Thirty-Six-Thousand Feet

I’m writing this from 36,000 feet in the air, somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean. I’m flying to my hometown from my current home in France to attend my aunt’s memorial and spend some time with family. It seems to be a fitting end to this summer season, which, to be vulnerable, has seen its fair share of sadness, anger, dissolution, and the list could on (but that might get even more depressing than this already is). I’ve been learning a lot about vulnerability and what that really looks like. I have a hunch that what I’ve been feeling isn’t so uncommon. I had a moment a few nights ago where I was pouring my heart out before the Lord and what I said rather surprised me. I often have this happen, where I don’t realize that I’m feeling something deep down until I say it, because I can be a bit emotionally unaware. It’s definitely an area I’m growing in. What I realized is that I have been believing that no one will understand what I’m going through, or that they won’t care and thus, I don’t feel that I can be completely honest with anyone in my life about where I’m at. This is all sounding a bit dramatic as I’m writing it out, but sometimes there’s a lot of pain and frustration we experience as people, and it’s okay to admit that. 

Last night, I shared some of this with a very dear friend, who is also imperfect, but cares very deeply for me and has always been a safe place for me to process what’s in my heart and mind. It was freeing to not keep all that frustration and sadness inside. Words can not describe how thankful I am for the amazing friends that God has given me. They are all such a precious gift. While I was growing up, I had a beautiful little cross-stitch wall hanging that had on it a verse that read “Every good and perfect gift is from above.” It’s quite astounding when I step back and look at all of these good and perfect gifts that I have been given. Today, as I sit in this airplane, looking out over the clouds scattered between me and the ocean, the Lord speaks to my heart and tells me, “I care about every single thing that you’re feeling. I see your broken parts, your beautiful parts (not necessarily mutually exclusive), and everything in between.” Sometimes it’s easier to sit in my pain, rather than run to the feet of Jesus and choose to see and accept his inexplicable kindness. He is so kind. He is so gentle. He takes us, even when we’ve acted in ways that cause us to regret. My pain and imperfection does not disqualify me from being called a daughter of God. Honestly, I am tempted to believe the contrary at times. In his mercy and kindness, he reminds me of the truth, about who I am and how he sees me, through things as seemingly insignificant as an empty airplane seat beside me on an international flight that I didn’t want to take.