23
I’ve always been a numbers gal. Not so much math. Math was always my worst subject in school. I actually sent my high school math teacher a DM a few years ago and apologized for what a jerk I was in class all those years ago. But numbers always made sense to me in that I was always looking for patterns or how to put numbers together in a way that told a story. I guess it’s no surprise that I ended up a writer.
6067. That was my phone number growing up. At least that’s how you tell a cute boy in eighth grade how to reach you when he asked for your digits. I’m looking at you, Flowers. When you grow up in a town with two stop lights, everyone has the same area code. Everyone has the same prefix. It’s just those last four digits that make all the difference.
20. The number of years I have been working a recovery program. On October 12 of 2003, the Lord intervened in a major way in my life and let me know that enough was enough. His purposes and His plans for me involved a level of freedom that I never even knew existed. It was this freedom that led me to a place of wholeness and healing and gave my life a greater purpose. I have found no greater joy in this life than seeing someone walk out of the chains of bondage and into place of wholeness and freedom.
15. Husband and I celebrated 15 years of marriage last week, most of which have been extremely hard. But we have weathered some major storms, and God has proven to be faithful. My marriage is now something that I never dreamed was possible and, for that, I am immensely grateful.
12. The number of months in the new year that is upon us, and with it comes the hope of change and renewal. But I think the thing I am most looking forward to in 2023 is not a number, but a word: rest. It is not something I do well. It has not been an element present in my life these past two years; honestly, I have ALWAYS been more of a burn-the-candle-at-both-ends kinda girl. I am an achiever, a doer, a mover and a shaker. I love to a good to-do list and I REALLY love checking it off. Sometimes I will add things to my list just so I can mark them done. Make coffee: check. Brush teeth: check. Remove yesterday’s mascara from under my eyes: check. I am instigated and motivated by a good list, but that does not leave much room for other things. Rest is not something that comes natural to me, which is probably why it is the word the Lord gave me to focus on this coming year.
I have to be honest and say every January 1, I find myself staring at my word for the year in my journal with more than a little angst. I typically dread the word the Lord has laid on my heart because it usually (always) requires dying to self. #boo
And then I remember that dying to my flesh is kinda the point and I resign myself to His plans for me in 2023.
While I am low-key dreading this lesson, I also know it is what I so desperately need. Rolling into 23, I am exhausted. Not sleep deprived. I am soul tired and spirit weary. I am empty in all the ways, and in this place, it is my nature to retreat. Once I am overwhelmed, I isolate from everyone and everything in an effort to catch my breath. But what the Lord has begun to show me is that by doing so, I move past the point of retreat and slip into self-protection. I move away from the very support I need to not feel so overwhelmed.
It appears that connection, not isolation, might be the most important component to authentic rest. Just saying it still feels very counterintuitive, but I am starting to unpack this truth. Unplugging is typically the first step, but beyond that, rest comes from recharging our battery. These two are not the same. Being in meaningful relationships that feed us are vital to our overall health and wellbeing. Connection fills us in ways that being alone never could, but true connection requires vulnerability. And I don’t do vulnerability well…which is probably why I isolate. Vicious cycle, it seems.
What does God say about connection? Quite a bit, actually. Perhaps the most compelling verse I found for why connection with others is good for us lives in Ecclesiastes 4:9-12.
“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor; if either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up. Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.”
I have heard this verse and more used to explain why we should be in community, as in connected to a local church. And I do understand the place that holds in our lives. I can honestly say I have been in communities of faith for most of my life and still been able to isolate and fly under the radar in my most painful seasons. Community, by nature, requires attendance, not vulnerability. And I have been showing up faithfully in a community of faith, serving and giving consistently for decades. But other than in a recovery small group, which is bound by a code of anonymity and confidentiality, I have avoided vulnerability like the plague. It feels scary. Anybody else low-key struggle with letting others into their pain? It feels like a recipe for disaster if you ask me. And yet it is also the deepest form of connection.
Sitting with someone in the midst of their deepest hurt is the highest calling in a relationship. I am fully capable of doing that for other people, but very quickly shut down when it becomes my turn to receive. I do believe that you must be aware of sharing the deepest parts of you with those who can bear the weight of your story. Learned that from Brene Brown years ago. But if I am being honest, I have had people over the years that were capable of loving me well in seasons of struggle that I did not let into the mess. I chose isolation and self-protection over risking my heart, and over time, the weight of doing it alone has led to exhaustion.
Writing this is my attempt to process how I got here. Trying to do life in a self-contained system where I could manage the expectations and outcomes led me to this place. Going back to scripture, I see it now. I guess no one can help you up if they don’t know you have fallen. And staying warm in the storms of life does seem easier with another person in the mix.
In 2023, I have committed to practice vulnerability as a valuable component to rest. Reaching out instead of shutting down when things get too heavy, I am forcing myself to speak the ugly truth to a safe person without second-guessing what they will think about me. I am choosing to trust the innermost parts of me with those in my inner circle. I am letting myself receive from others in a place where I have nothing to give in return. Vulnerability happens in our weakness, but it is really our greatest strength. Through vulnerability, we find love, support and hope. And we find rest. When we are connected to others in our vulnerability, our soul can rest and recharge.
And in our rest, we find more of Him that we ever could in our busyness. We are forced to trust Him in places where we have previously been working in our own strength. We are moved to a deeper place of faith and understanding that our life is not our own. While our goals, plans and agendas might be good, they are not necessarily what He has chosen to produce in us in this season. Ultimately, rest is an issue of the heart. In the end, that is all He wants from us. I am finding at this point in my life that the great lengths the Lord will go to in order to bring our hearts back to Him is something I will never get over.
Never.
In 2023, that sounds like a good place to rest.