Soliloquy as Monologue

Perhaps you've seen them. Those Instagram posts with the soft filter that instantly harden your heart.

Calligraphic Bible verses with steaming cups of coffee. Look, she must be so spiritual.
Long flowing hair spilling onto the white sands of a Caribbean beach. Look, she must be so carefree.
Hands entwined. Look, they must be so in love.
A casserole dish sizzling with Mrs. Jones' latest healthy dinner. Look, she must be so put-together.

Maybe you try to find words somewhere that will rationalize your bitter reaction.

"I'm just going through a stage. That's why all of this is bothering me. I'll be past it soon."

Or maybe you try to shut off all stimuli to avoid the nagging feeling that everyone is watching you just to see when you'll fall short of the social standard of perfection.

"I'm going to hide for a week and socialize with no one. I'll wear a potato sack with eyeholes cut out."

Soon, you start to see condescension in everyone's eyes...especially when it isn't there.

You start to feel the crushing weight of these expectations...without realizing that they are of your own making.

You look in the mirror and notice 3 things:
1) It's covered in smudges because your home isn't as clean as it should be.
2) The person looking back at you is ugly, awkward, pale, and disproportionate.
3) The bags under your eyes have become so ordinary that you haven't even noticed them there for the past 6 months.

That chilly, damp feeling which was comforting when you were home watching The Food Network with your mom over a cup of tea isn't comforting anymore. You know you have a phone to call someone, but who would you even call? You know you have blankets to snuggle under, but isn't that for cold temperatures and not cold souls?

By the time you are deep into a musing like this, you realize you haven't thought your way out of it. You think, "But there's always a silver lining! Or a pot of gold. Or that proverbial light at the end of the tunnel."

The problem is the your legs aren't moving and you just got into the tunnel. You forgot your flashlight and you can't remember where the entrance was. So while you stand stuck between two bright places - memory and hope - you find yourself in a dim place - limbo.

Sure, things could be much worse. It isn't pitch black. The ground is stable underneath you. But you've lost your vision. And the future hopes you've held onto feel like they aren't there anymore. Even the memories of the past have faded a little.

The house you dreamed your big dreams in sits abandoned on a hill hundreds of miles away.

Your yearly vacation spot hasn't been visited since high school days. You're trying hard to remember the feel of the balcony's rough cement on your feet.

Your huge family feels tiny now that it is split in so many directions. With some, you mourn the physical distance. With some, you mourn the emotional distance.

You find that everything you observe around you is now reflected in how you see yourself. You watch a mother with her baby and wonder if you'll ever be good enough to parent like that. You watch a colleague run a meeting at work and wonder why you aren't such an effective leader like that. You look at the political climate and wonder how your behavior may have influenced it. You look at the church and its internal issues and wonder which ones you may have been involved in, even unwittingly. You see your spouse's exhaustion and wonder if marrying you is what makes them feel this way. Or maybe you see your kids struggle for meaning and direction and wonder if you are any good at guiding them after all.

There are lots of things you can tell yourself when the blues hit. When you feel like everything in your world is blah and lifeless. When you are tempted to retreat into shadows and never share anything difficult again. These are the most important ones:

Life will not always feel the way it feels now. Be sure not to make the past and future into idols you worship while the present is ready to be lived well. Life may seem a little dark and cold, but doesn't that happen when the sun hides behind the clouds too? The sun will probably pop out of hiding any minute. But even if it doesn't come out soon, the fact that you are still living and breathing and loving means the sun is still there..because the Son is still there.  For every single minute of darkness and brightness, sorrow and joy, tears and laughter. He doesn't leave and He promises He never will.

Joy can be chosen. Joy should be chosen. It does not always come automatically and it does not always come with happy smiles. You can be walking through the dark thoughtfully and cautiously while still possessing deep joy. You can cry while still possessing deep joy. You can ask God hard questions while still possessing deep joy. The one thing that cannot live beside deep joy? Hateful anger. You are not choosing joy if you are choosing to let envy turn into angry hatred toward another person..or toward God. There can be no joy in your life when there is no acknowledgment of your need to move beyond dark feelings into the light of God's grace and strength. The journey to joy always involves looking up - no matter how hard it is to do. You cannot find joy if we are determined to stare at the ground or stare at another human being in resentment of our circumstances. But, on the other hand, this is also true:

Being the honest screwed-up version of you is a million times better than being the fake perfect version of you. You don't believe it, but it's true. People need real people, not cardboard cutouts or magazine models. Dark feelings won't kill you. They are human and you are human - expect them to come around sometimes and don't pretend they never do. You have significance and value just as you are, feelings and all; don't rob the world of your uniqueness. You are created in the image of God.

Time is not the ultimate healer it is made out to be. Sharing is not the ultimate healer either. God is healer and He can use these means to accomplish the healing process in us.  Hard things don't just disappear the longer they sit there in silence. And they don't just disappear the minute you expose them to another. They fade as you face them and embrace them and recognize your inability to understand them and realize God's ability to redeem them. God heals but He will except no substitute healers. When all the little hurts are brushed away and we get to that deep dark hurt at the bottom, God is the only one who can, with a brush of his hand, do away with that kind of hurt...who can make that rock bottom place into a steady foundation instead of a sinking pit.

So in an act of complete surrender to your helplessness, you fall on your knees. You do your best to silence the comparisons, the fears, the hurts, and the wonderings --and you call out to God to do all that you can't. Because you know that trying your best is nothing compared to surrendering to God's best.

It might seem like the former is harder than the latter, but it isn't. Not in the least. Surrendering is a challenge because you are wired to resist surrender and fight for control. But in the spiritual sense, this seems to hold true: The more you strive, the more you sink. The more you surrender, the more you rise.

Hey you, that tough woman who's holding it together when she's falling apart. Hey you, that little girl who still wants the fairy tale but is afraid of finding out it's a lie. Hey you, that go-getter who for once just wants to stop going and getting - who wants to start growing and giving instead.

Hey you, that writer who has run out of witty insightful things to say -- that ambitious businesswoman who feels unnoticed, undervalued, and burned out -- that mom who feels the love in her heart flowing fiercely but pulled in so many impossible-to-stretch-to directions -- that brave woman who wonders when she's alone if somehow she's just not cut out for this calling.

Hey you. Your story doesn't end here. Your purpose is constantly unfolding. Your God is listening, is watching, is loving you right now. This moment. If He feels far, it's because your feelings are an inadequate measure of distance; He's right here.

In your cubicle. In your car's passenger seat. At the bus stop. At your dirty kitchen sink. In your laundry room. At your in-law's house. In your classroom. In the hospital room. By your bedside.

He's right here. And if you are still standing in that dim tunnel pulled between a past and present that just don't fit you anymore  - much like those jeans you wore in high school - know this. Repeat it. Memorize it. Write it on your arms and on your bedroom mirror and behind your sink.

He's right here. What would you tell Him if you knew that? How would you reach for Him? What would you ask Him about? What would you ask Him for?