Even Like This

I understand when they say you can be in a room full of friends and still feel incredibly lonely.

Does that mean they aren’t your friends?

Or are you going to self-diagnose yourself as depressed?

What about crying uncontrollably and feeling like you’re losing everything, but you can’t identify one exact reason why? Are you going to call it a mental breakdown?

What happens when you’ve been intentional about your life, strategic about your days, your time, the people you meet, the conversations you have, the food you eat, the books you read, even the clothes you wear?

You have a plan for who you want to become.

Yet somehow, the way you live each day doesn’t fit into the plan.

And slowly, you begin to feel like a stranger to yourself.

You know what you should be doing, but you can’t seem to find the strength to do it.

You want to get up.

You want to change.

You want to feel like yourself again.

But some days, even standing up feels like a task.

And then you ask:

Where is God?

Where do you find Him in a moment like this?

Is the Holy Spirit still within you, or have your thoughts, your actions, your fears and your twisted perceptions somehow chased Him away?

But then I remember what He said:

“Call unto me, and I will answer thee, and shew thee great and mighty things, which thou knowest not.”

— Jeremiah 33:3

Call unto Me.

Not figure it out.

Not have the perfect explanation.

Not get your life together first.

Call.

He said:

“Cast thy burden upon the LORD, and he shall sustain thee.”

— Psalm 55:22

Not carry it beautifully.

Not carry it quietly.

Not carry it until you break.

Cast it.

And:

“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

— Matthew 11:28

Come.

Even like this.

Especially like this.

With the questions.

With the tears.

With the loneliness that doesn’t make sense.

With the plans that aren’t working.

With the version of yourself you thought you would have become by now.

Come.

Maybe the answer isn’t always to figure everything out.

Maybe sometimes, it is simply to come.

To bring the confusion.

The loneliness.

The tears.

The questions.

The parts of myself I don’t understand.

The plans that aren’t working.

The version of me I thought I would have become by now.

Bring all of it to God.

I don’t know if this is my rest season.

I don’t know if I’m in a season of pruning, rebuilding, waiting, becoming, or simply learning to be still.

But I am choosing to trust what God has said concerning me, even when I don’t understand what He is doing.

Maybe faith is not always feeling certain.

Maybe faith is waking up on a day when you feel completely disconnected from yourself and still choosing God.

Choosing to believe that He is there.

Choosing to believe that He hasn’t left.

Choosing to believe that this feeling is not the entirety of my story.

And perhaps growth begins there.

Not when everything is fixed.

Not when I have the perfect routine.

Not when I finally become the person I planned to be.

But today.

Right here.

With Jesus at the centre of the decision.

I want to wake up and choose growth.

I want to learn to live again, not from fear or pressure or the version of myself I think I should be, but from a place of surrender.

I don’t have all the answers.

I don’t even know exactly what I am feeling.

But I know where I want to go with it.

To God.

And for now, that is enough.