I feel
drained. Not enough sleep last night, and I’m trying too hard today to . . . to
be the person that everyone else wants to see. I want to be liked, to be
admired, and I don’t understand how that works if I’m not who other people
expect me to be.
I need
a long bike ride along a tree-lined path, the trail curving along with the
stream heading out to sea, taking my anxieties with it.
I need
a quiet place, away from buildings and people, a place where it’s just me and
nature, a place to be and rediscover who I want to be; who I am;
who pure, no-influence-from-anything-or-anyone-else Miriam is.
I need
to sit and let nature and the Spirit heal my broken expectations, the broken
ideals of perfection I once had. Let it heal my heart and my mind and leave me
feeling whole.
I need
to stop trying to be perfect. Will the world collapse if, heaven forbid, I slip
up? More importantly, will my life collapse? Will my support system of friends
and family and random acquaintances who for some reason (their devotion to
Christ?) seem to love me just for being me –will they leave me in a flurry of
righteous indignation upon learning that I, strong tough devoted
goody-two-shoes Utah Mormon girl that I am, am not perfect? If I’m not funny
enough? If I’m not nice enough? If I’m too shy?
Strange
musings for someone who will soon – in twelve days! – leave on a mission to
preach God’s love and forgiveness to “a strange people in a strange land.”
Because
what does it matter that I’m imperfect if this life is a growing process, if I
was never expected to become perfect overnight, if my Savior has already atoned
for my sins?
What
does it matter what other people think if I know that my God loves me?
What
does it matter if I know that my blood can be washed clean through the Savior?
"Come
now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as
scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they
shall be as wool."
As
Jesus told the Pharisees:
“They
that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick/But go ye and learn
what that meaneth, I will have mercy, and not sacrifice: for I am not come to
call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”
I was
never expected to be perfect.
And yet
. . .
And yet
the anxiety persists. It’s a disease of the mind, I know, but doesn’t faith
also have to do with the mind? Can I drive this demon out, or will it always be
there when I start in a new place, when I’m about to start in a new place, when
I’m stressed or things aren’t going how I think they should?
Will
these insecurities always attack when I most need my confidence?
Through
the Savior we find healing, but where is mine?
As I
type that, I know the answer. My healing has come through the tender mercies of
the Lord, through loving parents who have spent so much time listening to me
talk – listening to me cry – always, miracle of miracles, being home to answer
the phone when I needed it most – and researching foods and techniques and
natural remedies that help with stress and anxiety, paying for my counseling
and my medication, telling me that they love me, that they will always love me,
that I am a good person even when I’m not so sure.
It has
come through friends who have also listened to me cry, who have acted as
counselors for me, who have, quite literally, saved my life (I hope you know
who you are); through home teachers (and their roommates) who always responded
immediately to my requests for a blessing, who listened to me explain what was
making my life so difficult and dark, who cared, who asked pointed questions
and expected an honest answer.
It has
come from roommates who listened when I said that sometimes the anxiety was so
bad I wanted to hurt myself and responded, not with revulsion, but with love
and concern.
It has
come from the progress I have seen myself make throughout this past year, from
the strength I know I have shown and will show again, from my stubborn,
determined spirit that every day I thank God for because I am convinced I would
not have made it through the worst of my anxiety without it.
It has
come through not thinking I would ever be able to serve a mission because of my
unpredictable anxiety to, eight months after having my call rejected, realizing
that the timing was now right and God was giving me permission to try for it
again.
It has
come through receiving my call to serve and realizing: this is real, this is
really happening, and realizing that it is good that I did not go when I first
wanted to, realizing that I needed this time to mature and grow and deepen my
desire to serve the Lord and his people. And now here I am, about to set out,
and while I don’t know how my anxiety will be, I know that God has reassured me
a myriad times since I first submitted my papers that going on a mission is
what I need to be doing now.
So no,
my healing is not complete, but I know that things will be okay. They will also
be hard, I might scream and cry and ask God why (heck, who am I kidding? I will
do all those things) – but it will be okay. Why? Because God loves me, my
family, my wonderful supporting eternal family, loves me, because I am stubborn
and determined and I will not give up.
Because
my family and my God and my friends, so many wonderful friends, believe in me.
More than that, they believe in what God can do for me and through me.
So yes,
I still have my insecurities. Yes, some days – most days – I still doubt
myself. But God has promised me that everything will work out, and that I do
believe.
This
mission will not bring me down, like a sapling in the wind. I will not let the
storminess of mission life lay me flat. Bring me to my knees, yes, then raise
me up higher than I have ever been before.
I am
determined, and God is on my side.
*All images stolen from Google images
