Beautiful Breakdown... Yeah Right.

Beautiful breakdown, whatever, more like sobbing woman with swollen red face! In all that has happened this Summer I have actually done well to keep my composure, believe it or not. I rarely cry, because crying doesn't accomplish anything, I'm a planner! I will make a list of things to do to correct the situation or get out of the situation, but not cry over useless petty feelings. Well not last night! Last night I hit the emotional wall! Lately I have been accepting of all the many things God has thrown my way, and though I'm willing and following Him I guess is was just time to mourn the sweeter parts of the plans I had lost. It didn't help that logging onto Facebook seemed to be a way for God to rub everything I didn't have in my face.

I knew this day would come, the day when my best friends would move into an apartment to live together. While I am very happy for them I felt bitter at not being apart of it. It was something I wanted so badly, and someone else would be sleeping in "my bed". I know they will decorate it and make it a beautiful wonderful home and I don't get to be there. Ah! I'm okay with being upset over this, because it is very natural, so don't judge me. Really though it was tough, but I vented my feelings to my amazing friend Bethany, and I found relief that she agreed and felt the same way! I am not sure if she knows it but while we were texting I was sobbing.

This summer has been really very tough. My grandmother has been diagnosed with Alzheime's disease, found out a day later that someone who I love dearly was in the hospital for attempting to O.D. plus everything else I have previously mention in my past few posts. I suppose I just needed to break down before God, and admit my anger to a friend. I am very blessed to have such wonderful people who love me, even though I'm a hundred miles away.

Living with my hands open to God is harder then I ever imagined, it means complete surrender to give up certain things I desire, and trust God to overcome my grief, anger, and faithlessness. I trust Him to provide what I need, but I would sometimes really love to know why He does what He does.

What Plans?

This is what I suppose I would call part three of the "plans series" and hopefully the last of the them. I want to finish these post because they have been weighting on my heart, just trying to let go I guess. Closure, how rare and wonderful you are. When I think back on this year I become defensive, and all to aware of the truth I'm practically broadcasting. The truth can often be offensive but that's not what I'm trying at, in fact I hope people who read this can understand me as a person more. That even though I live with anxiety doesn't make me an invalid, even though Satan often tells me I am. God knows I'm broken, He loved me as a fallen person to begin with and my struggles with anxiety did not take Him by surprise. This isn't about me looking for sympathy either, it's about a testimony. What God can do, and where God is taking me.

After almost ten years of following my idol (my plans) it was torment to be home. I felt like every day I spent at home was a day I was disappointing God. My focus was not on healing, it was on getting back to my goals, back on track with my plans. I often wondered why somethings were not improving. I even made new goals in order to bring about healing more swiftly. None of these goals came to fruition, instead I pulled further into myself and began to separate myself from the people I had left at school. I was jealous that they were at school achieving my goals but I was right back to where I had started. I was very ashamed of my anxiety and so when any of them asked why I was at school I would say "health issues" true but a cop out. I feared rejection, scorn, and even pity from any of them. In my mind is that perfect Amy I had imagined in sixth grade, I could never live up to her, but I would never admit her defeat over me. Well I admit it, I am defeated by the that picture perfect Amy. She has an amazing walk with God, is skinnier, more fit, knows how to dress, how to act, she can befriend anyone, she is more desirable to men, every woman on earth would be envious, she would command a room, intelligent, well read, brave, and every other desirable virtue. The Amy I sought to be was Jesus in the form of Amy. She wins, I can't compete with that. So I admit my competition in hopes that I can lay down the gloves and fight a battle worth fighting.

My loneliness was eased by my brother and sister in law moving three miles down the road. I had missed them terribly, would often tear up thinking about their little house that was my only refuge from dorm life. Jonathan took a three month job as guest youth pastor at our home church, and he immediately asked me to help. He and Chelsea were even going to go along with the youth to their summer camp Centrifuge at Carson Newman, when a girl dropped out last minute I was asked to go as an adult leader. I built relationships with students, amazing girls. I felt apart of something bigger then I was, I was experiencing the feelings I expected to feel at college serving youth at camp.

I don't really know how to explain my encounter with God, it's not like the clouds parted and the sun blazed and a voice said... It was more like a gradual revelation through time in scripture. The week was based on defining moments and I was having one. God was showing me that our plans were not big enough for Him, through Abraham's story. It seemed as if God was showing me that He didn't need my plans. The way I was apart of a ministry to the girls, doing work for Him far from Southeastern. Then by watching the examples of the staff at the camp. It kept growing too, and as I listened to God it seemed that He spread light onto the dark areas of my heart. My hidden idol came into view, at first I denied it. How could my plans be an idol? I realized how much I depended on my plans. They were good things I had turned into my salvation, looking to them in hard times instead of my Father. Slowly I began to let them go. Jonah's story made me consider my inability to let God lead. Then the camp director Carrie told how she had other plans but God took over and brought her to Fuge. Then there was the worship track leader Seth Medley, told his testimony, how God took away a talent and replaced it with another. His testimony helped me see that this last year had not taken God by surprise. I wasn't derailing my future, or my service to God. I wasn't useless because of anxiety, when He called me He knew the day it would come.

Now that I'm home I am daily reminding myself of these truths, trying to walk in them. My plans are pointless if they are my god. In all that happens my God is greater. I will miss living among my great friends at Southeastern, but that just means I will have to work harder at staying in touch.

I want my hands to be open in everything to God, holding nothing back for myself. Not my future, not my family, and not my love, I want it all to be His. Open to Him to give and to take, and content in it all.

More of My Plans

My last post was a confession, let out the bad air breath in the good. This one will have to continue with that same course. I hope that my admittance will not be taken in a wrong way, I still love Southeastern, God just has other plans for me. I learned how to love God with more then my heart and strength, I learned how to love Him with my mind. To use learning as an act of worship. My Old Testament class opened my eyes to the beauty of Scripture, growing up in the Church had surprisingly dampened it's greatness. Because of that class I have fallen so in love with the word of God that I literally rest on it, I sleep with my Bible in my bed so that I can reach out and touch the promises of God, knowing that there is no greater reassurance then His word He breathed to us. I give 90% of the credit for this understanding and new passion to Southeastern. But here is my truth, I am not geared for Southeastern at this point in my life.

My last semester was awful, I was so buried in anxiety over my school work I couldn't think straight. I felt like I was crazy, every time I would get a handle on things and come up with a new plan to reorganize I would have a panic attack or nearly work myself into having a panic attack. I was burdened with terrible fear of being alone (especially since I had no roommate) as soon as I would enter my room I would turn on my t.v. and watch a movie. Movies became an escape. There was no deafening silence that made my thoughts slip into the anxiety traps that seemed to wait for me, so I would space out to escape. I tried to ignore my problems and be strong enough to shoulder them, instead of showing true strength and admitting my defeats. I am prideful, to an obvious fault. How could I admit to my family that it wasn't that I was failing, but much worse that I couldn't even overcome my anxiety enough to try. My father, whose acceptance I valued so much as a daughter, was the Chairman of the board of Trustees to Southeastern, a personal friend of the President of Southeastern Daniel Akin, whose class I was failing because I couldn't attend it without having an anxiety attack. I had so many whispers ringing in my ears, you're embarrassing your father, you're ruining your life, who could ever love someone with anxiety, how can God use someone who can't even handle anxiety enough to go to class. To be perfectly honest I hated this Amy, this side of myself who was so weak, and so easily listened to the lies that Satan thundered on me night and day.

At the end of the semester everyone was packing up to leave for home, ready to enjoy their family and Christmas, I decided to stay in the dorm a week and a half longer to work. I didn't want to have to own up to my behavior, or even look my dad in the eyes; in fact I wouldn't even call him and talk to him, I was so ashamed and so ready to accept his disapproval of me. He would often call me very upset, telling me he was tired of wondering if I was okay, where I was, or that he just wanted to hear my voice and ask about my day. His loving rebukes were like a mirror to just how broken I was, in some ways it only fueled me to hide even more.

Christmas 2009 was probably the worst season of my life. All I wanted to do was curl up in my sister's bed and watch movies with her. As I look back now I can see how tentative everyone was, keeping quiet, and the house was softer then it's normal Homesley chaotic roars! I can practically see my 13 year old sister sliding so softly into her bed next to me that it was like she was scared of hurting me. I knew the truth would have to come out, but I also didn't want to completely destroy everyones Christmas by admitting that I was failing at college because I was suffering and caving in from battling oppressive panic disorder. "Merry Christmas mom and dad, sorry I couldn't afford to buy you guys a gift this year, by the way the whole semester I've been periodically having anxiety attacks that have now turned my GPA into a nightmare! Now who wants some more eggnog?"

So I suffered through Christmas, and made continual lies that "I'm fine" and when someone brought up classes I would say everything was "fine" and change the subject as swiftly as possible. I smiled through physical torment and pain, hiding from failure and fears of rejection. I made it to New Years, just barely though, I felt like a shadow of the Amy I once was. That night at dinner I sat across from my father and he looked at me and again asked the question I hated most "So how do you think you did in your classes?" I couldn't say "fine" anymore, I was physically sick and ready for freedom from failures. I broke into pieces at that table, I admitted every thing I had been holding back for half a year. In sobs I begged for forgiveness, I feared rejection and scorn. I was as ready as I could ever be for a volley of justified anger from my father. He had every right to cast me off in anger, to look at me with contempt. In my father's eyes was shock, pity, understanding, compassion, and hurt. He didn't understand why I hadn't trusted him with my anxiety, I had inherited it from him, and he had a similar battle against it. He spoke gently to me, soothing my fragile state, as tenderly as if I were a dove with a broken wing.

In that moment my earthly father became the clearest living example of God the Father to me. Reminding me again and again that his love was unconditional, pleading with me to understand the depths of his compassion for me, asking in tenderness why I hadn't come to him when I needed him. He showed me that it is possible to love someone undeserving of love. I was the ugly, wretched, sick woman crawling to touch touch to hem of Christ robe unnoticed. Hoping to be healed, but expecting rejection, and ready to sneak back away. Over the months that followed I slowly came out of my shell. My father allowed me to use home as a refuge for rest, provided counseling for me, and even swallowed his human nature to demand answers for my shortcomings. We found out that half my classes I had scored B's but the other half, due to the focused anxiety I was experiencing with them, were incomplete. The B's were a shock, I had given into the idea that I was a complete failure, nothing was right.

My father encouraged me to take time off school, heal, and rethink my plans. Even then I was so wrapped up in them I couldn't possibly imagine another road of life. I was ready to dive right back into my idols, to accept that there was no other way God could work through me but through my plans.

I guess some people just learn the hardest of the hard way.

My Plans

My plans, more like my idols. Good things gone and grown into gods. My focus, bent and centered, on reaching curtain goals, and I knew the outcome would be that I would end up closer to God then I could ever imagine; if only I could pull through my plans. With each step forward I shut God off and turned my plans up, they were my religion. I shake my head writing this because it is so obvious here on the other side of things.

I was probably in sixth grade when I met Paige Patterson, the president of Southeastern at the time, his passion for the college students and the ministry they would enter was like finding a kindred spirit. It all looked so perfect, and my plans were made, in sixth grade with a passionate heart for the Lord I made the first carvings in sculpting my future idol. Those plans were always there, anytime someone asked me "What do you want to do after school?" my plans were clearly laid for them as fluidly as quoting scripture. And so through middle school and high school no matter how bad or hard things looked I had my plans to bring me comfort, I would imagine myself walking across the beautiful green lawns of Southeastern and know that everything was just a struggle until that time. In my desire to serve God I forgot Him, not even aware that I was missing the point.

High school was almost impossible to "escape" being so close to graduation yet seemingly so far felt like being stuck in a trap a foot from safety. My heart was breaking that my plans were already falling apart, but I held on refusing to let go of my goals. I am such a fool. Focused on this life so much that I refused to believe God could have any other way for me to live and so I just kept fighting forward to achievement. As soon as I made it to Southeastern I felt like nothing could slow me down, I was on my path to righteousness, and delighted with my cleverness. My parents and church were so proud, and so was I. It didn't take long for my happy unrealistic goals to self destruct in a cloud of truth. I couldn't live up to my idealistic Amy, perfect that she was in my head just couldn't translate to real world Amy. The pressure I put on myself could have made the Hoover Dam burst. I expected nothing less then perfection from myself, ended up hating my failings. Soon anxiety was my constant companion. But I looked at it like it was a test, if I worked hard enough I could overcome these things and continue on in my goals.

For a whole year I wrestled anxiety and fear of admitting not being strong enough, and fear of disappointing the people back home. It's sad to think about, and every time I came home people would tell me how tired and worn I looked. I looked sick, because in truth I was. Forcing myself to fit in where I didn't, and trying to be something I wasn't, then angry at myself for the failures. All the while I refused to turn to God, instead I felt ashamed that I couldn't live up to the plans I had made, confused with which god to serve and surrender to.