Thoughts

That Day In Oxford

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We stood alone in Holy Trinity Church and soaked in the silence. There was something special, holy even, about that quiet moment, not least of which was the fact that it was so vastly different than moments we’d shared earlier that day.

Public transportation can be tricky business. My wife and I were in London for our honeymoon, and we’d planned to get around using various forms of public transport for the week. In London, the tube system is extensive, and while it took some getting used to, we quickly began to feel comfortable using it to explore the city. Anytime we needed to get from one place to the next, I’d search the next location on Google Maps, and I’d be given directions to the nearest underground station along with the line we needed to take. The details were impressive, down to the specific platform and train needed to get us where we wanted to go. With the tube, there were designated routes, fairly consistent schedules, and clearly communicated stops so we always knew where we were and how long we had until our next stop.

Not every public transport service operates the same way, though. On Saturday, we hopped on a train to Oxford, expecting the same sort of system. To be fair, the train operated much like the tube, with set stops and a clear schedule. I couldn’t find a list of the stops, though, so when the train stopped and I saw Oxford Park on the sign outside, I led us off the train, thinking we’d arrived a bit early. Seeing no sign of the city, we walked into the station and were kindly told that we’d gotten off one stop too early and would need to take the next train into the city proper. This mistake cost us about 30 minutes and led me to panic at the strain on our schedule, but we eventually got to Oxford.

Then came breakfast. We’d planned to eat and wander around a bit before our first tour of the day. After losing 30 minutes from the train mistake, we felt more urgency to find a quick meal, which was heightened by the fact that the restaurant we’d chosen took longer to find than expected. But we ate and finished with a few minutes to spare, giving us just enough margin to get to the location of our tour and struggle to find the entrance. We eventually got there, but only barely.

At this point, we felt a bit frazzled, as we’d arrived late or nearly late to every event we’d planned so far. When it came time to leave for our next tour, we managed to find our bus stop easily enough, and after some confusion about how to get a ticket, we were on board and on our way.

I was quite excited at this point. Our next tour was of C. S. Lewis’s house. Lewis has been a major influence on my life and writing, and I was so looking forward to visiting the house where he lived and worked along with the church where he worshipped and was buried. But I was also nervous, as I couldn’t get my maps app to show me the route for the bus we were on. We’d told the driver where we were going and were sold tickets, so we felt confident that we’d be dropped off at the right place. I was hopeful that things would go smoothly. Then I noticed that none of the stops we were passing looked familiar, and our GPS dot on the map began to leave the town and head further and further into the country. We began to panic. By the time we realized we’d missed our stop and would need to get off, the bus had entered a highway with no stop in site. What’s more, we couldn’t figure out how to stop the bus short of actually talking to the driver.

When we finally stepped off the bus, we were far from where we were supposed to be with the tour starting shortly. We hopped on a bus going back the way we’d come and missed our stop a second time because we still couldn’t figure out how to signal for a stop. Thankfully, we caught the next stop after the bus driver pointed to a button in front of us that we’d both missed. We exited, flustered and stressed and a bit embarrassed, and walked quickly through a light mist, knowing we were over 20 minutes late but hoping to be let in.

As we arrived at the Kilns, though, we were soon calmed. Despite being so late, we were welcomed in and told we could join the tour in progress. We caught up with the group as they were moving into their next room, and we felt something that had been absent all week: community. Sure, we’d been surrounded by people everywhere we went, and we’d just toured the Bodleian Libraries with a small group. But here, something was different. Rather than just meeting friendly faces, we were met with hospitality. We walked past a bowl of cough drops with a sign to please take one (a welcome gift after a long walk through the cold, damp air). Our guide, Esther, asked us where we were from and helped to settle us after we joined the group late. The stories she told of Jack, Warnie, and those who frequented the house felt more like family memories than mere history. After the tour, she spent a few extra minutes with us in the sitting room to catch us up on what we’d missed, going above and beyond in kindness and generosity. We felt a warmth there we didn’t realize we were missing, in part because for the first time on our trip, we knew we were around other believers. We felt at home there in a way we hadn’t elsewhere in England, and that made all the difference in our day. We entered the house flustered, cold, and discouraged. We left humbled and encouraged and thankful.

After the tour ended, we took a short walk to Holy Trinity Church, where Lewis is buried. To get there, you have to walk through the neighborhood, past quaint houses and narrow lanes, until you reach a gate opening to trees. The church isn’t large at all, and the churchyard isn’t flashy or pronounced. It’s simply there, as it’s been for years, quietly tucked away in this corner of the world. After finding Lewis’s grave, we entered the church itself, where a few others who’d toured the Kilns with us were just leaving. Then we were alone in the old church building.

There in the quiet, after the craziness of the day, we both enjoyed a moment of peace. And there was a sense of rest in that stillness as well. I wonder if that moment would have been as special if it wasn’t for the stress that had preceded it. Similarly, I wonder if the tour, and the intentionality of the hosts, would have meant as much if we hadn’t been so late.

Life is interesting. On one hand, we don’t desire setbacks or sufferings. We try to avoid them if at all possible. Yet some of God’s greatest gifts come on the heels of such experiences, sometimes even because of them. Our reason for being in Oxford in the first place is another example of this, as it was our honeymoon, a celebration of marriage following years of struggle and silence. Those years were filled with bitterness and suffering, as my wife and I were both working through some of the hardest seasons we’ve ever faced. And yet God was at work in and that time, leading us through it to each other. All things really do work together for good, as Paul wrote in Romans 8. And though we often forget it, God proves the point over and over again in our lives. That day in Oxford is a sweet reminder that God is good and that he is generous and kind even in the midst of frantic circumstances.

Year-End Updates

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Hey y’all!

As we approach the end of the year, I wanted to give a few updates on the blog. Despite my recent posting record, I do intend to keep writing, and I’ve been working on some new things that I’m pretty excited about. And while I don’t think I’ll post quite as often as I once did, I’m looking forward to being able to post more frequently in the new year than I’ve done lately. With that being said, here are a few quick updates as we get ready for Christmas and a new year.

First, I recently got married! It’s been a whirlwind between the wedding, honeymoon, and holidays, but I’m so excited about what the Lord’s been doing, and I’m looking forward to writing about what God’s been teaching me in this season of life.

Second, I participated in a poetry writing challenge this November where I wrote 30 new poems in response to daily prompts throughout the month. While many of these poems are more like first drafts than polished pieces, I’m excited to share them weekly in the new year. Poetry Fridays are coming back, Lord willing!

Third, I’m working on an essay that I hope will be ready early next year. As I’ve been working on it, though, I’ve been recognizing how rusty I am. While I don’t know if I’ll be able to do weekly essays like before, I do want to get back in the habit of writing regularly, so I’d like to ask for your help. If you have any essay suggestions, I’d love to hear them! In the past, I’ve really enjoyed writing in response to prompts from friends, as such prompts have often challenged me to think about topics I wouldn’t normally consider or to approach something from a fresh angle. So feel free to send me suggestions, and I’ll see what I can do!

This year is coming to a close more quickly than I anticipated, but I’m excited about what the Lord is doing, and I want to be faithful to steward my time well. I’m looking forward to time with family and friends over the next couple of weeks, and I’m looking forward to what next year will bring. So if this is the last post of the year, I hope you have a merry Christmas and a happy new year! I’ll see you in 2024!

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Talent

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Talent is a strange thing. And if you desire to steward your talent well for the service of God and his kingdom, your relationship with it may be a bit tricky.

First, it’s difficult to affirm your own talents without feeling like you’re being arrogant. Maybe that’s just me, but even the simple statement, “I have a talent for writing” feels weird to type. I immediately fear that someone will read these words and will assume I’m attempting to draw attention to myself or am trying to make a name for myself. I don’t ever want to be the guy who loves the sound of his own voice or who takes every opportunity to talk about the work he’s doing. In the attempt to avoid arrogance, I tend to swing the pendulum so far in the other direction that I end up in the opposite extreme of downplaying or downright ignoring what the Lord has given me to steward. But if the Lord has given you a talent, then I think he intends for you to use it, and that means accepting the reality that you are talented. I think part of using your gifts for the glory of God means embracing their existence, and that means having a healthy pride in the work you do.

Second, talent requires effort. While inspiration can, and does, foster times of excitement in the work, inspiration alone won’t sustain you in the work. This isn’t novel, as many others have pointed this out, but I’ve come to understand this more clearly through my own life and work. I used to write an essay and a poem just about every week. A wise man gave me some writing advice in the early days of my blog, and one of the pieces of advice that stuck with me was his encouragement to stick to a consistent schedule. As I kept a consistent writing schedule, I grew in a number of ways, and I saw the Lord use my work in the lives of others. Much good came from that discipline. But inspiration wasn’t always present. Sometimes it struck at the right place and time, and I enjoyed a period of writing under its influence. But sometimes the schedule simply called for the work to be done, and I had to write whether I felt inspired or not. And as I did, I found what others have found before me: inspiration often follows a disciplined effort. I believe the Lord used my work in that season in some neat ways. And while I’ve seen him at work in this present season, I’ve also felt led by him to do more than I’ve been doing. In this season, I don’t keep a writing schedule, so I’m not writing as much I used to. And I miss it. The act of writing is a spiritual discipline of sorts for me, so when I don’t write, I don’t just keep my talents from those I could be serving; I keep myself from a blessing as well. And effort is part of the process.

Third, your talent is more than just a hobby. I used to think of writing as a hobby: something I enjoy doing that may or may not be enjoyed by others. When I thought of it, I didn’t necessarily see it as anything more than a personal interest. But over time, I began to see that writing was a kind of ministry, perhaps one that the Lord had equipped me to do. So I started working at it, pursuing growth in the craft. And as I did, I saw how God used my work to bless others. I still struggle to accept this reality for myself (see my first point above), but I readily see it when I look at the talents of others. The songs and stories of Andrew Peterson, the music of The Arcadian Wild, the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins, the essays of C. S. Lewis, the tales of J. R. R. Tolkien — all of these have brought comfort, encouragement, joy, and wonder to my life. I have been helped by the talents of others, and I have seen the Lord use their works to minister to me. And while I don’t presume to place myself on the same level as these artists, I do recognize the opportunity to participate, in some smaller measure, in the same work, in using the talents God has given me to create things that he may then use in the lives of others. Your talent may not be only for you.

In a way, all of this boils down to one word: faithfulness. To be faithful with my talents means to see what God has enabled me to do and to affirm it as good. One podcast I listened to focused specifically on this idea, and for good reason (look up the Call It Good podcast by Matt Conner). I can’t steward well what I deny exists. But affirming one’s talent as a good thing is only step one. To be faithful with my talents means I must work at them. I must put in the time and effort required to hone my craft, to grow in my abilities, and to produce works that are good, beautiful, and true. Rather than waiting for inspiration to strike, I must strike first, in faith that God can bless my faithfulness regardless of whether I initially feel inspired in the act of creating. And finally, to be faithful with my talents means seeing them as gifts not just for me but for others. My writing is one way that I love the Lord my God with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength and love my neighbor as myself. This means I should be careful before I ignore my talent. Again, if God has given me something, I think he wants me to use it. And if that’s true, then I should probably be slow to stop working.

What about you? What talents do you possess? What has God given you to steward in this life? And what can you do with it this week?

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Seasons

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Seasons are strange things. In some ways, there’s a sense of safety in an understanding of seasons. For example, it’s currently summer, which means it’s hot and humid here in New Orleans. The weather feels almost oppressive at times, zapping our energy levels and frustrating us with its unrelenting heat. But summer is a season, and seasons change. Some day, the air will feel cooler and dryer. The weight of the still, stuffy air will be lifted by cool breezes, and we’ll feel lighter instead of heavier as we step outside. Knowing this, I can endure the discomfort of today because I know a change will come. I need not get lost in the difficulty of today; I can rest in the knowledge that this process will continue on as it has always done. This is simply the season for heat and humidity, and that’s okay.

Our understanding of seasons doesn’t diminish the difficulty of the present day, though. We who are especially prone to discomfort during summer suffer, in a way, while in that season, longing for the relief of fall. Likewise, we who are especially prone to discomfort during winter suffer in the cold as we wait for the relief of spring. The seasons don’t look the same, and we don’t feel the same way through them all. As they change, so do we.

Seasons of life are similar. We experiences seasons of joy and peace, of fun and freedom, filled with recreation and rest and friends and family. We also experiences seasons of hardship and loss, of discomfort and distress, of loneliness and isolation. We experience seasons of abundance as well as seasons of lack, seasons of much and seasons of little. “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens,” as the author of Ecclesiastes reminds us (Ecclesiastes 3:1). And we change with those seasons, sometimes growing, sometimes struggling to grow. And just like there are cooler days in the summer and warmer days in the winter, our seasons are not monolithic. There are genuine joys in the midst of hard seasons, and there are genuine sorrows in the midst of easy seasons. Life is complex, as are we. Knowing this brings some comfort, but it does not necessarily lessen the weight of our experiences.

Through every season, though, God is constant, steadfast, faithful. He remains sovereign over every season, Lord over every day we live. Jesus continues to intercede on behalf of his own. The Spirit remains with us to comfort, to convict, and to encourage growth in godliness. Though our experiences change, and though we change over time, our God does not. I think this is part of why Paul can say in Philippians 4, “I can do all things through him who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13). Though seasons change, one thing remains constant through it all. By centering our lives on Jesus, we find strength to weather any season.

That’s easier said than done, of course. In difficult seasons, it can be hard to abide in him. Our circumstances, our community, and at times, even our own thoughts, feelings, and bodies can feel like obstacles to walking with Jesus. We can know cognitively that he is with us and that he will sustain us without feeling it to be true, and we can try to seek him while feeling like our limbs are too heavy to do the work. In such times, an understanding of seasons can feel almost worthless. But if the Bible is true and if God is faithful, then there is always hope. Maybe in our most difficult seasons, our weakness doesn’t have to define our experience. Maybe it’s not greater effort but rest that will lead us to freedom. Maybe the answer isn’t in us but in him.

As seasons change, and as we change with them, it’s easy to lose sight of what is constant and unchanging. It’s easy to forget that the one who has overcome this world has indeed overcome this world, that even death itself has been experienced and conquered. If this is true, then nothing we face is outside of his ability to turn for good. Nothing we face, and nothing we become, is beyond his power to redeem. So we can exist in this season, and in every season, with a hope, a foundation, and a strength found not in the season itself but in the one who walks with us through every season. Further, we can rest in the fact that for those who love God, no season is wasted. All things work together for good (Romans 8:28), and nothing can separate us from God’s love (Romans 8:31-39).

Seasons change, and so do we. Sometimes we long for the change, and other times we dread it. In every season, though, I believe we can “taste and see that the LORD is good,” and we can find refuge in him (Psalm 34:8). We can hold fast to the promise of future glory, glory that will more than make up for any suffering faced in this life (Romans 8:18). And we find hope in him. If he has shown himself to be good and faithful now, amidst the change and discomfort of these earthly seasons, how much more does he want to give us in eternity?

Thank you to Maci for her feedback on this post! She makes everything better, and I am so grateful for her thoughtful eye.

Photo by Lerone Pieters on Unsplash

Reflections on Another Birthday

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I’ve gotten some good rest this weekend. I ate breakfast at Chick-fil-A (always good). Some artists I love released some new music. Leicester City lost (sad, but normal). All is as it should be.

Also, I’m turning 32.

In some ways, this feels like the first time in my life I’ve got a decent handle on things. I’ve got a better understanding of my health, mentally, spiritually, and physically, and I feel better equipped to manage those areas well. I’ve got a consistent work schedule that allows me room for rest and for study. I’m taking steps academically both in the pursuit of a degree and professionally. I’m in a healthy relationship, and we’re learning how to love each other well day by day. On many levels, things are going well.

In other ways, life feels out of control. The holiday season was full of travel, sickness, and tension in relationships. Finances continue to be a source of stress. Changes in job situations and church families, while not bad things in and of themselves, make life feel different and bring new challenges. On top of these, the future remains unknown, and the uncertainty can feel threatening at times.

I’ve never been one to have detailed plans for the future, so I can’t say I had any expectations for my thirties. I’ve written before that life up to this point hasn’t necessarily looked like I thought it might, but it’s not as if I had a set path in mind that’s been thrown off by my actual experience. Rather, some doors have closed that I thought might stay open while others have opened that I didn’t expect. In some cases, doors I thought I’d never see open again have opened, with blessings beyond any I could have imagined.

Still, the future can feel overwhelming at times, in spite of all the ways the Lord has proven faithful so far. Maybe that’s why Joshua chapter 1 proved such an encouragement to me this weekend. There, God speaks to Joshua in preparation for Israel’s entrance into the promised land. Moses, the legendary leader, has died, and Joshua now stands in his place. Joshua has seen the rebellious nature of the people, the burden of leadership, and the immensity of the task before him. The weight, I’m sure, felt heavy. Yet God’s message to Joshua was not one of impossible standards or increased stress, but of encouragement.

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.”

Joshua 1:9

God meets Joshua with a reminder of his presence with him, giving him reason for strength and courage and peace. He didn’t have to fear or worry.

I don’t know what this next year holds for me. I have questions, fears, doubts, insecurities. I can easily grow overwhelmed. But I’m reminded that I belong to God, and God has not failed me yet. So I enter this year with hope in him, knowing that I need not fear or be dismayed.

Photo by Adrian Curiel on Unsplash

Saturday, Sickness, and Rest

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In some ways, I don’t mind getting sick.

Sure, sickness isn’t fun. It frustrates plans, drains your energy, and introduces all kinds of discomfort to life. If you’re like me, when you begin to feel the early signs of sickness, you don’t rejoice. You dread it a bit, hoping you’ll be able to fight it off but knowing you likely won’t. Sickness, sadly, is often a process you just have to endure. It’ll pass in time, but until it does, you’re stuck with it and with all that it brings.

But one thing I’ve learned to appreciate about sickness is its ability to make me rest.

I seem to remember an illustration from some book I read about a guy who said he wouldn’t mind having a major surgery because it would force him to stop moving for a while. The point I remember taking away from the story was that his life was so filled with work that he couldn’t slow down, couldn’t rest. Honestly, there’s probably more relevance to me there than I’d like to admit. But nevertheless, I’ve found his point to be true. Sickness forces me to stop, to cease from my usual busyness and give my body a chance to heal. And in those moments, I find true rest.

Saturday was one of those days. I’d just been treated for a sinus infection and some bronchitis, and I was feeling it. But I also didn’t have any responsibilities in urgent need of my attention, so I could let myself relax. And I did. I slept in a bit, walked around a holiday market on campus, enjoyed a quiet afternoon by myself, and spent some time with friends that night. I woke up the next morning having slept well, and I felt more rested than I had in a long time.

I know my brain enough to know that a big part of my ability to rest that day was due to me feeling justified in devoting that day to rest and recreation. When I’m busy, even my off days tend to have agendas, which can diminish the amount of restfulness I gain from them. So the mixture of minimal responsibilities and sickness allowed me to embrace more fully the opportunity to relax. I get that, and I’m thankful for it. But as I enjoy the benefits of rest and feel more motivated to do the work set before me, I’m wondering if this is what God had in mind when he set the Sabbath day in place.

My view of the Sabbath typically tends to look like just another agenda item in my week. On some days, I work. On some days, I run errands. On the Sabbath day, I rest. Check, check, check. But viewing it that way takes away from the point of it, I think. While I ought to prioritize rest, disciplining myself to engage in it, I wonder if I’m missing something by treating it as just one more thing to do each week. Maybe the key is to see it like I saw Saturday: a day to enjoy the life God’s given me and to walk in the freedom he provides. Maybe if I did that more often, I’d feel more rested all around. Maybe if I considered this approach more often, I’d learn to walk more closely with God all week long. Maybe if I rested better each week, I’d be more productive at work too.

I’m not sure I’ve got it figured out. I’m sure I still have more to learn about work and rest. But I’m thankful for a day like Saturday and for the sickness that brought it about, and I’m thankful for the way God was able to use it in my life. And I hope, by his grace, to rest better as he gives the opportunity.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Note: I think the illustration I referenced earlier is either from Your Money Counts by Howard Dayton or Emotionally Healthy Spirituality by Peter Scazzero, if anyone is interested in finding the source.

Sovereign Over OCD: Some Lessons Learned

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OCD, or Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, is an anxiety disorder that affects my thoughts and actions and that attaches to what I care about. Scrupulosity, as I mentioned in part one, is a religious form of OCD. In my experience, OCD most often latched onto my relationships. I noticed it in romantic relationships as it convinced me God didn’t want me to date the people I wanted to date. I noticed it in my friendships as it convinced me God wanted me to step away from certain people or to cancel certain plans. I noticed it in my approach to community as it convinced me I needed to confess my thoughts and attitudes to anyone I might have wronged by those thoughts and attitudes. I noticed it in my work as it told me I needed to turn down jobs, stop writing, and pass on opportunities to get experience in my field. In each case, I thought I was being tested like Abraham was. I thought God was testing my faith by asking me to give up good things and trust him, to die to myself and be sanctified. And in my head, it checked out. If I was feeling conviction and if the Lord was giving me directions regarding which steps to take in response to that conviction, then I didn’t need to understand it or like it, I just needed to trust and obey. 

Initially, questioning my thoughts and feelings felt sinful. I genuinely believed I was pushing back against God’s work by looking into OCD. But as my friend explained more of what OCD is and how it can show up, my experiences began to make sense. Where I thought God was convicting me, I began to recognize anxiety. Where I thought God was directing me, I began to recognize intrusive thoughts and some bad theology. Where I’d struggled to see any fruit from the steps I was taking, I could now see why: God wasn’t actually the one behind these directions. I thought my problem was spiritual, but it turned out to be biological. And because it was biological, I began to hope. Maybe God hadn’t been closing doors all these years; maybe it was me all along. And maybe, in time, some of those doors could be opened again. 

Where was God in all of this? If he wasn’t the one leading me to take all these uncomfortable steps, why did he allow it go on for so long, especially when it caused so much hurt for me and for others? Admittedly, while I know the answer to the first question (he was here all along), I don’t fully know the answer to the second question. But I believe he is sovereign, even over my OCD and over the timing of this season, and I believe he allowed me to wander, to wrestle, and to fall how and when I did. And I believe the season wasn’t wasted. 

So what’s my proof this season wasn’t wasted? What did God do in this time, and what has he been doing since? More than I know. But here are a few things I think I can discern.

God taught me that I can be okay in silence and solitude. While the reasons for withdrawing from people weren’t healthy, the lesson learned there was needed. For years, I’d grown used to busyness. I thought I knew how to rest, but really I was only ceasing from my normal work to engage in recreation. As I felt compelled to step away from friends and family and to just be by myself with the Lord, I found that God was present there and that I could find rest apart from the things I used to distract myself with. 

God taught me that his provision doesn’t depend on my effort. I backed out of job opportunities, turned down classes where I could get teaching experience, stopped using my talents, stepped away from friendships, rejected someone I wanted to pursue a relationship with, and initiated conversations that could have created further division and discomfort. In spite of all of this, the Lord has provided for me. He’s given me friends who were faithful even when I was difficult. He’s given me teaching opportunities even when I thought the doors might not open again. He’s sustained me. He’s restored friendships and opportunities I was afraid were lost. As I’ve begun to work through this season and to explore how my mind and heart work, I’ve been met with an immense amount of grace. God’s proven himself faithful and good over and over again, providing for my needs and giving good gifts along the way.

God’s showed me that he cares about my desires in a way I didn’t know was possible. I’d heard Psalm 37:4 before: “Delight yourself in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart.” I always read that verse as if it came with an asterisk, though. Sure, it was true. It’s the word of God, after all. But I didn’t really believe it was true for me. Or at least not in this season. My desires to write, to teach, to pursue a relationship, to talk to my friends—each of these desires seemed to be required of me at some point in my experience. I could affirm that they were good things, that they weren’t sinful things, that they could glorify God. But I believed God had called me to give them up. As I worked with a mentor, I realized I had a misunderstanding of self-sacrifice. I was “dying to the wrong things,” to quote Peter Scazzero (read Emotionally Healthy Spirituality for more on this idea). And as I began to grow in my understanding of God’s goodness, I began to take steps back toward those things I’d left behind, and I watched God restore the things I’d laid aside and lost. He has granted the desires of my heart, and he continues to do so, drawing me ever deeper into gratitude and delight in him.

God taught me to think differently about faith and sovereignty. I used to think walking by faith meant getting clear directions from God and then following those directions in spite of what you saw or felt or thought. I’m learning, however, that walking by faith is more like exercising wisdom and trusting God with the unknowns of life. It’s not necessarily about receiving some specific divine guidance as much as learning to walk in faith that he’s at work in and around you, guiding your steps as you seek to honor him in your decisions and redeeming your mistakes when you misstep or fail. Similarly, I used to think of sovereignty as more of a conceptual thing related to decisions and directions and wills. I’m learning that sovereignty encompasses everything, our good decisions and our bad, our joyful seasons and our seasons of suffering. The “all things” in Romans 8:28 really does mean all things, even those things that feel so beyond our control.

In short, this journey has been one of adjustments, some major and some minor. I’m rethinking my assumptions, examining my thoughts and feelings, and pursuing growth on many fronts, and I think I’m finding some success. I’m new to all of this. I’m very much still learning how to walk. But I’m seeing fruit in this season that I believe has grown from the soil of difficult seasons. I’m seeing God at work, and I’m finding peace and joy as I try to join him in that work. I’m making progress, by his grace, and learning to trust in his sovereign care for me.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Scrupulosity

/ joethewaller / 7 Comments

I never actually committed to hang out that night. I never said I couldn’t hang out either, though, so the plan proceeded. Leading up to the day, I was nervous but hopeful. Maybe I could go. Maybe I wouldn’t get the feeling. Then the day arrived, and I started to feel it: conviction. I was wrestling all day, wondering whether it was the hangout being targeted or something else, and I couldn’t quite make up my mind. As the time to leave grew closer, I was struggling, feeling like I should probably reach out and cancel but not wanting to let my friends down. But I was torn. “Whatever does not proceed from faith is sin,” right (Romans 14:23)? That’s what Paul said. And I definitely didn’t have faith that this was an okay move. 

Then it happened. The time to leave arrived, and I stood up and started heading to meet my friends. And surprisingly, I felt peace. 

That was a turning point for me. Until then, I’d assumed that if I felt convicted about something, then I needed to step away. To proceed, I thought, would be to act against the guidance of the Holy Spirit and would be blatant sin against God. But if I acted in spite of my feelings in this instance and felt not condemnation but peace, maybe my perception was off. Maybe I wasn’t interpreting these feelings and thoughts correctly. 

I say the turning point was there, but I’d noticed some indicators that something was off prior to this point. Conviction often seemed to point in some pretty odd directions, some of which seemed like they’d lead to discomfort and harm that seemed out of line with the way the Lord appeared to work.

For example, I felt the need to confess things to people regularly. I felt conviction when I pursued romantic relationships, and I felt compelled to share my convictions along with my conclusion that God must not want me to pursue such a relationship. I felt convicted about my thoughts toward people, and I believed God wanted me to confess those thoughts to those individuals. In many cases, the things I felt compelled to confess weren’t things that really needed to be confessed. I’d see someone, think of a thought I’d had about them that wasn’t right, and feel compelled to tell them what I’d thought, even if it seemed like doing so would lead to discomfort for them. Internal attitudes and intrusive thoughts—things I needed to work through with the Lord and with trusted friends—suddenly became the object of my obsessions, and I felt I needed to share them, no matter how uncomfortable the sharing might make me or those around me. 

I also noticed that there were instances when the conviction would fade if I held off on acting long enough, if I just kept postponing the step the conviction seemed to be leading me to take. In some cases, where I thought the confession would offend or confuse someone, I held off, and I noticed the strength of the compulsion eventually faded. 

With these observations and this newfound evidence that peace might come by acting in spite of the conviction, I began to wonder if maybe something was off internally, if maybe my thoughts and emotions weren’t as in tune with the Lord as I’d previously assumed. Initially, questioning these thoughts and feelings felt wrong. I’d met with counselors, talked with trusted friends, prayed—nothing seemed to change. So wasn’t I sinning by questioning where I’d already received an answer? 

But by this point, my life had been in a state of near-constant tension for months. I’d had a difficult couple of semesters that led to a summer where I no longer had the major distractions of school, so all the feelings and thoughts I’d been avoiding could be felt more fully. I’d also decided that I needed to stop running from the Lord and trust his leading, so I started trying to face the uncomfortable thoughts and feelings and then act on them. If I felt off, I’d investigate it. If I felt like I got clarity on the step I needed to take, I’d try to take it, no matter the cost to my comfort, my image, or to my relationships. Again, this was the Lord leading me, right? “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the LORD ” (Isaiah 55:8). Wasn’t this true? Furthermore, “whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin” (James 4:17). These passages meant I had to trust the Lord no matter how little I understood his leading, right?  

The problem was that the conviction rarely lifted. I’d feel convicted, get an idea of what I needed to do, then wrestle with the decision until I finally gave in and acted. Then I’d feel some relief, but it was short-lived. Sometimes I’d still feel off and would feel the need to act again before I’d feel some peace. I’d assume I hadn’t done it right the first time, so I would feel like I was still in sin until I took the right step in the right way. Other times, I’d feel okay until something new pricked my conscience, stripping me of my peace until I acted on that new conviction. And on and on it went.

When I had enough data to reasonably doubt my thoughts and feelings, I decided to stop acting on them until I figured out what was true and what was false. I still went to work, still did my job at the church, still took steps forward in the program at school (though with some fear and doubt as to whether I was right to do so), but I stopped acting on the feelings and thoughts like I had been doing. And eventually, those emotions and thoughts settled down a bit. I still felt those tugs, but my decision to stop acting on them kept them from taking over. But I still wasn’t sure what to do. To look into OCD, something I’d begun to suspect could be a culprit, still felt like running from the Lord, so I remained in a state of pause until the emotional weight of some unresolved situations grew too heavy. 

You see, in the course of this wrestling, I’d walked away from some of my closest friendships and had left some wounds in the process. I’d not talked to some of my best friends in months, and while I wanted to reconnect, I didn’t know if I could. If the Lord had led me away, could I simply go back? Would the Lord allow that? Would they? 

I’d also stopped writing. Writing was a major part of who I was, and I missed it. But I thought I’d been led to stop. I remember posting a poem one morning and feeling what I thought was conviction shortly after. So I took the post down, edited it a bit, and reposted it, only to feel convicted yet again. I went for a run, trying to settle my emotions, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t supposed to post that poem for some reason. I eventually took it down, and I didn’t post again for over a year. I believed God had told me to stop writing, and I wasn’t sure I was allowed to go back, so I didn’t. I didn’t feel free to make that decision.

If the first turning point was me deciding to hang out with friends in spite of how I felt, the second was opening up about my questions and emotions to a friend who could speak both to my spiritual needs and to my emotional and psychological needs. He was able to confirm that I had OCD and that I was coming out of a flare up of those symptoms. He was further able to help me start sorting through my thoughts and emotions along with the beliefs underlying them all, giving some explanations for what I was experiencing and connecting some dots that allowed me to see where the issues lie. I started meeting with him a couple of months ago, and through those weekly meetings, I’ve begun to put things back together in my life. 

In short, he helped me realize that I was struggling with scrupulosity, which is basically a religious variation of OCD. Instead of my obsessions and compulsions being tied to matters of cleanliness or assurance (though I experience some of those as well), mine are tied to matters of sinfulness and obedience. At some point, I started interpreting anxiety as conviction and intrusive thoughts as the directing of the Lord. In my mind, if I felt convicted about something and the Lord told me to take a step, then my response was a matter of faith and obedience. Did I trust the Lord enough to obey even when I couldn’t see or understand his reasoning? Was I content to live in sin by ignoring the feelings and thoughts that I perceived to be from him?

When I learned that the Lord wasn’t the one I’d been listening to but that OCD had essentially taken over my thoughts and actions, I began to sort through my experiences with the help of a mentor, sifting through my thoughts and emotions to determine why I thought what I thought, felt what I felt, and did what I did. It’s been slow progress, and it’s not over, but it’s progress nonetheless. And that brings me to where I am now. I’m finding my footing, sorting out my experiences, learning about how my mind works, and growing in my understanding of God and of myself in relation to him. By his grace, I’m learning a lot, and I’m feeling freedom and hope in fresh, new ways. If you’re interested in reading about some of the things I’m seeing, keep an eye out for part two of this story!

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Writing Again

/ joethewaller / 1 Comment

Hey, y’all!

It’s been a while since I’ve posted here, and I’m hoping to have some new content soon. But before I get back to normal posts again, I wanted to give some explanation as to why I stopped writing in the first place and what my life has looked like over the last couple of years. 

In short, I’ve been diagnosed with OCD, specifically a form of OCD called scrupulosity. As I’ve come to understand how OCD works, I’ve been able to make sense of a number of pieces of my story that have otherwise felt burdensome and confusing. With the help of some good friends, and by the grace of God, I’ve begun to make some good progress in life. I’ve felt more freedom and peace in recent months than I can remember feeling in years, and I’m seeing God do some really neat things in and around me. But it’s taken a long time to get to this point. 

So over the next few posts, I want to share some of that story. I’ll share a bit about my experience with scrupulosity and how my mind was working when it flared up last year. I’ll share some of the beliefs I’d been operating with that I think aggravated my anxiety and OCD and contributed to the difficulty of that season. And I’ll talk some about what I think God’s been doing in and through that season. 

I’ve missed writing, and I’ve long wanted to get back to it. I may not post as frequently as I used to, but I’m hoping to find a good rhythm and to produce some better quality content in the days ahead. As always, I pray these words can serve you well as we all learn to walk with the Lord more faithfully. 

To the praise of his glory,

Joe

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

Out of Character

/ joethewaller / Leave a comment

I once saw a Chick-fil-A employee yell at customers in the drive-through line.

The employee sounded frustrated. It was around lunch time, so Chick-fil-A was busy. Employees were outside taking orders on both lines before the customers merged into one lane to wind around toward the window to pick up their orders. As is the nature of drive-through lines, the traffic was very stop-and-go, so a lot of customers were on their phones while in line, resulting in a number of customers caught off guard when the line started moving.

I heard the employee yell, “Pull forward!” as she motioned for the cars to keep moving, but her overall tone was more peeved than patient. She made a couple of other remarks that further reflected her mood, each one surprising me and, admittedly, somewhat disturbing me. Her comments and tone seemed out of character for a Chick-fil-A employee.

Experience has taught us that Chick-fil-A employees behave differently than employees elsewhere. There’s a calmness to their demeanor, a patience to their interactions, and a genuineness to their service. We know them to be held to a higher standard, and we’ve come to expect that high quality of character when we visit a Chick-fil-A. So when I saw an employee who seemed to act in a way that ran contrary to that standard, the experience struck me as wrong. Things aren’t supposed to be this way, right? Something’s off here.

You can find the same kind of experience when you pay attention to how we as Christians sometimes act online. Christians, those people who are supposed to look like Jesus in the world, the group that is supposed to reflect a different set of values and a different approach to life, sometimes act in ways that seem contrary to the way Christ acted. Rather than reflecting humility, we demonstrate arrogance. Rather than embracing lowliness, we fight for power. Rather than loving the body of believers, we slander and bite and draw dividing lines within the fold. When we consider the standard, however, we should feel the same sense of surprise as we feel when he hear a Chick-fil-A employee shout at customers. We should be a bit disturbed at the dissonance between the character of Christ and the behavior of his people.

And I think the critique should start with oneself. I am often a fearful man, doubtful of my Lord’s goodness and unfaithful to his commandments. I am often an arrogant man, desiring recognition and glory and kicking against anything that might reveal my weakness. I am often a sinful man, choosing self over God and others.

By grace, however, I’m not lost in my sin. The Lord has saved me and remade me, and he enables me to follow him. I fall short, but I find encouragement to keep walking. I fail, but I find mercy for my failures. As I see all the varied ways I fall short of the glory of God, I find fresh ways the Lord meets me with love. And I pray I will be conformed more and more to the character of Christ, that I might better reflect him day by day.

Photo by Alex Knight on Unsplash