people I picture as I write are, by most accounts, great people. And they have stacks of blessings in their lives: good jobs, good families, etc. All the things. 

But because I know them, because I’ve gotten closer to them, I know their cracks and flaws. And…they are trapped in their fears and insecurity. They never have “a good day.” Life is marked by frustration and the trials they face. At the other end of their angst is usually another person, someone they give power to and allowed to steal their peace. They describe life in sarcasm, memes, and tired complaints. 

They are perpetual victims. 

I know the land they inhibit. Lived there myself, for a bit. They don’t know how easy it is to be something else, to live from their hearts and experience daily renewal of their souls. Instead they are apathetic and lonely, never able to experience true peace. They are the walking definition of the quote above- desperate. 

It is not a new understanding, to know people suffer, to know my friends suffer. What is new, for me, is the belief I must continue onward with the Lord. It’s not my place to fix them or stop what I’m doing to entertain them. In fact, the best action I can take is to keep going, show them a different route is available. 

It’s a tough choice to carry to live out. I love my friends. I know and see the best in them, and I hurt they choose to live a life below what they are called to experience. I have to tell myself it’s not my job to save them. I’m not the Holy Spirit or the Father. I can’t see their hearts and what they need. He does. He gets it. 

I’m not an asshole for moving on, but it can feel like it. How plainly I see their pain and struggles with insecurity, with self-pity, with hopelessness. But my hope isn’t in my pop-psychology or wisdom. The Lord is good, and I trust Him. I trust Him with my heart, my hopes, and future. 

I trust Him with my friends too. He loves them more than I’ll ever know. And I will hope and pray for them, that they will see His light and move into it. They have their own path of glory to walk. 

Lord,

Touch my friends. Remove the scales from the hearts, and the chains from their minds. Water the seeds of joy and peace you sowed into them, and give me the Grace to be the friend they need. I can see what I see, but I am not You. Your will be done.

Amen. 

A: Never Alone

Loneliness is more often a state of mind than my reality. 

I have, in moments of self-hatred and denial, felt the sting of loneliness, on my birthday, surrounded by my friends, who were in the room to celebrate my life. 

My loneliness was was form of self-belittlement, and the older I grew the more I knew something was amiss. Akin to self-imposed isolation, it stemmed from an insecure crack in my chest, when I craved approval and validation. I’d slink into my hovel desperately hoping for anyone to break through and scream “I LOVE YOU NIK, YOU ARE GOOD MAN, AND YOU ARE BRILLIANT, AND KIND, AND FUNNY, AND CUTE, AND ALL THE THINGS A GOOD MAN IS.” 

It was an evil game with no winner. 

During the summer of 2020, I spent as much time by myself as I have ever spent alone. And yet, loneliness did not come calling. The solid truth is I never was or ever will be alone. 

I am loved.

I am worthy of love.

I love myself. 

And He, the Goodness and Gracious Gifter of Life, is always with me. 

A: Ode to Bo

He stood up straight, and wore his confidence like a crown. His broad face and iron stare preached louder than any sermon.

This was the greatest athlete you ever saw.

He glided on the football field, until he needed to charge. It’s uncommon to see such grace and swift feet attached to body of a bulldozer. In a world full of fast men, and strong men, he was both. In the same violent body.

But we are not talking about a mere football player. No. No-no-no.

For then we turn to the outfield. And out on the grass, he was there. Upright and focused. Like a video game glitch, he ran up walls in defiance of gravity and logic, unleashed throws that captured the attention of all baseball, and manufactured the prettiest swing in generations.

No. Bo was no ordinary man. We are ordinary. He was extraordinary.

And life being life, it was all gone on a lazy Sunday afternoon. One show-stopping injury against the Cincinnati Bengals, of all teams, ended this brilliant display of athletic glory.

I can mourn the loss of something so good, and find gratitude in the same space. Bo Jackson is not a myth or fairy tale. I was a witness, the greatest athlete I ever saw.

A: Peace In the Fog

He lingered in the mist. His face wet and cold, but not weary. “Memory is a tough chain to break,” he admitted. But soon after, his feet touched earth to the rhythm of a stride, to where he could not answer. Deeper into the mist he went. 

Alone in the endless gray cloud, he began to ponder his life back in the old sloppy house. Though he hated it, the routine and ease were comfortable. Predictable. Almost bearable. And still, always a shadow, a derivative of what could be. Never the gospel of genuine substance or Love. 

To be in the fog, walking toward an unknown destination was a feat of itself. He battled to leave his tiny dark room, plugged his ears to ignore the shouts of apathy and desperation as he ran down the hallway. And then at the last, he forced himself from the porch, the last visible place of safety, into the Midst. 

He wanted a plan, a goal, a point on the map, anything to rest his mind while he strolled. Everything inside him told him he needed a plan, because “it’s responsible.” At nearly 40, how could he look a woman in the face, a potential companion and confess he did “not have a goal?” (He did have a goal, but who wants to hear a grown man say his life goal is to walk with Jesus everyday, into this great expanse? To allow life to dip and duck and rise without doubt? To be himself?)  

Without warning or needed explanation, Wisdom rose within him. He stopped to focus on the voice within.

“You no longer need a plan or a goal. You’ve done the will of the Father. You’ve leap into faith, and go daily into the Midst, to know and to be known by the Lord. I promised to see to everything else in your life. And so I shall. You keep walking into the Midst. I’ll get you where you need to be.” 

He continued to stand in the fog, no longer interested in the destination. His future will be with the others in the mist, not the miserables back in the house. In the mist, they will understand his heart and his joy. They will not find comfort or have need for elaborate blueprints of control. “Goodbye house mind,” he chuckled. In all his years he never felt the peace he felt in that moment. His mind no longer focused on the future, but on Jesus the Christ. 

DJ: #53 No More Porn

I don’t know where to begin to compare my porn-watching habits to the next person’s. I once described myself as a porn addict, but I think that label is a bit much. I could go for up to a year with looking at porn. But when I did, it would be for hours. And then not again for weeks or months; however, when life felt overwhelming, porn was a drug of choice. It gave me something food can’t, regardless of it’s counterfeit nature.

I never justified my porn binges. (And despite the mixed messages from the scientific community, porn is a soul killing enterprise for everyone involved, the actors, the production crew, and the viewers. And we are becoming increasingly aware of how often the actors are victims of human trafficking.) Never once did I finish and go about my life as normal. Attached to it was the guilty and shame us religious folk feel when we know we did a uh-oh. 

Whenever I watched porn, I was in a mental and emotional hell. My self-esteem was low. And porn was just the right amount of disgusting to prove the central thesis of my life “I AM A PATHETIC PIECE OF SHIT.” It was a weird way to confirm this belief. “I am a loser. Guess I’ll watch porn. See! You watch porn, so you must be a loser.” 

Fast forward to September, the Year of our Lord 2020, and I can’t remember the last time I watched porn. Some time early last year, 2019? Potentially close to 18 months ago? It’s a sign of something the Lord is doing in my chest. And instead of pride, I feel gratitude in my heart.  

I can’t speak for anyone else, but porn was always a symptom of deeper flaws in my heart, never the flaw itself. And while I haven’t watched porn in a long time, I have felt slight pulls to return to it every month or so, when my guard is down, and my self-pity rises. Fortunately, I now recognize this temptation as the signs it is. If I feel tempted to watch porn, I know I’m not doing well. So I enact my self-pity escape plan- pray, go for a walk, text some friends, and sit before the Lord until it passes. (I don’t f-ck around with self-pity. It leads to everything nasty and self-destructive in my life.) 

More recently, I’ve begun to feel victorious over porn, as in I will not struggle with it again. It is part of the fruit of the Lord in my life. Like I said above, it’s not pride. It’s confidence. I know if I continue intentionally walk with Jesus, the self-hating, needy Nik has got to die. In its place, growing even now, is the me I always wanted to be. 

Lord, thank you. I always hated porn, hate that watched it, and hated how it gave me brief moments of pleasure. Thank you for giving me something far greater than an ability to avoid sin and temptation. You’ve given me life and purpose and peace. You’ve given me tools to use and people to lean on. You took my sad heart and broken mind and gave me your heart and your mind. 

Lord I ask for your grace and love to coat this planet. Strike the heart of every man and woman and child. Give them eyes to see your glory, and ear to hear your voice, and a brain to receive your blessings. 

Amen. 

DJ: #52 Choice is My Super Power

The last time I stepped on a scale I weighed 231 pounds. Officially, it marks a loss a 74 pounds from 305 pounds. (I think I weighed closer to 310 at some point, but I’ll never know what my highest weight was.) I was stoked when I saw the number. Every pound lost, no matter how long it takes to fall, represents the the fruit of the decision I made and my commitment to my decision. 

Should you wonder, my commitment isn’t to a particular diet or exercise program. I am one of those people who used food as a drug to drown my shame and self-hatred. The choice I made was to love myself as my Father loves me- to accept myself as is, to be kind and gracious when I need it, and to affirm myself so I don’t live off others. 

This morning I thought about humanity, how we have this gift we labeled choice. Each of us has the ability to wake up and be something different than we were the day before. All of hell may raise within us, try to drag us back to our prisons, but everyday is a day to be whatever we want to be. 

Should I need to say it, I will. I am not referring to the unrealistic mantra of our age “You can do anything to set your mind to do.” That’s a load of bullshit. It sets people up for failure and disappointment. I cannot now or ever play in the NBA. It was never on the table. 

What I am focused on is the how we live. Do we believe the glass is half full? With more on the way? Do we believe in ourselves? Life is full of an infinite amount of variables beyond our control: who are parents are, our DNA, where we were born, etc. And we, in and of ourselves, have a small impact on our world. Most of us will live and die in relative obscurity. So what? All the better to live and take chances, never accept you are defeated. I’ve been overweight my entire life. And I know deep in my bones, those days are coming to an end. Permanently. 

I don’t know how smart I am (really), or wise, or kind, or loving, or peaceful, creative, manly, etc. Who does? But I do have the ability to choose, to decide how I will live my life with the Lord and in relationship to those around me. 

I choose to live in the Sun. To be eternally hopeful and push on toward whatever greatness I am capable of beholding. 

What a gift. What a power. 

A: From Safe into the Mystery

In silence my dream vanished. The safety and hope of my glossy future disappeared like the make-believe it was, and I possessed nothing to bring it to life. I was empty-handed as ever.

Faithfully, I opened my eyes to reality, to my pathetic room in a sloppy old mansion. “Why had I settled here?” I wondered. The only sign of hope was the light which beamed through the thin window at the far corner of the room. The brightness covered the dark, but only where it could. Still, the glow was warm and invited me onward. 

For a beat, I thought about going back to my dream, a return to the shelter of my fantasies. However, on this day, the light seemed too pure to ignore. And as I gazed upon it, I became aware of a sweet aroma leaking through the walls. In combination with the light, they were too much to spurn. 

My courage rising, I reviewed what I knew about the bright light, sweet scent, and all Mystery beyond this broken place. In my youth I dared touch it. I dared to believe I could move beyond my need for dreams and comfort. I dared to join my place in Creation. 

I gave my dreams one more consideration, how perfect they seemed. Then the reality of the tiny room began to speak. “Those dreams are not where you live, they are where you escape. How long will you hide in this room? Dreaming dreams, but never living life?”

“But Lord, what if I fail at being me?” 

“Come with Me, and I will carry you into the future.”

After years of dreaming, the decision made itself. Slowly I swung my feet to the floor, and staggered through the door. My weary legs, acting on their own accord, led me down the hallway. On either side I saw tiny room after tiny room. Like my tiny room, no doors. Like mine, each one filled with a single person. 

In some were people dreaming like me, forever focused on the future. Their smiling faces disconnected from their wretched decaying bodies.

On I went until I passed a respectable looking young woman, alone in her chair, facing the door. As I shuffled past, she yelled, “The fuck do you think you’re doing? There’s nothing out there. GO BACK TO YOUR ROOM!”

I didn’t stop to contemplate her words. I couldn’t. My mind was set to give my heart the breath it needed. 

Near the end of the hall I heard the cries of those terrorized by the night. They begged for relief, yet when help came they rolled over to start again. Back to the horrors. Among the voices I heard her, the voice of my sister. I raced to her room. From the doorway I screamed, “Wake up!! JOIN ME!” Tears fell from my face, as I wailed in vain. She didn’t hear me. She couldn’t. 

Sadly, I found the staircase leading away from this hall of pain. I stopped for a moment, a thousand miserable voices behind me. On cue the One small voice whispered, “Trust Me.” 

Without delay, down the steps and onto the front porch I ran. The light was bright on my face, the scent of the outside air sweeter than ever. I shielded my eyes until they adjusted to the new. As they focused I stood in shock by what I saw. 

From the thin window in my tiny room I never quite knew what lay beyond, but now I stood face to face with a thick, misty fog. And though I felt it beckon me onward, panic wrapped my heart. 

“Lord, what is this? This isn’t a plan. Where do I go? What do I do?”

“Come into the mist. Grab my hand. Let Me lead.”

“Trust Me.” 

“Lord, I’m afraid. I don’t know what to do.” 

“Trust Me.”

And not wanting to go back, not to the tiny room, to the unfilled dreams, and hopeless hopes. I tripped forward. The sloppy fear at my back no longer dreaming, I marched into the unknown. Off the porch into the great Mystery I slipped, my hand in His. 

DJ: #51 The Expressed Me, Confident or Insecure?

If you believe in such modern who-hacky, I am a two on the Enneagram. It means I can love and want to help people, but when I’m unhealthy I can turn to people pleasing. I become needy and insecure. 

When I finally read books about the Enneagram, I knew I didn’t need to read past two. And fortunately, I’m not an immature two. I’ve progressed along the scale toward the healthy expression of who I am over the last ten years, with a sharp upgrade this summer. 

The best version of me- the person I long to be- is truly selfless, confident, empathetic, and personally detached. I use the word detached because throughout my life I judged my self-worth by those around me. I needed to produce change and affect the people around me. I needed their praise. It’s a cup with a hole at the bottom, never full. 

What I notice now is my efforts to be selfless, confident, and empathetic can and sometimes are unrecognized. (Really? If my roommate doesn’t say ‘thank you’ when I take out the trash, did I even do it? HAHAHAHAHAH. I was never that bad. I take out the trash cause it needs done, but you get the point.) When I’m healthy, I don’t even think about it. When I’m needy and insecure, I do. 

Such is being an imperfect human. 

This morning I was locked in a small skirmish with my insecurity. I felt a need to be seen as successful. AND I HATE THAT NEEDY FEELING. It’s so disgusting, and weak. 

As I finished my prayers I saw myself as having two faces. One was the old insecure sonofabitch, and the other was younger more self assured, still growing. I don’t expect to have all my insecurity rooted out any time soon. But I do expect to continue to grow into myself. I’m in process and I’ve submitted to the One in charge of my transformation. 

I expect to have many more battles with my need to be validated. It’s ok. I’ve got a winning streak going against that bastard, and I’m gonna continue to win until his needy ass stops coming around. I am enjoying the spoils of my victories as well, true gratitude, less anxiety, less control, being present. AND…I find less disappointment in the humans around me, because I am not making an unspoken contract with them- my kindness for their validation. 

There exists a bit of irony here, in this blog. Everyday I show up to write and post. And my motivations, at times, have been mixed. My truest heart is to show people the loving Jesus, everyday. I want to write about how He loves me, and them, and how life-giving it is. That’s all I really want. And yet, a lingering desire to write well, to be seen as smart and intelligent exists. Weeds growing with the wheat. 

Again, such is being an imperfect human. 

Part of my healing and growth comes through self-love. I never expected it to be so, but there it is. My daily confessions and positive affirmations are rewiring my brain. And as I wrote in a previous blog, the compliments of others barely register in my ego. I’m thankful for them,  but they are no longer fuel. They are no longer needed. 

The best fruit is my ability to step out into the undeveloped parts of my heart, to been seen as a fool, or untalented, or unskilled, to show up everyday as me regardless of the outcome or feedback. 

Sweet Jesus, thank you for all the seeds you planted in me. Thank you for watering my soil and remaining patient with me. Please continue to pull the weeds of self-doubt and neediness out of my chest. 

I don’t need to proof anything to anyone. I do not need to be seen by anyone. I am loved and valued, because I am alive. No matter what.