Pain is a Funny Thing

Pain is a funny thing.

It's been a little over a year ago now; a little over a year since it became too much. A little over a year since I was sitting in the corner of a restaurant, trying to relax myself as much as possible while my husband went to grab a drink, trying to will my body into avoiding the pain that could double me over for as long as 24 hours and leave me exhausted for days after. A little over a year since I came home from what was supposed to be a fun birthday weekend and sob-wrote into my journal, "I'm turning 28... 28 is not old enough to feel exhausted because you spent the weekend browsing the mall and going out to eat while someone watched your kids." It was the straw that broke the camel's back - that even vacation activities left me drained.

I had been so baffled at the episodes, telling myself (and anyone who asked), "I feel totally fine in between, it's so random!" And now I am finally realizing just how not fine I was, and the days of crippling pain were simply my body trying to get my attention.

You can run your body for so long.
It's incredible, really.
Treat it like dirt and it still keeps on trying.

If you asked me, I couldn't tell you exactly where it all started. It probably doesn't even have a singular starting point; it's just been one brick laid on top of another and another until the load became enough to make me stumble: a propensity toward carrying stress, four pregnancies in 6 years, repeated fevers and infections during nursing, a cavalier attitude toward the junk I could put in my body and still be fine...

For the previous 18 months I had been struggling with unpredictable episodes of severe abdominal pain that curled me into the fetal position and left me begging for relief. I had experienced similar pain during my third pregnancy while dealing with a hernia, but I was baffled as to why I was experiencing it again - not pregnant, hernia surgery behind me, no infant babies depriving me of sleep, and no recognizable triggers. The times it happened were generally after I experienced really good days, days where I was happy and excited for life.

These episodes provoked so much stress and infinite questions. I researched everything from gallstones to parasites to food sensitivities to mesh rejection issues. I tried Whole30 not once but twice and felt miserable both times. I was reluctant to subject myself to medical tests being the problem was random and sometimes disappeared 20 minutes after beginning or at other times lasted 24 hours.
Last June I finally said, "This is a problem I can't fix on my own" and went to see a holistic natural health specialist.

I didn't get them.

At least not in a beautiful, "This is the issue! Take this pill and you'll be all better!" way that I had naively hoped. No, instead I was given a list of foods that I couldn't eat that was longer than the list of ones I could. I was told my body was having issues getting rid of toxins and hormones on its own and needed help. I was told that stress was running rampant in my body and I was close to becoming toxic from how much junk was building up. Those were not answers, those were just more questions. I broke down and cried in front of a complete stranger, utterly overwhelmed by how dysfunctional my body was and feeling like I was the problem for being too stressed about my stress. Even in a space where I told myself I was going to be vulnerable, I was desperately clinging to pride as I attempted to hold together the facade that was hopelessly failing.

But I had no answer of my own, and so I began. If I had not had someone telling me, "This area is improving!" each month, I would never have guessed it on my own. I spent the first two months feeling worse than I had before - headaches, lethargy, depressive moods (I do not say this lightly; I had no desire to leave my house or even leave my bed some days, and that is not normal for me), and lots of nasty digestive repercussions. My apologies to each and every person who heard me wail and bemoan my lack of progress during this time haha. I was frustrated and not eating the foods I loved, but I was also committed by this point and exceptionally belligerent about finding answers.

Slowly, month by month, the foods came back. I started to feel "fine" again. And then, after four months of treading water... I found myself paused in the middle of my kitchen, caught with the thought, "Why do I feel so good today? Is something really fun happening? What did I eat for breakfast?"
The turning point.
The moment that gives you that push to finish, because you just caught a glimmer at the end.

I am not going to tell you that I am magically wonderful all the time now. Obviously I still live here on earth. And yet... I feel radically new.
Some changes have been obvious: energy, feeling better after a workout instead of worse, being able to identify and stop the abdominal pain.
But so many changes are ones I never thought would change because I assumed they were just me:
I actually choose to listen to music. Sometimes very loudly. And it doesn't grate on my nerves like it did for... the last seven years?
I want to hug my kids instead of being almost claustrophobic if they want to sit close to me.
John used to tease me about how sensitive I was to being poked, how even the tops of my feet were tender. They're not sensitive like that anymore. My very skin has changed.
I don't feel nauseated when I ovulate. There are months that PMS doesn't really exist.
I feel so clear-headed and bright. I am remarkably relaxed and able to rationally work through challenging thoughts rather than instantly feeling tension and stress over them.

A few months back, John asked me about something he was thinking of committing to doing, checking with me regarding our schedule and how I felt about it, and I said, "Sure, go for it. Make it a weekly thing."
He looked at me kind of funny regarding how quickly I was okay with the additional commitment. I knew it was a change from what my typical responses had been previously. I said, "You know how when you're sick and absolutely everything feels like too much: taking care of your kids, or your husband being gone, or having to make decisions, they are all so much harder because you only have the energy needed to survive? Well..." and I dared to verbalize the realization that had begun to take shape in my head: "I don't feel sick anymore."

I want to weep reading that.

I spent so many years being sick. Years I had no idea I was sick. Years that were good and beautiful and full of life and happiness. But sick all the same.

I would like to reiterate that it was not a magic pill.
It was the agonizing opposite of that.
It was a full evaluation of my body, everything from hormones to diet to stress. And in fully evaluating my entire body, it delved into my emotions and personal trouble spots. It was deeply unsettling; unsettling to be told that you have perhaps had a strong hand in your current problems, that fixing them may take a lifetime of tough decisions. It was painful to admit to myself that I have stress issues. (Ha! Everyone else is probably thinking "obviously." But we all have our blind spots.) I have always told myself that stressed people were the ones that just couldn't handle their lives, and I handle mine so it couldn't be my problem. I needed to admit that my life involves incredible amounts of stress, and that attempting to absorb all of it inside myself without asking for help is physically harmful. I have had honest conversation with a friend that allowed me to say, "Even the things I love most in my life cause me stress." I have had to take an honest evaluation of what things are legitimate priorities so that I could begin the necessary pruning. I had to embrace humility and be "that" person turning down food and asking for special menu items, when everything in me despises requiring extra effort. I have had to grapple with the reality that my body will probably never "get over" this issue, because pain is your friend telling you that you've pushed yourself too far. Most of all, it is still daunting to look ahead into years and years of taking better care of myself.

This is not 30 days.
This is not even a year-long journey that I have now completed.
Quite the contrary, this year has simply opened my eyes to my own body and how best to care for it, even when that care is "unfair" compared to what others can get away with.

But I am grateful. I would much rather have a name for the pain. "Spastic ileocecal valve" is much better than mystery pain. I would much rather make the tough decisions now and have the privilege of better years ahead of me. "I can say no to the foods that treat me poorly" is much better than permanently feeling edgy and tense.
I didn't get a quick fix for a problem.
I received tools for a life long commitment, and enough results to make that seem attainable and worthwhile.
I don't have a new number on the scale.
But I feel so good in my own skin.

I share this because I want others who may be struggling to know that I found answers, because heaven knows I was desperately searching for even one other person when my pain seemed phantom and inexplicable. I understand that natural medicine is not the cure-all for every scenario. But if this resonates with you, I'd love to share my story in specific detail. Or maybe you'll find yourself in a similar situation many years from now, wondering why you just can't seem to bounce back anymore, and my story can give you a shred of hope. It doesn't have to stay this way. And if your body is telling you it's suffering, then it probably is. You're not crazy for thinking that.

I still have bad days. And on those days I question whether sharing any part of my story is valuable or even true. But this is not about "It all used to be bad, and now it is all better"; this is about putting down a sign on the road - a sign that marks, "Here. Here is where there was a fork, a downhill stretch where I didn't constantly ache and the journey was easier, a turning point." It's not about solving the journey entirely, it's having mile markers so that when the tough days happen again, I cannot fool myself into thinking it's never been any other way. This year has been GOOD. Replenishing. Rebuilding. And, most of all, hopeful.
I can't explain to you how beautiful that word is.

Walking on Water

What if we're not supposed to look before we leap.

Everyone is always looking for the plan.
"Have you considered all the options?"
Everyone wants to hear the reasons.
"Did you get a specific 'word' about this?"
Everyone requires reassurance for something even you are thinking is crazy.

How do you spiritually shrug your shoulders and say, "I don't know?"
How do you put your finger on the hand that's between your shoulders, pushing you forward?
How do you guide someone else when you were instructed to walk in the dark without a flashlight?

Do we, without intention, hinder others from growth because we told them there needed to be a 10-point, 5-year, 12-step plan in order to make investment worth it.

Which begs the question: what is worth?
What areas of our lives have been successes?
Failures?

Peter got out of the boat.
And he sank.

He sank.

Yeah, God was there and grabbed him, but... did the others all shake their heads and say, "C'mon, Peter, you just had to try it, didn't you."
Maybe a little poking fun, "There goes Peter again: 'Hey, Jesus, why don't you ask me to come out there too?' Hahahaha."
"Lasted all of about two minutes, huh big shot?"
"Next time maybe just wait until Jesus instructs us about water walking and then try it?"

But should he have?

Or is just putting yourself out there, in itself, pleasing to God?

Is the risk with potential of reward actually the greatest pleasure to Him?

"Oh, Peter, you're still growing," Jesus smiled. It was just the two of them out there, the crashing waves making it hard to hear. His grip was firm on Peter's wrist, but meeting his eyes after the slip into the storm was a greater weight than his hand. "Why did you start to doubt after that bold beginning?"

He didn't say, "Next time just stay in the boat."
He asked what made him stop.

It was probably an awkward trip home - everyone else in a huddle, caught up in talking about how amazing Jesus is and that He is truly God, while Peter sat to the side, giving himself a good talking-to about what made him think that was a good idea. "Way to be impulsive again. One of these times you're going to act more like the others."

And yet, we know the end of the story.
Jesus honored Peter with more authority, intense calling, and the responsibility of spearheading a radical culture change for the Jews in accepting Gentiles.

He needed someone ready to jump.
Even without the answers.
Someone who asked for the invitation instead of waiting for it.

Because maybe the 10-point plan is a little too dependent on my own vision.
Because maybe the 5-year plan is going to be resistant to new direction.
Because maybe the 12-step plan is me trying to prove to others that I'm prepared enough to not even need God.

Trust isn't pretty.
And often it looks like getting wet when your feet were supposed to stay above water.
But it's the truest form of success.
The core from which all strength draws.
The harbor where all ships can return.
The flying leap that will never look safe, is never guaranteed, and always a risk.

That's why it's so beautiful when you're caught.

So We Did Whole30

So. We did Whole30.

And, because food is everything (don't scoff, you know it to be true), I have to talk about it. I do live in the age of Instagram dinner plates, after all.

Last June, my entire family launched ourselves whole hog (except not, because you can't eat ANY of the bacon that's available in small-town Midwest) into the Whole30. Due to some unsolved gut issues, I was the genius behind this experiment. Knowing I was venturing into another crazy food mistake (they always are once you're waist-deep in them and crying for all that's good in this world), I politely asked my husband if he was interested in joining me. And he was! Upon finding out that coffee was allowed and beans were not, he readily accepted the challenge. Well. This changed things. If both the adults in our household were eating clean, I couldn't bring myself to put a bowl of dairy-and-carbs evil in front of my sweet offspring. There was only one way to do this: as a family.

Thus begins 30 thoughts on Whole30:

1) Food is fun.
One of the major slaps in the face for me was how much I rely on food for enjoyment. I don't necessarily eat food when I'm sad (more on that later), but I caught myself thinking, "Aw man, we're doing this the first month of summer... that's an entire month of summer that won't be any fun." What?? Johanna, come on. Do you really rely on food so much that you require it in order to have fun? Yes, yes I do. And those trips to the zoo were hard packing only olives and fruit for fun. I even love olives and fruit! But knowing we couldn't stop at DQ had me waging a battle in my mind for enjoying myself without celebratory food.

2) Food is something I control.
No matter how bad the day, no matter how long the morning was, when nap time comes, mommy can sneak into the kitchen and... oh wait, I can't have chocolate. Oh that hurts. I actually found myself watching TV during my break time just to have something that was a pamper myself moment. (And when the book suggests "have a spa day instead of junk food" who on earth are they talking to?? A candy bar is waaaaaay cheaper than a spa day. Hello.)

3) Being hungry makes me angry.
I worked out a lot during the Whole30. Because I was constantly angry at not being able to have what I wanted. Essentially, if I can eat food, I don't work out. If I can't, I do. I'm not sure what went wrong with my psyche... but that's a win-win or lose-lose in terms of fitting into the old jeans.

4) I was hungry a lot.
I know this was my metabolism adjusting to not running on carbs. I have always had a high metabolism, and breastfeeding adds to the need to eat like a horse. By week 3 I was functioning much better, feeling full longer, and learning to add more sweet potatoes and fruit into my day.

5) So. Tired.
I never got the amazing energy they talked about. Now, I am also fully aware that as a mother of four still waking up multiple times at night, I shouldn't have expected miracles. But. I kind of did.

6) Puke.
Sorry for the TMI... but here it is: the first week saw myself and all the boys puking. I guess it's more common for younger people and also those with high metabolisms, because your body detoxes that much faster. Yay for health, but... ugh. Eating eggs and sweet potatoes when all your body wants is a simple piece of toast sucks. Especially when you're five years old. I also made it that much harder on myself by planning outings that first week to "distract" us. Next time, I plan TV distractions. You can't win them all.

7) It makes grocery shopping very straight forward.
Normally my grocery lists are detailed and precise and every meal is planned for the set amount of time. But on Whole30? Just buy out the produce department, throw a gallon of oil in your cart, and grab a cow on your way back the vehicle. Done.

8) It also makes cooking a little meh.
By the end of the month I was just bored. I didn't want steamed veggies and chicken breast again. And beef roast and squash isn't novel anymore either. Cooking with all food groups is, plain and simple, more fun.

9) Simple spices make great meals.
That said, the meals were good. They tasted good, and they were surprisingly simple out of the Whole30 book. I didn't need to buy weirdzo spices to making anything, and there were even a few recipes I added to our "normal" lives when we were done. ;)

10) But... but... baking...
It was physically painful to not bake for close to 6 weeks. I actually did bake and brought it to other people and events by the final couple of weeks because I was going absolutely stir crazy. It became a bit of a moral dilemma for me - if everything in baked items is so bad for me, should I even enjoy making them? Sigh. No epiphanies.

11) It resets your taste buds, it doesn't re-wire them.
Come on, people. Cheetos and Coke and chocolate all still taste amazing. It's why we started eating them in the first place.

12) Headaches.
I also had a lot of headaches during the month, which is unusual for me. My self-diagnoses is that my gut health has been poor enough that I was in the process of purging/replacing bacteria. But headaches on day 27 is a bit disheartening. However, my husband didn't have headaches during the month, and he routinely suffers from them. That was a huge plus for us and signs of success!

13) Everywhere you go, someone offers you evil food.
Graduations. Holidays. The park. Everywhere. My children began telling people "We're on a diet", which made me feel the need to explain myself being my 4 children all together total about 120 pounds. =P

14) Breastfeeding didn't suffer.
I was really impressed with how my milk supply stayed strong. Normally when I cut calories it's a foregone conclusion that I cut my supply. But with Whole30 that was not the case at all. Possibly because I was drinking copious amounts of water out of anger that I couldn't snack? Whatever the case, it worked. And my baby stopped spitting up two weeks into it, which was ah-mazing.

15) I spent my month in the kitchen.
There is no cutting corners when you cook whole foods only. Not a single meal. I may or may not have snapped at my husband about it a few times. Shh, quiet, I know it was my idea in the first place.

16) Holy protein, Batman.
I couldn't stay ahead of the protein demand. I would prep multiple pounds of chicken breast, browned hamburger, dozens of boiled eggs... and 48 hours later it was gone.

17) Eggs
We consumed at least 75 dozen eggs. No, I am not exaggerating.

18) Oops... but oh well.
About two weeks into it, I discovered there had been sulfites in both my lemon juice and red wine vinegar. I had done so well reading labels of items I bought, but neglected to be as thorough with my own cupboards. There was no way I was starting over. No way. Maybe it threw everything off? Probably not. Even if it did, I did not care.

19) Okay, so I do comfort eat sometimes.
I know I said I'm not a big comfort eater. But it still happens. There was one particular day where I was just having a rough day emotionally, and while driving somewhere I was sniffling to myself that I would feel better if I had an iced coffee. Boo hoo. I didn't get any iced coffee laced with sugar and whipping cream. The day was fine. Not amazing. But fine.

20) I felt oh-so-proud buying groceries.
Oh, I was patting myself on the back in the checkout line, feeling so superior to those unhealthy shlubs next to me buying crackers, I admit it.

21) I felt oh-so-depressed at the bill.
But eating whole foods is expensive. No other way to slice that. That said, being we couldn't go out to eat ANYWHERE, we saved money there. And we couldn't drink any alcohol, so we saved some money there.

22) I thought my children might die.
I have skinny children. And when they're puking during detox and then picking at their less-than-inspiring eggs and potatoes for breakfast, I was legitimately concerned for their bodies about two weeks in.

23) But then...
And then, all of a sudden, we turned a corner. And they were eating PILES. To the point where I was telling them to stop because I didn't have enough food prepped. My mother still talks about how much they ate when she was babysitting them one night. hahahaha. No joke, they consumed 1/2 pound of beef, 1 egg, 1/2 an avocado, watermelon, various fruits and veggies. Just for supper. EACH. I actually think they put on a little weight by the end of the month. Instead of eating a piece of bread and refusing anything else good on the table, they were eating twice the calories in whole foods. It was shocking and miraculous.

24) Kids' awareness of food.
They still ask me, "Mom, is this dairy?" or "Mom, is there sugar in this?" at meal times. If nothing else, my kids were instilled with a keen awareness of food groups and which ones are just  "okay" instead of "great."

25) Sleep etc.
John required less sleep on Whole 30 and felt far more clear-headed. And we both noticed that once we returned to eating higher amounts of carbs that we just felt sleepy in the morning, even if we had a solid night of sleep.

26) Olive oil.
Buy it. Buy all of it. Gallons. It might last until the weekend.

27) Bananas.
We ate so many bananas. I even ate bananas. And I don't like bananas. But they're filling, and they're easy, and they're downright close to dessert when you fry them with coconut oil and cinnamon.

28) Okay, so we "cheated".
Yeah, I was towing the line with the whole fried banana thing. And I made banana egg pancakes. And we had smoothies. So shoot me. All the ingredients were approved, and even though I felt 100% guilty (because I'm hard core like that), it was what gave my kids happy moments during that month.

29) Looking at it now.
Immediately after completion I was disappointed. I didn't feel good. If anything, I had more bad days than good during the 30. But after a couple months of going back to eating whatever we want, I'm seeing the benefits more clearly now. The "clean" feeling in your body, the increased appetite for good things, the adjustment in how I view my meals, the weight loss, etc. In fact...

30) I can't believe I'm saying it, but.... next time?
We're doing it again. I'm not sure I'm ready for it. But my hope is that better habits will be formed each time we challenge ourselves to a hard reset. And I'm (oddly?) excited to try it in a different season of the year. Summer is great for fresh fruits and veggies, but I'm looking forward to preparing squash and potatoes (energy heaven for this girl) in the oven without it being 90 degrees outside. Here's to better health, and enough will power to muscle through another 30. This time I'll have Kombucha, and I'm going to binge on it, no matter what the Dallas authors say. So there.

This is for...

Quietly strong people inspire me: the ones who make it look easy, and only after you find out the backstory do you realize you should have been asking them to mentor you.

Lately I've been realizing that's pretty much every mother I know. We could talk about the emotional and spiritual strength required in having children, but I think the spotlight needs to be put on the physical strength these women embody.

These bodies are incredible. During the 2016 summer Olympics, there was backlash for commenting on how the female athletes were competing so soon after having babies. While I agree that women are far more than their ability to give birth, they should also be applauded for the physical dominance they show with the ability to not only give life but compete athletically.

Now, you should know, I considered not writing this. Because I know there will be eye rolls. And people writing this off as being overly dramatic. And quieted because "it's worth it"...

I have a confession. The phrase "It's worth it" is a pet peeve of mine. Every time I hear it I want to respond, "Of course it's worth it, that's why I'm DOING it."

But the value of the outcome does not magically negate the difficulty of the process.

Not only is the difficulty survived, I know woman after woman who has pulled it off with grace. So this is for...

The woman who feels like puking for 2000+ hours... and still makes breakfast for her family.
The woman who silently suffers through a minefield of hormones and unwelcome thoughts postpartum... and still holds her baby gently.
The woman who has lived through enough scars and blood loss to last a lifetime... and says "I'm willing to do this again."
The woman who has endured weeks of labor, waiting for her body to progress... all while still showing up at work with a smile on her face.
The woman who has been confined to a bed for months... and goes back to bench pressing.
The woman who spends days breathing through body-wracking muscle contractions... and then gets up every two hours round the clock for the next month.
The woman who lost so much blood she was close to dying... and walks to the NICU every day for weeks after.
The woman who has a dozen stitches still fresh in her core... and climbs the stairs to care for her older children.
The woman who undergoes week after week of painful procedures to ensure a full term baby... and after each appointment continues to take care of her household.
The woman who is plagued by pain every time she takes a step... and still picks up her two-year-old when they're crying.
Every woman who has poured their life blood into another person, and been expected to act like it's just ordinary.

You are extraordinary.
You are resilient.
You are the strongest people I know.

Dear Heart, Do You Believe in Goodness?

"Only goodness and faithful love will pursue me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord as long as I live." Psalm 23:6

Oh, dear heart.
Do you believe that? Do you really believe?

Only goodness.
Goodness: "a good thing, benefit, welfare."

I feel pursued by everything else - stress, anxiety, questions, the need to do more - while goodness, that deep and rich and fill-your-belly satisfaction, is elusive.

I've always thought of goodness as something to be pursued, not something pursuing me.
But then, really, that was because I was thinking of goodness as a work and not a Person.

The word for "faithful love" and "mercy" literally means "covenant loyalty."
In other words, "I'm not going anywhere."
Sticking with me.
Tailing me.
No matter how I twist and turn and stumble and even, at times, forcibly push... "I'm not going anywhere."

I'm not going anywhere doesn't mean He stays in one spot and I wander away and come back and wander and return and live out this restless cycle of lonely works.
I'm not going anywhere means I'm stuck to your side.
We're in this together.
Just try and leave.
I won't.

Only The Benefactor and His covenant loyalty will be in pursuit of me every time I draw breath.

Ah, David! What did you know? How did you know? How did you cling so tenaciously to the character of a Savior not yet born?

"Surely goodness and mercy..."

Surely.

Not hopefully.
Not eventually.
Oh, it is sure.

I want your heart. I want to get it, really get it.

So I can say surely.
So I can say with confidence that God's home is my dwelling.

Home.
His home.
Where the heart is.
Where He rests.
Where there is peace.
Where He invites.
Where He is always present, touching every bit of decor and piece of furniture, His presence ever evident.

Do I dwell there? Or do I still feel like an uninvited guest?

Do I take that as an invitation for now? Not just a "someday I'll go be with Him in His house, and until then I've just go to make it through"eventuality, but now.
"I will dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life."
That includes the earthly ones.

Standing is Hard

"I am Gabriel, who stands in the presence of God." Luke 1:19

What a way to introduce yourself.

Gabriel, messenger for God. Gabriel, who brought the news of the coming Messiah. Gabriel, warrior and angelic being. How does he choose to introduce himself?
He just stands next to God.

Just stands.

Allow me a soft laugh. "Just." It makes it sound like a simple task.

But standing is hard.

Standing is being present, but not yet participating.
Standing is having every attention and energy at the ready, or else your place is lost.
Standing is not moving too soon, or else the force and speed that, in a second, will be cheered and encouraged, will instead be the disqualifying move.

That moment before the gun sounds.
The second preceding momentum.
Baited breath.
Coiled muscles.

There's nothing relaxed about waiting.

In concluding a letter laced with discovering our identity and the keys to living as Christ's witnesses, Paul describes the clothing that must be worn:
A belt.
A breastplate.
A shield.
A helmet.
A sword.
Truth.
Righteousness.
Faith.
Salvation.
Holy Spirit.

Feet fitted with readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. From head to toe, equipped with battle armor. Ready for anything. Perfectly fitted for engaging in combat.

And what are we, fully outfitted, told to do?
Stand.
"Therefore put on the full armor of God, that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm, then..." Ephesians 6:13-14a

Not "go into battle."
Stand.
Not "conquer the land."
Stand.
Not "be a mighty warrior."
Stand.

Oh, but standing is hard.
When all the battle is raging in my ears and running before my eyes and my mind is as fast and restless as both senses. When everyone is watching and waiting and I feel like the decision needs to be made soon, or else I certainly will miss the window.
Just stand.
Just.

So now I find myself asking,  "Gabriel, what is your secret?"
To stand in the very presence of God - every secret laid bare!
To stand and not flee - anywhere on earth would be easier!
To stand and take it all in without exploding - what capacity is required!
To stand in patience.
To stand in perpetual readiness.
To stand with eager ears, but not a bitter heart.

You must trust Him a lot.
Trust that His timing is perfect.
Trust that His ways are always good.
Trust that His judgment will triumph.
Trust that His action will be sufficient.
Trust that just standing is actually a beautiful place to be.

We're All Lonely

According to Meyers-Briggs, I am an extrovert.

On paper this means that I converse easily with strangers and make connections easily.
In the eyes of the world, this means I have piles of friends and never have to worry about being lonely.

I have been, at times, annoyed by the increasing amount of articles expressing the needs and habits of introverts. There was something bugging me about the idea that they were the odd ones out in a world of "normal" people. However, after a conversation with a wonderful introvert who informed me that the internet is simply an easier platform to express the feeling, I began to see the pattern in every article:

I'm lonely. Please try to understand me.
I'm lonely. Please tell me I'm special.
I'm lonely. Please show me I'm worth something.

And that cry, in all its simple pain, is not reserved for one personality type.

Let me clear up a misconception: extroverts don't always have it easy either. I have struggled with loneliness in my own life. But it's not reserved to only me.

I would be willing to bet that every single person has felt lonely at some point in their life. And just at the moment you think you've found someone to cure that, the relationship changes, and it's difficult again. Why?

It would be so much easier to have other people exactly like ourselves, and then we could just be comfortable for the rest of our lives being exactly what we were 10 years ago and exactly what we'll be in 20 years.
But that's not how we were designed.
We were designed to complete each other, not just approve of each other. It's what makes us grow, what smooths out our rough edges. A little loneliness goes a long way in pushing us to pursue.

I used to be on the lookout for the person who would "get" me completely - share all my thoughts and opinions and understand all my moods and idiosyncrasies. Then I discovered this Proverb: "Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy."
While some may find that utterly depressing, I found it incredibly freeing. I didn't have to look for that person anymore, I didn't have to feel as if I was missing out on a friendship somewhere. No, I'm never going to find that person. Because they don't exist. Because if such a person existed, I would no longer be unique.

In essence, it's okay to feel lonely.

Because we all are.

No one is exempt from feeling like the odd one out, whether on the edge of the room all alone, or standing in the middle of a crowd surrounded by people who have no clue who the real you is.
We're all looking.
We all want to be loved.
We all need to be pursued.

But what if all this "understand how we're different" actually perpetuates the problem? Shouldn't we be focusing on where we're the same?
We all have a skeleton (or two) hanging in the closet.
We all want inside jokes and pizza night traditions and knowing looks.
Maybe loneliness is simply the first step, laying the path to begin that "Yeah, I know... me too" conversation with your future best friend five years from now.

We're made to be together.
But oddly, loneliness is often what gets us together in the first place.

And so it drives us to pursue others. To thrill when someone has an "aha" moment as we're explaining ourselves. To keep running after the other pieces of ourselves that are scattered across the globe, hidden in souls of all variety and ages. To not give up the dream of wholeness, but to instead pick up our battered hearts and say, "I will be vulnerable again."

Loneliness, in a way, is the only thing that keeps community alive.

Personality types are a wonderful way to get to know someone. But please, use it as a way to get to know someone, not as an excuse to think you already know them.
Maybe then we'll get the chance to turn all this loneliness into friendship.