The room was crowded.
The air was thick with emotion and enthusiasm, and it seemed like everyone was enjoying connection.
"What's wrong with me?" played like a broken tape in my mind over and over again.
Moving to a new place with new people is hard. If you've done it before, you know what I'm talking about. The past few months since I made the move to Central Oregon have been hard. Harder than I thought they would be. And I don't like to admit that because I take pride in having my life figured out (you can laugh).
In the chaos of a new job, new housing, new people, and new heartache, I have rediscovered some old acquaintances.
This committee of acquaintances has been tucked away in the shadows of my heart waiting for an opportune time to reappear.
See, when my life is somewhat comfortable, they see no need for intervention. But now, in this season of discomfort, they have emerged to do their job once again.
Their job?
To keep me safe.
(Well, that's what they think).
In reality, their job is to remind me of my every weakness, vulnerability, insecurity, and... a few other things that have no relevant connection to reality.
(Well, that's what they think).
In reality, their job is to remind me of my every weakness, vulnerability, insecurity, and... a few other things that have no relevant connection to reality.
Why? So that I will keep those sensitive items safely tucked away, out of view.
It's scary to be known.
And I find myself in a season of becoming known by people who have not known me. At work, at church, at home, in therapy...
Don't say that!
Don't do that!
You shouldn't have...
You should have....
Nobody cares!
Nobody wants you around!
Nobody knows the real you
...and nobody wants to.
My committee is loud these days.
It's not the first time I've hiked with them in my backpack...but it's first time I've hiked this mountain...and I think they shredded my map.
It's not the first time I've hiked with them in my backpack...but it's first time I've hiked this mountain...and I think they shredded my map.
See, all they know how to do is help me hide. Hide from pain, hide from fear, hide from awkwardness, hide from hope, hide, hide, hide. I have learned how to hide my entire life.
Hiding comes easily, it's learning how to un-hide that's the tricky part.
And why, "un-hide?" Because when the committee is in charge and the sensitive places of my heart are safely tucked away, I find myself face to face with another danger: Loneliness. And Loneliness has its own tapes playing on repeat...
"You are FORGOTTEN. Nobody knows you exist. Nobody sees you. Nobody sees your heart, Your needs, Your joy...Your pain."
It's what the Enemy of my soul has spoken over me since a very young age. As a pastor's daughter, I internalized the message that everybody else's needs mattered at the expense of my own. That everybody else could struggle and get help, but I could not. That everybody else could need prayer, compassion, and love, but I could not. Because surely God would fall off His throne if I couldn't meet my own needs. It hurts to feel forgotten, overlooked, unimportant. And I'm finding the of being forgotten is worse than the pain that comes with being known. It's just not a worthy exchange.
I know this, but because it is a familiar theme song, sometimes I catch myself humming to it totally unaware.
"God, I feel so forgotten. So alone. So unseen."
I have been blessed to have incredible community in my life during the past several years. People that I can be radically honest with and find safety, comfort, and accountability. Now those are long distance relationships... and seeking safety, comfort, and accountability feel like swimming upstream with a crew of hungry bears around.
While I am not forgotten by people who love me, my emotions are still singing the "Forgotten Theme Song" loudly and off key.
I realized recently that feeling forgotten was not just about other people: I felt forgotten by God.
Where was He when the job was harder than I expected?
Where was He when the relationship went south?
Where was He when the housing situation fell apart?
Where was He when my ability to cope got up and left the room?
Loneliness has an answer: Surely He forgot about you. That's what always happens, isn't it? You are always forgotten.
The committee chimes in: That's what you deserve anyway! You aren't worth remembering!
And as I call out for another answer from my Abba, it is strangely quiet. No rebuttal to throw at my committee. No breakthrough word of comfort and assurance. It's just Quiet.
And that is how it has been. I am quiet, and He is quiet. But this Quiet is not stagnant, this is a powerful quiet.
In this Quiet, this is what I hear:
"What do you know to be true? Stay there. Don't move. Don't speak. Be quiet."
And I hear it over, and over, and over again.
And it's NOT the word I wanted, but it's the word I need.
To choose what I know to be true when my committee is suggesting alternative options takes more courage than I can muster. So I stay. I'm quiet. I wait. I dig in my heels and I camp here until God strengthens my arms for the battle. Instead of listening to the logic of Loneliness, I choose to quietly ask the questions:
"Am I overlooked?"
"Am I unimportant?"
"Am I forgotten?"
Because I already know the answers to those questions. I already know. And I have a choice. While my committee would love for me to lay down and put on my headphones and listen to their tapes play over and over again, I have been given authority to say to my committee, "Thank you very much, I won't be needing your input on this one." I can choose to sit in the quiet with Jesus and allow Him to speak to my needs on His terms and in His time.
I'm learning in this season that with God, trust matters most when trust feels most difficult.
And I realized that if I can only trust God when His presence is obvious to me, He is not the one with the forgetting problem, I am.
He becomes forgotten by me when I choose not to trust in the Quiet and allow other voices to speak into me.
"Am I forgotten?"
I can ask my committee. I can ask my Loneliness. I can ask my pain. Or, I can ask Him.
Even when my job, my housing, my people, and my emotions change, His answer to that question never, ever does.
"Where shall I go from your Spirit?
Or where shall I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there!
If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!
If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me.
If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light about me be night,”
even the darkness is not dark to you;
the night is bright as the day,
for darkness is as light with you."
Psalm 139:6-12
