Loving while I'm broken.
How do you best love another person?
Remember that love language quiz? I took it both in high school and at Northwestern; quality time and physical touch, those always vied for top spot in how I best received love. But what that test failed to distinguish, however, was that you might give love in different ways than you receive it. Maybe that's why I didn't learn as early that my desire to serve people equaled my desire to show them love the best way I could.
Some of you know me from camp, where I ran AV for part of all three summers I was at Haven. While a good amount of my service at camp linked back to a heavily depressed, anxious college student looking to drown out the demons from the school year, the hours I spent sitting in that metal folding chair next to the stage, laptop balanced on my sunburned legs, were some of the most genuinely motivated moments of my time there. My desire to serve wherever I could combined with my excitement to play a part in putting together a worship experience truly represented my love for the people I worked with and around.
Some of you might also know my battle against cynicism, bitterness, and apathy. I'm a passionate person who loves to love people, but during college I lost some of that love for a while. Obviously a significant contributor to that loss of love was my disillusionment with the church that reared its head about halfway through college. The cynic in me lost my drive to serve because I lost my drive to love well. Bare minimum, that really represented my mindset about everything, including Jesus. I pushed most people away after I graduated college, looking to hide within my own thoughts and remain invisible.
I started attending ReNew Community a year and a half ago. Every week, I sat in the third row with a broken spirit, frustrated with my job and lack of desire to make friends outside of work, but also terrified to step out and let someone see the fractured interior of my heart. What if someone shook my hand, looked me in the eyes, and saw every angry and bitter thought I tried so hard to mask? For a year, I kept those curtains pulled tightly closed over my soul.
But at the same time, I couldn't ignore how excited everyone there was to serve the community and each other. People remembered my name every week, even when I said nothing more than hello to them during greeting. Sermons focused heavily on recognizing the voices that are unheard and lifting up the needs and stories of those people. Church leaders and congregation members spoke with enthusiasm about opportunities to touch even one person's life.
All of that sounded nice, but fear can be a mighty foe if you let it. Surrounding my puzzle piece heart, I had built a stone wall and I had locked the door tightly. Yet these people tapped on the door time after time. It took a year, but they kept knocking until the day I finally scooped up all those pieces and, with my arms suddenly full of all those insecurities and doubts, God opened the door for me. And then the people came in and I found myself sitting on a stool in a sound booth, clicking slides and giggling at jokes made in the front of the room.
It's been another half a year. Sometimes God heals you over time, and that's certainly the case with me. I still catch myself trying to run away from the friendships I'm building at ReNew, fearful that all of this love and kindness is only temporary. But I know better, I promise I do. I'm finding ways to love well through serving again, and my excitement doesn't waver. I learned at camp from my dear friend Adam to ask, "How can I help?" with no reservations about responding to the need when it is expressed. ReNew helped me get back to a place where I want to ask that question again.
We're so close to Easter now, the time when the church celebrates wholeness and redemption. I think I see Jesus most clearly when I click on little black squares spread across a computer screen, knowing that I belong and I am loved. What better way to celebrate the grace of Jesus than to embrace that promised wholeness? I'm finding my redemption story right where I am now. And that redemption only strengthens my desire to love better, to love well.
Remember that love language quiz? I took it both in high school and at Northwestern; quality time and physical touch, those always vied for top spot in how I best received love. But what that test failed to distinguish, however, was that you might give love in different ways than you receive it. Maybe that's why I didn't learn as early that my desire to serve people equaled my desire to show them love the best way I could.
Some of you know me from camp, where I ran AV for part of all three summers I was at Haven. While a good amount of my service at camp linked back to a heavily depressed, anxious college student looking to drown out the demons from the school year, the hours I spent sitting in that metal folding chair next to the stage, laptop balanced on my sunburned legs, were some of the most genuinely motivated moments of my time there. My desire to serve wherever I could combined with my excitement to play a part in putting together a worship experience truly represented my love for the people I worked with and around.
Some of you might also know my battle against cynicism, bitterness, and apathy. I'm a passionate person who loves to love people, but during college I lost some of that love for a while. Obviously a significant contributor to that loss of love was my disillusionment with the church that reared its head about halfway through college. The cynic in me lost my drive to serve because I lost my drive to love well. Bare minimum, that really represented my mindset about everything, including Jesus. I pushed most people away after I graduated college, looking to hide within my own thoughts and remain invisible.
I started attending ReNew Community a year and a half ago. Every week, I sat in the third row with a broken spirit, frustrated with my job and lack of desire to make friends outside of work, but also terrified to step out and let someone see the fractured interior of my heart. What if someone shook my hand, looked me in the eyes, and saw every angry and bitter thought I tried so hard to mask? For a year, I kept those curtains pulled tightly closed over my soul.
But at the same time, I couldn't ignore how excited everyone there was to serve the community and each other. People remembered my name every week, even when I said nothing more than hello to them during greeting. Sermons focused heavily on recognizing the voices that are unheard and lifting up the needs and stories of those people. Church leaders and congregation members spoke with enthusiasm about opportunities to touch even one person's life.
All of that sounded nice, but fear can be a mighty foe if you let it. Surrounding my puzzle piece heart, I had built a stone wall and I had locked the door tightly. Yet these people tapped on the door time after time. It took a year, but they kept knocking until the day I finally scooped up all those pieces and, with my arms suddenly full of all those insecurities and doubts, God opened the door for me. And then the people came in and I found myself sitting on a stool in a sound booth, clicking slides and giggling at jokes made in the front of the room.
It's been another half a year. Sometimes God heals you over time, and that's certainly the case with me. I still catch myself trying to run away from the friendships I'm building at ReNew, fearful that all of this love and kindness is only temporary. But I know better, I promise I do. I'm finding ways to love well through serving again, and my excitement doesn't waver. I learned at camp from my dear friend Adam to ask, "How can I help?" with no reservations about responding to the need when it is expressed. ReNew helped me get back to a place where I want to ask that question again.
We're so close to Easter now, the time when the church celebrates wholeness and redemption. I think I see Jesus most clearly when I click on little black squares spread across a computer screen, knowing that I belong and I am loved. What better way to celebrate the grace of Jesus than to embrace that promised wholeness? I'm finding my redemption story right where I am now. And that redemption only strengthens my desire to love better, to love well.
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