In Which I'm Just Kind Of Broken Right Now.

I have found that there are seasons of my life when I am exponentially more emotional than others, and, people, I’m in one. 

The last time I remember feeling this way was when I worked as an assistant to the speakers who came in for my university’s summer conferences. I spent most of that summer attending conference sessions on everything from how to be a better priest to the genealogy of the Old Testament. (Wake me when it's over...) I don’t remember most of the session content, but I do remember that being one of the hardest summers of my life, both spiritually and emotionally. And I do remember at least a portion of one presentation specifically. 

The overall topic of the session completely escapes me, but it began with an explanation of the story in Luke’s gospel where the woman washes Jesus’ feet with her tears. Up to that point, I had always imagined an hysterical, blubbering woman literally weeping over the feet of her Lord. I saw a woman who was borderline manic and unhinged. Relatable certainly, but not beautiful. However, the speaker that night changed that image for me forever. He explained that in her time, people caught and kept their tears in small jars that were often saved and passed down through generations. In all likelihood, the woman wasn't crying like a crazy person over Jesus’ feet at all; she was actually pouring her caught and saved tears over his feet. Her tears of pain, sorrow, joy, fear, hopelessness, anger, exhaustion. All of it. She poured it all, beautiful or otherwise, out at His feet. No blubbering. No hysterics. Just a simple outpouring from the depths of her soul. 

Pretty standard, right? Wait. What?

That short explanation changed my entire understanding of that woman and her story, and I have spent every day from that to this trying to emulate her perfect and complete surrender. And I fail. Daily. Particularly when life gets difficult, as it has been these last few months. 

If I'm honest, nothing brings me more fear then health-related issues, and I'm in the middle of one of the worst seasons I've ever experienced. I've gone through CT scans, sonograms, MRIs, X-rays, blood tests, urine cultures, physical exams, and a slew of misdiagnoses. I've felt completely unhinged, relieved and paranoid, joyful and heartbroken, at times all in one day.

And I have wept. Oh, have I wept.

I have spent hours on my knees in tears crying out from the absolute depths of my soul. Tears of pain, fear and sorrow, exhaustion and anger. I've cried them all. I have poured my tears out at His feet and left my sorrows before Him only to pick them back up to carry them another day. 

I simply can’t do it. I can’t leave them there and just walk away. I've tried. And tried again and again and again. Something within me desperately wants to be the woman in the story and just leave it all there at the foot of the Cross and walk away, but I can’t seem to get myself to that point. (I'm nothing if not stubborn...)

This might sound crazy, but sometimes when I pray, I get pop-culture images. Most recently, I've been coming back to the part of the Disney movie Aladdin where Jasmine is standing on her balcony and Aladdin comes up to her on the magic flying carpet. He wants to take her for a ride, but she hesitates. So he extends his hand to her and asks, "Do you trust me?" She stares at him incredulously, and he repeats the question: "Do you trust me?" 

I am totally Jasmine in that scene at this point in my life. I get the unshakable feeling that God is using this time to draw me out of myself and closer to Him, and He is asking me over and over, in every situation, "Do you trust me?" And I just keep giving Him this blank, terrified stare. Fear can have an extremely tight grip some times... 

But I'm working through it, and I'm learning to legitimately let go. It feels like an impossibly difficult task on most days. But I don't want to live life confined anymore. I want to walk in the freedom that comes from trusting my Creator with the life He created. I want to live a life of absolute surrender, to be like the woman in the story, and pour my tears out at His feet and get up and walk away. To trust beyond my own excruciatingly limited understanding that there is a beautiful healing here and that I'm growing and better because of it.