Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

lost and found

How I'm finding the me I didn't know was lost

I used to be the kind of person who would snort-laugh and roll her eyes if anyone would have used the phrase, “I need to find myself.” Humor and sarcasm are coping mechanisms I’ve cultivated over the years, and the truth is that I was afraid and maybe jealous.

Because for a lot of years, I didn’t really know who I was.

Mikael Kristenson | Creative Commons | via unsplash

Mikael Kristenson | Creative Commons | via unsplash

That never seemed like a big deal until I started to figure it out. Now, it’s like new doors of possibility are flinging open and chains are dropping off my soul.

I didn’t know that the first step in finding yourself is acknowledging that somewhere, somehow you lost yourself. Once you know you’re lost, you can get on with being found.<Tweet that.>ow_whole

I can’t tell you the day or time I realized I was lost, nor can I pinpoint the start of the “finding myself” journey. But I know that so far this year, my year of “whole,” has been unlike any other. As in years past, when I’ve picked a word to focus on for the year, I see the theme in a lot of places. And those previous years of “release” and “enjoy” were important. But this year is becoming transformational in a way I couldn’t imagine.

I’ve been mulling this quote in my mind for a few weeks now.

When we are fully ourselves, He (God) is fully glorified. – “Longing For Paris,” by Sarah Mae

I think I’ve wrongly believed that God is only glorified when I behave a certain way or follow His lead. And He is glorified in those ways, but I never really considered that the me He created me to be brings Him glory, even if I don’t look anything like what I think a child of God should look like.

I have this same problem with my definition of what makes a good mom. My therapist listed out on a white board all the characteristics I thought would make me a good mom and none of them are realistic or accurate. There were a lot of “always” and “never” type of descriptions. (Always happy, never yells, has a clean house, etc.) She reminded me that God picked me to be Izzy and Corban’s mom and who I am is not a mistake for them. (Summer is giving me all kinds of mom guilt because I’m not crafty or entertaining. It’s draining on this introvert mama, and yet I want to spend time with them.)

Being the mom God created me to be brings Him glory and is much better for my kids than trying to become some other kind of mom. And being the woman He created me to be is a far better way to  live than trying to stuff my personality into a box  or conform to a mold that doesn’t fit.

Trying to be anyone other than who I am doesn’t lead to a happy life. It just makes me tired and frustrated. I am finding freedom and joy in saying “no” to what is not good for me and saying “this is who I am” about other things. It’s not always comfortable, but in the end it is good. It is good to admit that I love my kids AND I need a break. That I love Jesus AND I am full of doubt. That I’m glad I am married AND it is hard work.

I must also say that this self-discovery journey is not a solo project. I am grateful for a husband who gives me space and time to be who I am and discover who I am. (Even when that means he’s uncomfortable with my occasional swearing on social media.) The same goes for our church family. There are no boxes that we must fit into to belong. We are free to explore our faith and wrestle with our doubts in the community of saints who gather each week. We are guided and corrected when necessary but no one is turned out because of who they are. (Or who they aren’t.)

This is a gift we can give each other: the space and time and freedom to figure out who we are. It’s an ongoing process, I’m learning, and I’m not sure when or where it ends. All I know is that I want to keep figuring it out.

I recently read, in the span of  day or two, Glennon Melton’s Carry On, Warrior. I’ve been a fan of her Momastery Facebook page and blog for a little while but hadn’t taken the time to read the book yet. (Aside: YOU MUST READ THIS BOOK.) Her vulnerability inspires me. Here’s one (of many) quotes from the book that spoke to me, especially in this experience:

We find out early that telling the whole truth makes people uncomfortable and is certainly not ladylike or likely to make us popular, so we learn to lie sweetly so that we can be loved. And when we figure out this system, we are split in two: the public self, who says the right things in order to belong, and the secret self, who thinks other things. (Carry On, Warrior, p. 51)

Her story is in the context of addiction and mental illness, but it’s all of us who do this. And  I’m not saying that everyone, everywhere needs to know our deepest thoughts all the time, but there is a way to make the two line up. I think. I hope.

It’s a slow death, but I’m gradually trying to kill that public self who only wants to say the right thing so she doesn’t get rejected. This is what it means to me to be my whole self. To be unafraid to let my secret self have a voice every now and then. To open the door a crack so that others can see that what they perceive is not how it really is.

This whole self stuff leads to relationships. Like, honest-to-goodness ones that survive the hard times. Melton also says:

I’ve never made a friend by bragging about my strengths, but I’ve made countless by sharing my weakness, my emptiness, and my life-as-a-wild-goose-chase-to-find-the-unfindable. (p. 21)

Knowing and accepting who you are makes you more approachable. Some of my best moments of connecting with other moms are when I talk about how I struggle and we find out we’re all struggling in the same way.

Just one more book quote that’s been helping me along. (If you didn’t already know this about me, books are my community, too.)

Part of becoming yourself, in a deeply spiritual way, is finding the words to tell the truth about what it is you really love. – Savor, by Shauna Niequist

This devotional by Niequist is one of my favorite things ever, and her writing touches a deep place in my soul. She said this in the context of admitting how much she loves to make and prepare and serve and eat food around the table with people. When I can say without embarrassment or hesitation, I really love to do this, then a part of me opens wider to the world around me. I used to think as a certain kind of woman I had to enjoy all the same things as other women. But I don’t. It’s okay. And my love for one thing does not have to cancel someone else’s love for something else. We are uniquely created by God, and our love for the things He has made us to love is lovely to Him.

What are your thoughts about “finding yourself”? Do you know who you are? And who you aren’t? What has helped you in this process?

When the lost are found (and found again)

She gripped the hand of a stranger as tears streamed down her face. Her name had just been announced over the PA system. She was lost. Looking for her mother.

And I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

My son and I were in the petting zoo at the fair, just feet from where she stood. I, too, began looking for someone, anyone, to claim her.

Minutes passed. Too many minutes, I thought.

Was she part of a school group?

Did anyone know she was missing?

My son was tugging my hand to move on, but I wanted to know how it ended.

I had to know she was going to be found.

—

Philippians 1:6: “Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion, until the day of Christ Jesus.”

It was one of the first Bible verses to ever “speak” to me. philippians16

I was a new Christian, not unlike the little girl, lost and alone in a big, scary world, looking for someone to save me. I looked in a few wrong places before I found the Savior.

I used to think it was He who found me, but when I think about it like that, it sounds like He didn’t know where I was.

He always knew.

It was me who didn’t know I was lost.

But being found was just the beginning.

—

A second announcement over the loudspeaker for the lost little girl. The fear in her eyes was building.

What if no one comes for her?

I thought of my daughter, a kindergartener, who knows her name and address and her parents’ names. This girl was younger. She knew her first name, but what if they needed more information?

My mother’s heart began to worry. One of my fears is my kids being separated from me. I was grateful for the two women who left what they were doing to stand with the girl while they waited for someone to claim her. I hoped I would do the same thing if the need ever arose.

 I wanted to do something. But everything they could do was being done.

—

I’m a quick learner. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say that I catch on quickly. In school, I could give you the “right” answer faster than anyone else in the class, even if I never learned a thing. I sped through homework and tests just to get them done, hardly recalling the information I regurgitated onto the page.

I learned quickly, too, that in some Christian circles, there are right and wrong answers, right and wrong ways to live. And even though I was new to this world, I quickly caught on to the “right” way of doing things. I voted the way I “should.” I believed what I was told. I listened to the (unofficially) approved teachings of popular pastors. I got rid of all my “secular” music. After all, I was a new creation, and my life needed to reflect that.

It wasn’t until many years later that I would realize that all of those efforts left me empty. When life didn’t turn out like I thought it would. When I didn’t change in the ways I thought I should. When I felt guilty for wanting more than what I had in life. Hadn’t I been found? What was I doing wrong?

—

My son and I were just about to move on to the exhibits inside the tent when I heard the good news. A cowboy-type gentleman came running over to the little girl and said, “Come with me. I’ve found your mom.” The girl hesitated, but he gently persisted.

Then I saw her.

The mom.

She was running as fast as her legs could carry her with a baby backpack strapped to her. She wiped tears of relief from her face as she scooped up her daughter and hugged her.

I looked away lest I start swimming in my own pool of tears. I took one more look and everyone was smiling. The women who had held her hand. The mom. The little girl. A smile found its way to my mouth, and my heart lifted.

What was lost was found.

—

If you’re ever separated from your family, stay in one place.

I still think about this advice when I’m out with my family or friends. I’m prone to wander. Even as an adult, I don’t stay in one place very well. Sometimes we split up to keep the kids occupied. Or to take one of them to the bathroom. And I’m forever fearful of being left behind. (I would be the worst field trip chaperone, but I still want to go to the zoo with my daughter’s class.)

I don’t know how the little girl became separated from her mother. Maybe she got really interested in one of the animals when it was time to move on and didn’t notice her mother leaving.

I was captivated by my new faith, so busy watching and learning about the “right” way to live that I didn’t realize it was time to move on.

Like the lost little girl, the familiar was gone and I was standing with strangers, desperately wanting to be found again.

Time passed painfully slowly, and I wondered if God had given up on me. Did He even know I was lost?

I thought about going to search for Him but remembered another piece of advice: When you don’t know what to do next, do the last thing God said.

So, I waited. Even when it felt like I was stuck.

And I barely dared to hope when others would say: “He’s right over there! Come with me!”

But they were right. Like a mother frantically searching for her lost child, God found me again.

Right in the place where I lost Him.

—

My son and I wandered through a tent full of exhibits and spotted a collection of antique tractors outside. We separated from our group to walk past each one and snap a few pictures. “For Papa,” my son said.

corban tractor

We were coming up the final row when I caught a glimpse of blond hair. I turned and saw the little girl who had been lost, sitting on a blanket with her mom, eating a sandwich. They looked like a happy family enjoying a picnic lunch. No one passing by knew the trauma of their separation, less than an hour earlier.

But I would guess it’s something neither of them will quickly forget.

—

So it is with me.

Lost. Found. Wandering. Found again.

I do not doubt my relationship to Jesus, but I can’t say for certain that I won’t lose my way, in some way, again. I am so easily distracted. So easily led astray. So eager to do the right thing. So sure of the path.

I am a sheep in need of a shepherd.

The word I heard all those years ago, that God would complete His work, is speaking to me still.

What He started, He will finish. And it will take time.

—

I remember what it is to be lost.

I remember what it is to be found.

Lord, have mercy, if I ever forget.