Count it all as loss.

Looking back at where I’ve been, I can’t help but be filled with a strong and deep thankfulness. I’ve lived a pretty good life thus far, been blessed with more that I ever asked for.

I find myself at times getting stuck in the rut that I need to do and see more, and other times in the pit that fills with viscous self-pity when I can’t get my eyes off poor old me.

But I’ve been so undeservingly blessed in the places I’ve gone and the people I’ve met. I grew up in a house of broken people, but not a broken family. I never really knew my grandparents, but I have two parents who love me. I was encouraged by them throughout my childhood years, given opportunities to explore passions and overcome fears as I stepped into the unknown. I received a good education where I was safe both inside and out of the classroom. I had many dear friends who walked beside me. I got to run with a team and learn from those around me. I graduated at the top of my class and had many opportunities to study wherever I wanted to study. I graduated college with no student debt, finishing in 3 years and getting to study abroad at that. I have traveled to many countries, getting a tiny glimpse into other cultures and peoples, serving and exploring, learning and growing in perspective each time I left my country. I’ve gotten to travel by plane more times than I can count, ate more types of food than I can count, gotten to explore new places more times than I can count. I’ve had a brother who constantly encourages me, friends who have gone before and can speak life into me, and have learned so much about God, the world, and myself.

Yes, there have been hard times, mental struggles, and disappointments in my life, but I often forget how good I have it. Maybe the deeper struggle is yet to come, and I pray this time is preparing me to come out of it stronger and deeper than I could ever imagine.

But what I so often fail to see I have caught a glimpse of now: how undeservingly I have been blessed. Yet I count it all as loss….

Sight.

I find I often search for Him in big things. I wait for powerful experiences that move me. I pray for the eyes to see but then I have selective vision that only looks for what it expects to see. Yet I know He’s not only in the extravagance. He’s not only in the grandiose. He’s in the mundane. In the day to day. The simple and ordinary. He’s ever present there, yet I miss it because I’m looking elsewhere.

So now I surrender my eyes to see, to see where He is and will be. Not only to where I perceive He should be.

In the bright yellow leaves littering the ground, the trees a flame bursting with color all around. In the bottom of a coffee cup, in the dreaded room and kitchen clean up. He’s in the words I type, in the brutally honest prayers I write. He’s in the preparing of food, in the decorating of a room. He’s in the sleep I fall into at night and the beautiful morning filled with bright sunlight. He’s in the struggle; He’s in the pain. He’s in the loss and He’s in the gain. He sees and cares more than I know and He’s revealing himself even now. He’s not playing a game of hide and seek, that although I search I can never see. He’s not a grand mystery that keeps his distance, but One who is ever present in everything. Of course there are things I don’t understand about him, times I question his unfair plans. Many times I feel like I’ve gone blind, that I can’t see or feel no matter how hard I try to find. But it seems every so often he reminds me that he’s not in the feelings I long to have, but He’s present right in front of me.

Again, like the words of a friend, I’m beginning to see him in the end of a cigarette. Present in this coffee shop in which I sit, in the conversation, the brokenness, and the search for meaning in life’s long transit from beginning to end.

He’s in the struggle and triumph of community, He’s in the mundane, the things right in front of me that I can hardly see.

Take the Bricks

Why am I like this? Created this way? That I build up walls at the slightest threat, holding onto the regret of trusting and being let down before. I don’t want to keep score; I don’t want to be one who pushes away anymore.

It’s exhausting. Alienating. Not satisfying.

I don’t know what this fear is rooted in, what are its origins. I never had an experience that could justify it in the way that others do, no excuse for my behavior, no reason I should have to work through to get to healing.

As soon as a threat is detected, I get out the bricks, carefully constructing a wall, regardless of whether the threat ever hits. I choose past hurts as my mortar, fears of the future woven into each brick of hesitation. And before I even realize it, I’ve stacked them up high, a height at which I feel safe behind.

But today, it’s not the same. Today I’m playing a different game with these walls. As soon as I reach for my object of choice for construction, someone extends their arms and takes the brick from my itching hands seeking to avoid all harm. The one who walks beside me sees the me that others may not see. He knows this tendency I have to push away, to build a hedge of self-protection in the presence of anything that may crush hopes. Crushing them myself before they are built is my way to cope.

Yet the patience and grace that walks at my side disarms me and leaves my defenses open wide. With a promise of safety with him by my side, I still recognize that he is not the one who can truly guard with an unfailing love that always provides.

But this man who walks with me hand in hand is an imperfect picture of what grace can accomplish. The way grace can heal. This man’s efforts and determination to break down my walls and gently show me the great freedom out there reflect the One who can heal and bring us both into a truly beautiful deep freedom. He is our shelter. He is our refuge. He is the one we run to in times of trouble. My defense is no longer the bricks of the fear of the future, it is his strong shelter. My offense is his gospel, the truth of what he’s done, the person he’s making me into and the redemption from anything that may come.