Getting Real

It was one of my most real moments with God, and one of my most daring, bold, I guess. Every emotion of anger and fear and desperation came to the surface. I asked the “if” questions. God, if You are my God, then You must come through for me. It was almost more of a demand than a beg. If I am Your child, then You have to come provide and protect and show me, I continued. Fear did grip me a little, at the thought of my audacity before the greatest King ever living, One ruling the earth and heavens at that moment, One who could smite my existence. But I pulled all my theology to my memory. He is my God. I belong to Him. Nothing can change that, and His promises are sure. Perhaps my audacity was even proof of how much I knew and trusted that He was my God, my provider, my Father. Who would dare to speak to such a God in such a way, but His own child?

I haven’t spoken to Him that way since. That would scare me! He is most holy. And He continually attracts my awe. But at that moment, I put my relationship on the line with Him. I almost felt like a child asking, “Are You my God or not?”

It came at one of the scariest times in my life. I had a form of anxiety grip me almost four weeks earlier. In the middle of class on a Monday evening, I stood at the whiteboard, interacting with students, and explaining a grammar concept. One of my students asked a question. I knew the answer, and even how to explain it, but for some reason, in that moment, my mind drifted. I wondered if I really knew the answer, if I was really qualified to teach. I think it’s typical for teachers to ask those questions, get those doubts, but this time, the question, or rather accusation, was stronger than I had ever felt. I got light headed, dizzy. The room began to spin. I felt myself shaking, and feeling sick to my stomach. Whatever words came out of my mouth didn’t even make sense to me, and I saw myself from a distance acting in automatic responses, rather than with intentional control.

It was unexpected and almost debilitating. And it didn’t end. Classes that were usually easy to teach became dreaded. And the feelings perpetuated, and began to affect more than just my teaching. I feared walking into my small group to lead it. I even feared relationships that were usually my source of comfort, filling, and fun. I wanted to start up a prayer group for the young adults at my church that week, but I put it on hold.

After one full week of this gripping anxiety, on a Friday afternoon, I walked outside of class on the college campus. I sat on a bench and tears flooded my eyes. I can not do this. Are You humbling me God? Do You want me to get a different job? I thought of how the college could find a replacement teacher, and began to visualize myself applying to Starbucks.

Over three years of teaching at the college level. Three years of really enjoying and thriving on it, and suddenly, it was over? I couldn’t understand it.

I saw my counselor. Asked friends for prayer. Began reading up on anxiety. I prayed against every spiritual warfare. I talked through my anxiety with others. Pretended it wasn’t there. I slept as much as I could. Ate the healthiest food I could. I relaxed and did breathing exercises. I started yoga.

Nothing helped.

Fear still gripped me. Constantly. I had moments of relief. But an overwhelming sense that something bad was coming loomed over my head. It stayed with me for another week, and then another. When it entered the fourth week, was when I had it out with God in the car that night. And I asked the question. Do You want me to keep walking through this God, or am I supposed to do something? Am I supposed to have victory over this, or is it a method for me to know I am completely dependent on You? Either way You will provide, I conceded, but please make it clear if I should do something.

Still today, I’m not really sure what the problem was, nor what the solution was. Maybe both were a combination of things. But it ended. Four weeks to the day, the next Monday evening, it was gone. I did begin taking a supplement for my low iron levels (said to be a cause of anxiety) just two days before. But whatever the problem, and whatever the solution, I was free. I could breathe. I could smile, even laugh, in class again. I could bring it to my small group girls, and pursue closeness in my relationships again.

I could be me!

The next day I did two things. First, I put the prayer group back on the calendar. And secondly, I bought a ton of smily face stickers and stuck them all around my room, in my car, on my books. They reminded me of the joy that comes after hard times, and of the joy I wanted to choose even when I didn’t feel it.

That . . . choosing joy even when it wasn’t felt . . . would come not long after.

I soon met disappointment. In the form of dissonance with a family member, unmet expectations during my spring break, deferred hope from a six-month wait, a large tax payment instead of return, and a type of loss in a close friendship. But each time the disappointment came, I grabbed it before it hit the ground as discouragement, laid it in my journal next to the smily face stickers, and looked squarely at the threat it posed.

Perhaps it could be strong enough to take my joy away. But not this time. No, this time I was going to fight for my joy. Bring it on!

I warned one of my friends on the phone that night: be careful, I’m a bad luck charm! I was partially joking, but it seemed that everything around me was falling apart, and that it even touched those I interacted with as well.

Even still, bring it on!

I chose joy.

And I continue to choose it today.

This past week, I actually found myself reacting with emotions that were unfamiliar and unexpected. I generally think of myself as a cool and collected, logical person. But the sanguine part of my personality recently brought out some hyper craziness, and my melancholy my moodiness!! Specific triggers evoked fear, and its wall to hide behind—anger. Hurt, and its wall —over-competency. And a sense of rejection, that I masked with a “I don’t care anyway” face.

At first, I despised the emotions. “Ahh,” I text my friend the next morning, “will you pray that I’m not so emotional!” Sounds tough, my friend validated, but it sounds like processing these things is so beneficial! Alright, I will choose joy in the fighting over the land of my mind!

I came home from my afternoon class yesterday, and cancelled class for the evening (the first of the three times I can for the semester—and of course, to a rejoicing chorus of students!), to process in my journal. And to visit an old small group of good friends!

As much as I wanted to control my emotions, and certainly am responsible for my actions because of them, I realized that they were signs of living . . . with some risk and courage! Rather than with the fear that accompanies a cold and contained environment, completely void of any chance that I would have an unexpected reaction.
And so, at my lack of control over my life, and even my own internal responses at times, I chose joy. At being real, and being okay with it, I choose joy now.

And at my messiness in processing these things . . . I choose to get real.

God, will You help me to evaluate my own heart and mind. Teach me, You always do, where I need to surrender even more to You. Carry me, when I just can’t. Let me not fear to be real, but have a peace as You bring these things out . . . and do Your work. Let me keep walking with You, and trusting You, when I cannot see where all this is going.