“I Just Need to Figure Out my Life.”

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I used to say this roughly three times a day.

I was trapped between passions, people and places. Caught up in who I used to be and who I was turning into and who I hoped to become.

People often point out my tenacity, boldness and willingness to chase my dreams. They admire a resilience can be rare, a refusal to say “yes” to an incomplete, half-lived life.

But I don’t often tell people how damn hard it is. How can I be a social justice advocate and also love Jesus? How can I dip my toes in the legal world when I have no experience? How can I entertain the musical, creative, writer side of me stuck behind an old desktop 8:30 a.m.-to-5 p.m.?

It’s a balancing act: it’s using my logic-based brain at work, only to blog during lunch breaks or afternoons when my butt meets my couch. It’s praying through racism and prejudice and sexism, only to resolve Jesus loves every person of every background. That’s who I’m called to be and what I’m called to do.

It’s rooting myself in a new community with like-minded Belivers and unalike-minded friends. It’s choosing to travel just enough to satisfy my wanderlust and not enough to be an untouchable, emotionally unavailable nomad.

At this point, I’ve {mostly} figured out my life.

TVC is literally and figuratively providing me a new Village: a village of believers to hold me accountable to a life I’m called to, a village of leaders who show me how to love steadfastly and deeply and radically. A village of some old but almost entirely new faces who dare to come alongside me to do every bit of life with.

This new job is unfolding an entire new career path I’ve fallen madly in love with. Social justice law is not for the weak or timid. It’s daunting and heart-wrenching and emotionally, physically exhausting. It tears open my guts and spills them on my computer because I can’t bottle up broken hearts and hurting families and utter hopelessness.

It’s stirring in me this wildfire of condemning the law to do what it should: protect its people, serve its constituents, allow freedom in the home of the free and brave. It’s an intersection of logic and reason and strategy merged with a compelling need to see right things are happening to right people in right ways.

And all of the while, I’m becoming whole: whole in Jesus, whole in mind, body and spirit.

When I was first diagnosed, I shattered into pieces: pieces of my past and my name and my upbringing, pieces of my future and all I ever dreamt to be, pieces of my present and the utter lacking I felt. The contempt toward a Jesus who dared to take all good things away. Only to replace them with utter shit.

Now I’m whole — or trying to be. I’m gathering up the pieces of me I stuffed in a closet, pieces of me strewn all across the highways from Nashville to Dallas, pieces of me I kept in Waco because that’s a huge part of who I am and how I’m built. Pieces of me left along L’Arno in Florence, because I will forever be changed due to that place and that period of time.

But I will need to figure out my life in the future, all freaking over again.

Because for whatever reason, God just loves to teach me and re-teach me and shove me in alleyways only to prove He’s in my corner. Only to prove He loves me when I hate him and when I spit at Him because sometimes He seems like a chubby, mean kid with a magnifying glass.

Right now I figured a lot out.

Ask me in a few months or in a few years. I’ll need to re-piece myself together, regroup my Village and my career and my calling.

I’ll need to have my famous come-to-Jesus moments found on my bedroom floor in the middle night. Often accompanied by wailing and shaking my fists and none other than the infamous ugly cry.

But right now, it’s figured out. I’m whole. I’m new. I’m shiny. Right now it feels good to be exactly where I am, doing what I do, loving who I love, serving who I serve, living the life I live.

 


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