Junior Year: A Review
"But ask the beasts, and they will teach you; the birds of the heavens, and they will tell you; or the bushes of the earth, and they will teach you; and the fish of the sea will declare to you. Who among all these does not know that the hand of the LORD has done this? In his hand is the life of every living thing and the breath of all mankind." [Job 12:7-10]
I've written and re-written this post a few times--partly because I am a verbal processor and a bit of processing is long overdue, and partly because I am trying to lean more into a certain wisdom that comes from not sharing every emotion and thought that I wrestle with online.
A little over a month ago, I finished my junior year of college. It would be dishonest of me to spend any time talking about how wonderful or sweet it all was, or how much I will miss it. Because truthfully, it was a tough year for me. And because of the things I was--and am still currently--wrestling with, even the many good and lovely parts of it were clouded over by the pain and insecurity I was carrying around. Junior year was a year of my idols being brought to light, my insecurities having more of a grip on me than I did on them, and at times hopelessness.
I struggled with feeling depressed for a good portion of the year, which heightened exponentially in the second half of the fall semester. I struggled to see things rationally--something I have often prided myself in being able to do--and I did a lot of spiraling. There were many nights when I read through Romans 7 and wept because I understood with painful clarity what Paul wrote of. I was continually slipping and doing the things I didn't want to do, allowing my sin to live through me rather than Christ. And yet through all of this, I opened up to almost no one because of one of my very oldest idols: pride. I don't think any of us has ever enjoyed feeling weak, vulnerable, and out of control. And my pride insisted that if I really opened up and talked to many people about the things I was hurting over, it would be a reason for shame and it would mean that any wisdom, help, or encouragement I'd previously given others was vapid because I was presently having a hard time receiving it.
Last summer, I was given the opportunity to join the leadership team of a women's ministry on campus. My job specifically entailed writing weekly devotions and helping keep the social media running. As the year progressed, I found myself slipping into this strange place where I felt like I was watching the world through a glass bowl. I was writing all of these devotions on identity in Christ, His love for us, and our worth in His eyes and yet I couldn't make myself believe and feel it for myself. (Thanks be to God that He can still work through us and use us to impact others, even when we are so broken and far from perfection!) I felt like I was living a lie where I could believe all of these truths about every other girl on campus, but the buck stopped with me. There was now therefore no condemnation in Christ (except when it comes to Grace). We are precious and honored in His sight and He loves us (well, everyone but Grace.) Junior year involved a lot of fake smiles and a lot of pushing off hurt because I simply didn't know how to attack or approach it. I was overwhelmed by my emotions more often than not, and the Enemy lept at the chance.
Thankfully, Scripture tells us there is hope! Jeremiah 17:9 tells us that the heart is deceitful above all things and desperately sick, who can understand it? The Word is very clear about how Christ sees me and how I am loved, chosen, and forgiven because of Jesus' sacrifice, but my heart told me that I was worthless and unlovable and I chose to believe my heart over God's Word. That is a very dangerous place to be. When we allow our own hearts to tell us that the Bible's definition of our worth is not enough, that we are truly undeserving of love or being chosen or pursued by anyone, that can be a very special and well-concealed form of pride. It is our hearts rejecting the truth of His Scripture because we don't trust or believe that it can apply to us. That somehow we are an exception (for better or worse).
"Because you are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you..." [Isaiah 43:4]
I have been reading through Paul's letters to the Corinthians. I just recently finished 1 Corinthians and am moving forwards through 2 Corinthians, and the second chapter of this book really pricked my heart today. I am coming to realize that a lot of my healing from past insecurities and the belief that I will never be enough, never be worthy of love, never be truly seen and known and chosen by anyone (on earth or in Heaven) goes hand in hand with my struggle to forgive. To forgive thoughtless comments made about me and past events that have deeply wounded me.
I have always been a very quiet and serious person. I have trouble opening up and I have trouble connecting with people quickly and making a lot of friends. This is something that I haven't been at peace with for a long time (still trying to prayerfully find the balance between pushing myself to be more approachable and also still remaining authentic to who I was created to be--proving to be difficult indeed). Because I am not the most approachable person you'll ever meet, I have been told by many people that they were intimidated by me when they first met me, that I came across as so serious and quiet all the time, that they didn't think we'd be friends. While none of these comments were made with the intent to hurt, they all struck somewhere soft and I have bottled them up and brooded over them, allowing bitterness and frustration to grow against myself (for not being different and more lovable) and others (for not accepting me for how I was). Stepping back, I think there could have been a bit of growth and also truth on both sides, but that was not something I was capable of understanding in the midst of my depression.
The LORD has been opening my eyes to see that my inability to let these comments go and forgive is also allowing them to have weight and gravity in my eyes, playing strongly into how I view myself. If I am not forgiving and letting go of things that hurt me that happened in high school, then I am also allowing them to have unnecessary (and simultaneously very unhelpful) power over me. In order to build up my identity in Christ and grow my self-esteem--not for anything I have done or am, but solely through who I can now be because of Jesus--I need to stop letting every hurt and every comment have weight to me. I need to forgive--truly forgive--and let each one go in order to make room for new words and statements about my identity. Statements that come directly from the One who created me.
I have by no means figured the application out all the way, nor do I foolishly believe this is the end of my struggles with insecurity and hurting. I know it is more than likely that these very same pains will crop up again down the road--but thanks be to God who is patient and kind! Ever sufficient in my times of weakness, ever gentle when I am completely lost and messy. Junior year was one very long, very laborious process of hurting and bleeding and wrestling--and a good bit of running from the truth and failing to lean on God when I needed it most. But, LORD willing, I am praying it will have paved the way for an even more fruitful and healing season of sanctification, growth, and bearing good fruit. And friend, if He can do these things through even the most depraved and hopeless sinner like me, He can do these things in you too. :)
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