"Meant to Be"

I am beginning to hate the phrase "meant to be."

I used to see it as a promise. A place of hope and dreaming. Something to hold onto when things get rough a why of trusting in the Lord. Trust that He was sovereign over all and that no matter how ugly something gets, that never determines His truth. It's just a matter of time, patience, and work.

It didn't mean there was no more work to be had. It didn't mean it wouldn't be hard. It didn't mean I wouldn't get hurt along the way. Those things are inevitable. When you really love something, or someone, and you want it forever, there is bound to be times when you think its impossible, or they hurt you so bad you think you won't recover, or a door gets slammed in your face when you thought it was supposed to be open.

And if I had faced all of those things before I had done the work, asked the questions and faced the options, all of these things could spell out that I had been wrong, that it wasn't "meant to be" or that I was making a mistake. Every pain would mean it was maybe wrong, and every mountain would seem to say that I was headed down a dangerous path. The negative could have reenforced the fear, the uncertainty, the questions and the shaky ground.

But I didn't. I had asked the Lord to lay the foundation. I had debated, talked through, gotten advice and faced the ugliness of the options. Either the path I was heading down was wrong, or right. Either the choice was good or bad. Which was it Lord? I don't like this about it, but I love this about it. This scares me, but this seems right. Back and forth, back and forth, like a tennis match. I wasn't going to settle. Not this time. This time, I needed to know. I needed to admit all of it. The ugliness, the greatness, the truth of what it looked like and the way I loved and felt. I wanted to be open and honest and not hide myself from the pain of what the answers could be, either way. I was going after His best, and I trusted Him to give it to me. I wanted to be sure.

So I made no promises, I lived my life, and I processed with God.

I waited patiently for the meant to be moment; the moment it all comes together, the fears, the hopes, the dreams, the pain, the uncertainty. And the moment came. In all its gloriousness, it came. Peace settled in and dreams began. I could take stock in what the Lord had done. I had gone about my business with eyes wide open. I had prayed, thought, struggled through the pros and cons. I had faced the questions that made me wonder if it was right in the first place. I did the work... and it paid off. I was sure. It didn't matter what happened now. It was all a matter of figuring out what the right compromise, path and middle ground was. It was about now dreaming in the surety of what I knew the God had given to me.

So I walked forward, in confidence. But what I forgot was, there was another part to the story. There were other factors at play. Not everyone in the world lives their life quite like I do, so I forgot. I forgot to be aware of others and their journeys. Maybe I was mistaken, or naive, or whatever, but the outcome remains the same. I moved forward, only to be shut down. As soon as I stepped down the path of what had seemed like a "yes" I received a very firm, real, immovable "no."

My surety met the unsurety of another. So, broken heart in hand, I went back to the Lord. The problem is, I forgot to live in the surety I had asked for. When I got the firm no, or the closed door, or whatever you want to call it, I didn't go to the Source of the first "meant to be moment." Instead, I went to the source of the shut door, started pounding on it and telling the person who had shut it why they were being an idiot. I looked for a window, or an SUV tp traverse over the mountain, rather than going to the Creator of dreams, options, opened doors and peace. I blamed the mountain, the door and myself for seeing it wrong. I created plans and started tunneling, I tried to cajole and move the object. I did everything short of what I should have done. I manipulated and forced, bulldozed and tried to convince the object to do it my way... because mine was better, of course.

Fear got hold, peace fled and along with it sanity. I turned into the worst thing of all: human. Selfishness tends to run right along with fear, so I let my needs, my wants, my desires run rampant, rather than doing the vary thing I had asked the Lord if it was right to do: walk, trust, love and be patient. I wanted everything to line up perfectly, to reenforce what the Lord had said. I hit a hiccup, and I panicked. I was asking something outside of myself to do the very thing I needed to do. Trust God and not give up.

Hindsight is always 20/20, and in moments like these, forgiveness for self is invaluable. Well, almost as invaluable as His forgiveness. I wish I had sat in front of the mountain, pulled out a picnic basket, a bottle of wine, and watched the sunset. I wish, when the door closed, I had turned back to the Lord and said "Hmph. What now?" I wish I when I heard the "no" I had listened louder to the "yes" from above and not let it shake me. I wish I had sat still, trusted Him, and not let the fear, panic and hurt be bigger than God's grace, hope and truth.

"Meant to be" is an invitation. An invitation to trust the Lord. To not let the bumps in the road diffuse hope. It's an invitation to face when someone or something hurts you and work through it with the Lord. It's an invitation to take responsibility for a dream, or a desire, or a path, and let the Lord bring it to fruiting. It's not a phrase to escape responsibility or to rush past pain just to get to the end result. That is a fools errand. Trusting the Lord says something different. "Meant to be" is just another way of saying "I trust you Lord. I trust that if this is what You want, that if this is what it is supposed to be, then any hurt I incur, any road-block I hit, every mountain I come across is just another chance to trust You, no matter where it comes from." That trust doesn't give in easily, it doesn't give up hope, it settles in as a resolution to not be swayed by someone else's humanness or failing, or slammed doors, or anything else.

But all that has to be started with a foundation laid. It has to be started with the tennis match and back and forth. It has to begin with asking the hard questions. It means you can't be resolved to an answer, before you ask the questions, or not willing to admit to the pros and cons of the path or dream. It means you have to do the work, to ask the questions you aren't sure about, until you get the peace.

But once you get the peace, it becomes about trusting Him more than ever. Opposed to popular thought and theory, the journey only starts at the "meant to be." That's the hardest part. If something is really "meant to be" that means that all the pain, hurt, frustration, joy, fun, greatness and everything in between are apart of it as well.

I'll never fully understand. I'll never fully see. That's because I can't. I'm not supposed to. At the end of it all, I am apart of a body, and I can't always see what is happening in the other parts. It's not always about me, or what I could have, or should have done differently. My world is just spinning in a universe I can't fully comprehend. Who knows why the door was shut so tightly, or the mountain was so unmovable and it doesn't matter. I don't know what the Lord is doing behind it, or what volcano the mountain is. I'll never understand why I was so diligent, heard one thing, but another came about. And I guess I'm not supposed to. The bigger picture is just that, a bigger picture. I don't have all the answers and I don't always get it right. That's what makes Him God, and me... well me.

But that doesn't mean I can't learn. That doesn't mean I can't grow. It doesn't mean I can't heal. I can look back and see what I did wrong, the lessons I can learn. Like learning that loving doesn't mean getting what you think you want, but sometimes it means turning around, sitting down before Him and waiting rather than pushing the door down. Maybe the lesson is trusting His voice more than the voice of someone/something smaller than Him. There is no mountain He can't move, there is no door He can't open and truth be told, He not only doesn't need my help to do it, but getting out of His way is more loving. Sometimes patience looks like silence, and trust looks like encouragement. When the scary parts came, I should have run to Him and let treat my wounds rather than trying to make the dream fix them.

So now, heart broken anyways, dreams having died anyways, but now carrying the burden of having scorched and dented the door, or having scarred the mountain, I turn and finally walk back to the Source and ask "What now?"

Pieces of me in hand, head hanging, tears streaming, I have to turn, pull out a picnic basket, grab a bottle of wine and cry with Him while I watch the sunset. The mountains gone, the door has disappeared, but with it, the path I had asked about, the dreams I had started. I cry because of what I thought was "meant to be" I cry because I don't understand, I cry because what it was, was so beautiful. I cry because I loved and lost, because I tried and failed, because I couldn't see my mistakes before it was too late, and even if I had, it may not have changed it. The door may never have opened now matter how long I waited. The mountain may have never moved. I cry because I was human and no matter what I could have or should have done, it was meant to be. It was meant to be exactly what it is.

Full Circle Again

I've been here before. Another, different August. Back from a vacation, living on the beach, pretending the world was so far away. And it was, it was so far, far away....

A few Augusts have past now, and here I am again. Sitting on this same swing, different age, different life looking into the same panorama. A few things accomplished, a different life lived, but a heart a heart that is the same. Needing the same things, wanting the same things, hurting from the same type of wounds, but wanting the same things, just more aged. More weathered, more aware.

The hardest thing about growing older is adjusting to the loss of fantasies. I idealized love, career, relationships, anything that had to with what I wanted. The perfect man, the perfect friends, the perfect career. I could do it all. I could MAKE it all. It had almost escaped once, but be damned if it was going to again. He was going to be perfect or I wouldn't love him. I was going to be perfect or it meant it wasn't right. They were going to be perfect or I was going to walk away. The perfect job, or walking. Same thing. I had been burned so badly before, how could I trust anything but perfection?

Then it all came crashing in. Like a tidal wave of truth, every hope that was false was brought tumbling down. He wasn't perfect. In fact, he could hurt me... bad. Real bad. The perfect friends succumb to life and failed. The career deserted me for someone better, smarter... Everything ended. Everything that was supposed to be better so I could trust it. So it was different than it had been before... but people fail, I failed, they failed. I got hurt, they got hurt.

How do you reconcile that? How do you ask the Lord to make it up a second time? A third time? A fourth time...

But then He does. Not by the way you think, but something different this time. Reality this time. Harsh, ugly, beautiful reality.

I began to realize people would never change. I couldn't change them, much less me. We would always be imperfect. They would hurt me. I would hurt them. This one, this one that I loved, this one I thought was perfect, that I trusted because he was so unlike what I had known before, he was a human. He actually sucked at times. But wait, that didn't mean I couldn't love him, in fact, that meant something different. It meant I could love him. It meant the only one that could love him was the one that had learned him... me. The Lord had taught me him and I had learned his foibles and uglies and beauties.... and I loved him because of them. It was freeing. It didn't mean I was failing, that I was making a bad decision again. It meant I was growing up. Becoming a woman choosing something that was could even in its imperfection. It meant I could be loved and deserved to be loved in mine as well.

REally? Could it be that true? Could I let go to love enough to know it would never be "perfect" but it would be perfect in its imperfection? It would be perfect because it was messy, ugly, hard, contentious and scary at times? Could that mean it was right?

Thank you Lord, at times you bring a sword and not peace. You come to change and bring right round again in a different beautiful way.

You are the swing I sit on...

All change

Sometimes it feels like things happen so fast I can't keep up, others seem to take a lifetime.

This past week has seen some of the most mind-boggling events I have yet to know, and I have many.

I reconciled with two friends, one of which I haven't talked to in 6 or 7 years. I had been friends with her for 18 years before that. It's strange. Since then, even more, I feel myself in neutral territory between to geographical areas and time lines.

I can't believe I am only two and a half months away from graduating. Two and a half months ago I was leaving to go back to CA for Christmas. Wasn't that just yesterday? Or wait, was it a lifetime ago? It feels like both. There is such a sweet bitterness as I feel the end of this time coming.

I can feel the future pulling, the past being left behind and the present as some sort of intermediary half in, half out of existence. I did everything I could to spend every minute I was here, living, learning, struggling, growing, risking, diving, surfacing and diving again, fighting to live in every moment. To soak up the fruits of redemption, to treasure the air of a different state, sunsets instead of sunrises, loneliness instead of manic schedules. It was all about taking back what I had lost, discovering, being with me, learning about God and my relation to Him. Stretching my mind academically and emotionally.

And I did it. I mean it was all of those things and more. It was peaceful and restless and life changing and I learned more than I will probably ever know. I think I learned how to learn. How to feel, how to understand. For the first time I saw things from different perspectives and came to grips with how wrong I was.... about everything. And how being wrong is the most freeing thing in the world. I learned how the only one I needed to worry about loving me, was me, since I'm the only one I'm really fighting against.

Now it's all about to come to an end. I'm already balancing work and school and feel as though I have gotten everything I will out of my degree and am ready to be back in the world of professionals and grown-ups. I have a love growing and ready to move to that next most permanent stage and I feel how right and good and wonderful that is.

My spirit, my soul, my heart is restful in the sadness of beginning to grieve the end and its strange. I can't believe some of the things I have done, some of the things I have gone through, some of the places I have been, the commitments I have made. I've gotten on a plane and moved to a city, an apartment, a place I had never been. I started one major, then changed my last year. I lived in Paris. I started one job, only to leave for sexual harassment (awkward), then started another at the Capital. I fell more in love with Jesus, learned how wrong I was about Him and how much He could change me, change my life, my heart. I committed a love and fought for it when it shouldn't have worked and not only did it work, it grew.

I also failed miserably. I wasted so much time sitting on a couch, fearing what was outside my door. I refused to hope and let my past guide me in so many ways. I got selfish and stupid at times, caring only about me and what I thought I needed. I let my insecurities rule.

I have never felt so much, so fast, so intensely. I still fear my life will amount to not much, or I will fail again, or will end up a soccer mom living vicariously through her children (no offense to anyone that wants that, it's just not me), but I guess now I realize opportunities are lost, they are only created. God's timing and redemption are more perfect than anything and allowing Him to create my life, but at the same time participating, risking, trying, finding out what path He does have, is the mysterious mixture. When it works, it works. When it doesn't, it isn't supposed to.

For now, with a few months left of by myself living, I revel in the quiet nights, my Ipod and my computer. I usually leave the lights off except for one, maybe open my curtains and look out at my inch and a half of the Washington Monument. I look around at the soft yellow glow, the pictures I have taken hanging on the walls, my art from Paris; the square tiles of the hardwood floors, colorless walls and a black and white rug I picked out from overstock; the books on the shelf I collected, reading through my life and God's heart; my journal sitting the lampstand next to my couch. This place has the warmest feel. It's my home. My quiet place, the place God created as a sanctuary for my heart and mind. It's my reality of redemption. I will be so sad to see it go, but so happy to start something new.

What a way to learn not all change is bad.

Atlanta to Birmingham

The last 36 hours have been nothing short of pure hell. And I still have more to come. Hour after hour in a stuffy airport terminal with bad service, bad food and bad chairs. Then, when all seemed lost, it got worse. I had to drive two hours (and spend $150) from Atlanta Georgia to Birmingham Alabama at 4 in the morning, after not sleeping at all, on half an Ambien, in a Ford Focus, on icy roads with someone I didn't know who made me drive. It took me two hours. I almost spun out twice and watched the odometer slowly tick down as I watched tree lined acre pass by. I was exhausted, angry, frustrated, fearful, hopeless... and determined.

I realized that once you get to a certain point, there is no turning back. You decide what has to be done, and you do it. No one is going to catch you if you don't. There is no safety net, no second option. It was go, or stay for an indeterminate amount of time at an airport I had already seen enough of. I had no idea where I was, how I would get to where I wanted to go, who would be there when I arrived, and even if it was worth it. But not trying was the worse option. There was nothing for me if I didn't move, but if I did, well, there was a reward so worth at the end of the tunnel. Getting to the man I love.

As I sit in Birmingham, waiting for my flight (8 hours later) I rewatched an old favorite. The Last Kiss. It's always hard for me to watch, but I remembered why I love it so much. Four of the character are best guy friends, each with their own issue, love, fears, immaturity, crisis. The main character pretty much encompasses them all and paints a pretty damn good picture of what it's like to act like a child, get burned for it, then let that burning turn you into an adult. He stares down the barrel of his life and sees the end, fearing the trap he knows he is entering. The final stage. The final act, as he sees it. He sees his life as a end rather than a beginning, so he finds his own cowardly escape, them realizes, what he thought was trapping him, was what he wanted all along. Go figure.

At one point, an older, wiser, flawed but realistic character says to him "It's not about love, you asshole. Anyone can love. That's about you. That's about the way you feel. No one cares about that. What matters is what you do." It's a profound statement. Needlessly unexplained. But what follows it is what really matters. After that he says "You want to know what to do? How to get it back, how to get her back? That's simple. You do whatever it takes. You do that, you don't give up, and you can't fail." Now that, that is much more profound.

Doing whatever it takes may look so different for so many people. For some, it looks like not seeing your life as a trap, but as choices you make. Realizing that nothing can trap you but you, but that choices, choosing to love, to stay, to fight, to struggle through, isn't an end, it's a beginning. For others, it's realizing that allowing every bump in the road, every flight cancelled, every argument, rejection, heartache, isn't an excuse to give up. No one wins then, and no one is successful. Then it's just about staying safe, fearing what isn't in the comfort zone. If there is nothing worth the desperate fight, there is nothing worth living for.

Growing up is a hard thing to do. It's gritty. It's unpredictable, it's uncomfortable and unfamiliar. It's risky and ugly. The movies portrays it as a man showing his fight through sitting on a doorstep for four days outside his love's house, refusing to move until conversation can begin. It's a desperate attempt, not a last ditch, but a signal of immobility. That takes a sort of vulnerability, a sort of acceptance of risk, then a rejection of any other than what is set in front of him. His choice to love. It's no longer a trap, no longer an end, but a beginning. A choice. Blowing past the barriers takes a sort of responsibility for actions, reactions, and results that takes a character only seen in adulthood, not childhood.

There is no one to blame when you make a choice. No one but yourself when, or if you give up, or you are rejected. That's a hard pill to swallow. But whether it's on a lonely road in Alabama, or on a doorstep in the rain, it's the same. No one to break your fall, no one to rescue you, no one to save you. Just you, yourself and the decisions you make.

3 Feet of Water

Some mountains never cease to be crossed.

Lately I seem to be finding myself drowning in a small pool of water. The warning signs reading "careful 3ft of water" laugh at me as I seem to not be able to gasp enough air at 5'6". Fresh cynicism reminds me I am far from the summit, or even the steps of the pool.

I have spent years immortalizing my struggle for deep connection with Jesus through keyboard and mouse (as opposed to pen and paper). And true to my hearts knowledge and instinct, the only thing that has ever truly satisfied me has been just what I thought it would be, Jesus and the good ol' Holy Spirit. I have begun to understand what it means when the old Psalmists would speak of "Your words are like water to parched land." When He does speak, it's like your soul is revealed to you in a whole new way. As though I have been floundering in the dark and a candle has been lit, revealing at least a small space. Answers given to better questions than I had ever asked before. As if He was saying "You don't need to know that. You need to know this." All of the sudden peace floods in and my response to truth, whatever it is that He is saying, is so powerful, my whole body floods with gratitude and every cell seems to scream "Yes!!!!! So Yes!!! To whatever! Yes!!!!"

Those moments fill my heart and mind with a sort of faith I can't explain. A sort of longing unmatched and a sort of loyalty that seems foolish and foul hardy. But while what my heart longs for and what my mind can justify seem to be at odds, my spirit makes up for lost acreage and seals the deal. I only want Him and only Him. And without Him, I am lost. Half what I want to be and a quarter of what I should be. Woefully close to an inadequacy that leaves me frustrated and hurting.

Every good gift He has given me, that defines me, that makes me me, that is a compilation that sets me apart, not good or bad, or less or more, but different and His, trips me up and sends me reeling to an unknown, or even known that is terrifying. Ambitious; what is in front of me commands my attention. Selfish; searching for a love source that leads me to Him, leads me astray. Just intelligent enough to get lost in the minutia, pragmatic enough to be pessimistic and fearful. Sensitive to a fault.

I need Him more than I know, and yet I know how much and it only drives me more crazy. His touch has seemed few and far between, leaving me panting in the dark hoping for any sort of bullet that will end my misery, taking out my frustration on anyone that is foolish enough to love and turning all who cross me into enemies of the state.

Then a storm hits. No, I mean literally. A storm hit and I couldn't get out of DC to CA where one of the few people that represents peace and hope exists. Awesome. No longer pragmatic, I think I have become a watch list member for Northwest/Delta. They came to replace any sense of loss of control, hurt anger, frustration or enmity that I have ever had in my life. And they paid dearly for it. Actually, I take that back. They listened painfully to it, but never paid anything, or even gave me what I wanted. I love business, but hate monopolies.

Sort here I sit, spinning my wheels, waiting in a terminal, for literally anything. His voice, His touch, His hope, a flight, an electronics outlet.... whatever. Anything at this point. What do I do in the meantime? Put my computer away to save battery, turn off my cell phone, watch the screen, pray and read my book.

And hope. For anything. Pragmatism be damned, the only thing that will save me is a heart attack... from a different sort that is. And nothing, no screaming, at airlines or the sky, will bring it any sooner. If I have learned anything in the last few years, its you can't control the weather, and you can't rush the Holy Spirit. And as much as it pains me, both have a purpose, and both don't answer to me.

This three feet of water is killing me, but I have to trust the swim Teacher knows what They are doing.

Unalone

One of the things I constantly forget is how unalone I really am.

On days I don't work, which is more often than not, I could go the whole day without speaking to another person (other than on the phone). I walk the streets of DC going here and there, Ipod playing, thinking about everything and nothing. I go to and from class, to and from the gym, to and from the store, barely making eye contact with others, avoiding awkward glances when you accidently catch someones eye.

Some days it makes me terribly lonely, others terribly free. It's an up and down roller-coaster, always leading me to wonder how I will wake up feeling the next day. What it always does though, is remind me of how on-my-own I really am. No one is responsible for me besides me. Once again freeing... yet lonely.

I remember when I went and met with my pastor a few months ago. We talked about deciding to get married again, and how scary that was for me. I kept telling him I didn't want to make the same mistake again. I didn't want to decide wrong. I didn't know if I was seeing things right. He told me not to worry, that he, as my pastor, help me. He would be looking out for me too. I cried. I cried for days. I still cry about it.

As I have ventured out and started a new position, dipping my toes into a world I had thought would only be a dream place, just above the glass ceiling, more and more I feel that familiar aching I have come to know so well. A tug of war I feel deep in the pit of my stomach, telling me there is a fear I am ignoring.

I had started this position not caring what happened. It came into my life by God's abrupt gifting, and by experience, you never know what can happen. But, as it would happen, the more I invest, the more I fall in love. It's a culture that seems to fit, one of the few places I have found a piece of home that has brought a small peace of home.

But this life, if I choose to pursue it, will not lead back to were I began this journey. It would most likely keep me here. Three thousand miles away from the family I love, the and future I want in the man I love. I have begun to feel stuck somewhere in Missouri. Half way between DC and San Francisco. Past and future exist in both, but neither feel completely right. Neither feel the complete package.

Feeling grumpy, frustrated, stuck, scared and alone all day, I sat down to Skype with the man that God has given me to be an example of His love everyday. I poured out my heart, haltingly, in between my bad attitude spawned by my struggles. Not knowing what I was hurting and fearing, I just talked. And talked, and talked... and talked... the way only someone who doesn't know where they are going can talk.

I told him my fears, my frustrations, my wants, this budding passion, desires that didn't lead to him geographically. I was scared talking to him, as though my new love for work was a disloyalty to him somehow. I repeated over and over again how I didn't know what to do, and what I wanted. As if I had to choose.

He gently and lovingly reminded me, I didn't. He wanted me. He wanted my best, our best, whatever God said it was. Whatever God gave us. He reminded me that I didn't have to make the decision on my own, but that he would make it with me. It would be a decision for us. I wasn't alone.

Then he said something that broke down my last fear. He said "Pray about it. We will pray about it. It's all we can do. Jesus loves you. He wants you to be happy. He will show you what that is."

Oohh... that's right. He loves me. He wants me to be happy. He WANTS me to be happy. He WANTS ME to be happy. I forgot.

It's not always about having to make the tough decision knowing it will always lead to loss. Sometimes it is a win/win situation. And maybe it won't be. But what is true, is that I won't be alone in it. It's not sole my decision, and if I make the wrong one, lead to my eminent destruction, along with everyone else I love. Just because I want it, doesn't make it automatically wrong. In fact, that just might, make it right.

I may walk the streets alone, go to bed alone, go to dinner alone, go to class alone, but I'm not alone. I am not the only one responsible for me. My Father is responsible for me as well. He has taken responsibility, as a Father, as a Lover, as a Friend, as a Companion, as a Guider. The best I can do is try and step into His flow. If it works, it works.

I am not responsible for everyone around me, nor am I a burden to everyone around me. And if the man I love decides to move his life for me, that's his right. It's his right to love me that much. And maybe I am his prize. Looking out for me, making decisions with me, letting me rely on him... It's a reminder how really unalone I am.

It Shouldn't Be That Hard

Life is interesting. Sometimes you have to dig in, get your hands dirty, not give up and fight to get what you want, or what you need. Whether it be school, or fighting a weight battle, or not throwing a shoe at your mother. Sometimes things are HARD to do.

These things beg the question though, there are some good things that are hard and some other things that seem to be hard when they shouldn't be, so when is it too hard?

Have you ever dated someone and it seemed hard to not break up on a monthly basis? There is always some fight, or some issue that keeps you on the edge of your seat, wondering if this is right. He doesn't call you when he says he will. She expects you to always be around. You have to fight for attention from him, she is just annoying as hell.

The drama keeps you in, wondering if your the problem. It's like fighting an uphill battle to make this thing WORK. It's effort and time and tears and thought and talking it out with everyone you know, or talking the other person down. We constantly think the problems are individuals, but rarely do we stop and think, "He/She not the problem, this situation is."

Similar outcomes when you fight for something you aren't supposed to be doing. God has this interesting way of making what we ARE supposed to do easy (at least in making the decision and moving forward). It's like there is this force propelling you in a direction, but you don't know it's there until you step into it. The opposite happens when you are going in a direction that seems to be against that same force. Like fighting in a wind tunnel.

You can't get that job you want, you can't find a place to live. Every college turns you down but one, or everything you try in one area fails. It's an exercise in futility and you feel it, but you don't want to admit it. To admit it means loss of something. Be it a dream, a desire, a goal a direction, or even in the case of dating, a relationship.

On the flip side, when He gets a chunk of your vision, you step out and get swept away in His direction, all of the sudden it's too easy. You got the job immediately, you found the place of your dreams, the scholarships are awarded, you find someone that seems to speak the language you have always spoken, and no one has ever understood.

That's not to say it always stays easy. School and jobs take work and application, relationships take time and patience. Hearts are broken somehow in what is right no matter what. But the initial creation of that object didn't look like it did before, it actually happened. It wasn't a battle to CREATE something from nothing, but instead to allow God to create the opportunities, and you just take them.

How does this all relate? Well, it goes back to the initial question. When is it too hard?

As I have grown in my relationship with my boyfriend, one of the things I have had the hardest time with has been trust. Release. Letting go. That's not to say the relationship isn't right, actually, it pretty much means it is. I have to fight against the things that would keep me separate not only from him, but from Jesus as well. It's a refining issue. Not the less though, control seems to be my issue.

Protecting myself from the opportunity of loss and hearbreak is my ultimate goal. So here's the issue: as I battle this, submission to the decisions I have asked God to make for me in my life, such as what is best for me, takes on a whole new light.

Hold on, I'm bringing it around. If He makes decisions for me, and I fight against them, for whatever reason, I am back in the wind tunnel. I'm fighting uphill for something I wouldn't want anyways and when I realize that, the control is easy to let go of. "Oh, that isn't something I have to control, that's YOUR doing... oh, I get it."

The hardest part is learning when I am battling against Him verses myself. And here comes the crux: when it's too hard, it's most likely not Him.

I have a knack for fighting for relationships, specifically, that I am not supposed to have. Case in point: a marriage. Being divorced is like a branding that reminds you: "Don't fight too hard for something that you shouldn't have." It shouldn't have been as hard as it was to MAKE him love me. I shouldn't have had to give up pieces of me to adapt to him in hopes of gaining and keeping his love and affection. But love, and specifically youth, are stupid, so well, lessoned learned. I guess...

That of course bleeds into many other relationships and learning when it is right. When my boyfriend began to love me, it was so easy. He was there, consistent, honest, caring. Not because I MADE him be those ways, but because it was natural for him as well. We had a connection, a kismit that I can only attribute to puzzle pieces that fit when they are right. He wanted to be around, I wanted him around. Simple as that.

The same, I am learning, goes for others as well. It isn't about making people love me and validating myself through that. Instead, it may just be about who fits where. Allowing God to shed what isn't supposed to be there, and take away what feels like being a square peg in a round system, feels at times like a loss, but never is.

He is a God of redemption, love and grace. What He does, He does for my best. Submission doesn't look like always bending myself to the breaking point, but instead letting Him make the decisions, then letting go when He does.

It shouldn't be so hard. It shouldn't be so hard to be loved, to be understood, to understand and to love. If He created me, than He created others and somewhere, there are fits. It's not always my fault and I don't always have to fix it. Sometimes, things look broken because they are broken. And that's okay, sometimes He breaks them.

We have already established I don't always make the best decisions when it comes to relationships, so fighting for ones that aren't best for me seems a little less like "being loving" and a lot more like "being stubborn and stupid." Banging my head against a wall gets old.

In light of these recent realizations, my prayer remains simple "Lord, teach me when it shouldn't be that hard."