This month has been one of the most emotionally intense months I’ve had so far. And I know what you're thinking - Lola is emotional!? Never saw that one coming. But this has been a month of coming to terms with the fact that maybe I’m not so good at the one thing I claim to excel at. Maybe I’m actually terrified of my emotions? Combine 360s and writing my genogram, having to think seriously about the future, considering some really deep wounds that have resurfaced, processing change in some of my really close relationships, sitting in silence with God, and the fact that time keeps ticking and I’m left barely holding myself together a lot of days. My goodness, is that terrifying. I love control and not needing anything from anyone, and boy is it scary to let myself be open to the fact that the depths of my emotions propel me far outside of that.
I’ve been sitting a lot with this image the Lord met me with in a similar period of wrestling my senior year of college. It’s this picture of a little girl held in the arms of her father. She’s so angry that she’s screaming at him and banging her fists against his chest. But he just quietly lets her continue, and he’s glad she’s there because she knows if she was anywhere else, she would scrape her fists against the walls. And he’s so glad she’s there because he loves her he knows its safest for her to be here. And slowly, the screams turn to sobs as she turns her deepest sorrows over to the one who can most safely hold them. And he’s so glad she’s there.
Emma’s roundtable on processing our emotions on God hit me the hardest of any roundtable yet. I pretty much sobbed through the whole thing. That caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting feeling my emotions to feel so scarry in that moment. But it did. In some level of stupid pride, I think I thought that fellows wouldn’t be that hard for me. I’m decently self-aware, I like talking about feelings and theology and friendship. Piece of cake right? The Lord is probably giggling down at my naive ideas of self-sufficiency (you think I’d have learned by now !?!). And on some level I’m a little angry to be here again. I hate the messiness of the middle and the unpredictability of my mind and I’m so terrified and furious to be back here again. And it makes it heavy and hard to show up honestly to be with God. But on another level, I’m immensely grateful that the Lord consistently acts in ways I don’t understand and would never choose. Coming face to face with the reality of the ways that he has made me and sin and brokenness have taken their tole on me (and unweaving which is which!) is holy and heavy. And thanks be to God for this space to face it head-on. Coming face to face with the reality of my past and present and future is terrifying and holy and heavy. And thanks be to God for this space to face it head-on.
Shockingly I’ve cried a lot this month. That’s not something that comes particularly difficultly to me. But I have been thinking a lot about the role of tears in emotional expression. Someone once asked me what it would look like for our tears to serve a purpose even greater than just personal relief. I’m not sure. And I’m not sure they have to. But I like the idea. Not even sure it’s connected to what I’m talking about just throwing it out there because I’ve been thinking about it. But I think there is something about the inherent withness that happens when tears enter the equation. My tears keep me from holding my emotion completely to myself. They invite others into either the beauty or sorrow that spurred them on. That’s holy. I invite people into my sentimental tears easily, it’s a lot harder for me to wear my heavy emotions openly; fear builds a lot of resistance. I’d like to work on that.
My mom instilled in me early that some days what carries us through the heavy is our rhythms. When you can’t do much else our routines can hold us. So amidst a lot of change I’m grateful that there are things that keep me rooted in the broader narrative of my life. I’m grateful that every March I remember that I get to defrost the part of me that is a Kentucky basketball fan. It connects me to being small and pinning my bracket to the fridge, eager to update it. I’m grateful that spring returns and things become green again and I see new life start to blossom. And I get to run around outside being joyful that my favorite season has returned. I’m grateful that I get to wear green and eat green bagels and have friends that give me their pickles. And I’m also so abundantly grateful for the common grace of my weekly routine. That I get to kneel in confession and be met in communion even when I struggle to feel him close, that I get to call someone from home on my drives to and from work, I’m grateful that I can gather in safety with people I love and eat together and know I am cared for deeply even as I wrestle so much inside myself. It truly is routines that carry us. And I’m grateful for the quiet ministry of God to me even as I bang on his chest.
March Stats:
Cries- 27 (And ladies and gentlemen thats a record!)
Visits from my mom- 1 (but guys shes just the best)
Hours of silence - 24ish
Purchases on Aldi Day- 4
Even here his hand will lead and hold me.
All my love!
Lola