Run To The Father

 Everything within me wants to start this out with “It’s been a really difficult year…”

But then the logical side of me says…”Well, duh.”

EVERYONE has experienced some level of change to their regularly scheduled programming in the last 365 days.  No one has been exempt.

So, I say all that to say….It’s been a really difficult year for #TeamThomas.

Last March, when the world essentially stopped turning, we were smack dab in the middle of buying our first home.

It was a NIGHTMARE.

Seriously.

I have PTSD.

I’ve half decided that I want to be buried in the back yard, because I NEVER want to go through that process again.

During this, one of the most stressful and trying times of my life, this extrovert was devastated at the fact that I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere or see anyone or be near friends or go to church.

At first, like most churches, we tried to stay connected via online platforms. However, after your 50^th Zoom call of the week, that gets old really quickly.

It doesn’t help that I’m REALLY slow to process emotions (and that’s IF I let myself feel them). So all this anger, and frustration, and hurt, and distrust that I was experiencing made me feel like I was drowning.

It was so easy to check out and say that I needed “down time” to avoid another web conference that left me feeling even more isolated than before.

The novel idea of church in your living room was fun, and exciting, and innovative at first. But I couldn’t maintain the momentum.  Watching the service as a family became “well…we will at least watch the sermon, even if we skipped the worship portion.” That (not so) slowly morphed into…”We can all watch it later….on our own time.”

Who. Was. I. Kidding?

Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. I was starting to believe that we were never going to be allowed to live a ‘normal’ life again.

All this time away from the people that spur me toward righteousness, and all this time away from a genuine connection with God caused a breakdown in my soul.

Things that hadn’t been temptations in decades were slowly creeping into the edges of my mind. Old struggles became current struggles which became downright disobedience.

I’m not proud of that.

But I’m not surprised either.

The pull of conviction wasn’t lost on me, but it’s easy to stop listening when you turn the volume down.

I stopped trying to hear from God. I actually didn’t want to hear from him because I knew how far I had wandered.

So I hid.

I kept the volume down.

I cut him off from speaking to me.

Shame is real. And even when you KNOW that you’re in the wrong, and even when you KNOW that you should run back to Jesus, shame tells you that you can’t.

When our church opened back up, and we could attend services again we went.

But I felt empty and hollow.

I knew I needed to repent, but I was…scared.

I grew up with a dad who was exhausted all the time. That exhaustion manifested in frustration and anger. Sometimes it felt like walking through a minefield because you weren’t guaranteed what you were going to get.

(As an adult I look back and realize I could give you 8 millions reasons why the exhaustion was completely valid and where the frustration and anger came from, but that’s his story, not mine.)

Because of these interactions with my earthly father, I was scared to approach my heavenly father.

I knew who I was when I walked in relationship with him. I also knew who I was now.

I was scared that God would tell me all the things that I already knew. That I had failed. That I was weak. That I couldn’t possibly be used in the capacity that I had been before. And I knew actually hearing those things would break my heart.

I got to the point that the loneliness and isolation that I was feeling was starting to physically affect me.

So I turned the volume up.

I turned to my heavenly father and braced for impact.

Instead of being met with disappointment, and shame, and regret, and harsh words I was met with:

“My girl. I’ve missed you so much. I’m so very glad that you’ve chosen to have a relationship with me. Come, crawl into my arms and let me tell you how very much I love you.”

So I did.

I allowed myself to be embraced.  To be loved on and nurtured. And to be sung over.

Instead of hearing all the things that I already knew, God chose to speak over me the things that I’d forgotten.

That I’m his.

That I’m precious.

That I’m beautiful.

That he adores me.

That he loves me….no matter what.

This past Sunday I was able to lift my hands in worship because they weren’t weighted down by chains.

I was able to sing at the top of my lungs and allow my soul to be overcome with joy in the presence of the Father.

I was able to speak truth into the life of a friend.

I was able to remember who God is and be in awe of how he chooses to use us.

All I had to do was turn around.

 

 

“I run to the Father. I fall into grace. I’m done with the hiding, no reason to wait. My heart needs a surgeon. My soul needs a friend. So I’ll run to the Father again, and again, and again, and again.”

– Cody Carnes, Run to the Father

Shout To The Lord

 This weekend I watched “A Week Away” on Netflix.

If you were raised on contemporary Christian music in the 90’s then this will hit you RIGHT in the feels. Think High School Musical meets Christian Youth Camp (there’s even paintball and a blob!).

Yes, it’s a musical…BUT the unexpected twist is that the music is dripping with nostalgia from artists like Steven Curtis Chapman and Amy Grant. (Y’all, I died…it was so epically cheesy and amazing.)

This walk down memory lane inspired me to scrounge Spotify for the music of my youth. I’m now armed with a playlist that my 17 year old self would have DIED for.  (And I don’t even have to have a 5 disc CD changer!)

Listening to these tunes on repeat today has made my heart happy. Each song reminds me of cruising around Panama City, Florida in my blue Geo Prism with all the windows rolled down.  For me, it sounds like summer camp with World Changers, and Vanilla Malts from Sonic, concerts in our small town civic center (where the floor almost collapsed) and the endless miles that we put on Big Red and Old Blue (our church busses).

One song hit me especially hard. Just like smells can trigger strong memories, so can music.  And this one nearly knocked me on my butt.

It was 1997. Summer. Somewhere between Peoria, Illinois and Panama City, Florida.

Our youth group had joined with World Changers and had spent the week working on homes, replacing roofs, loving on people and their pets, taking showers in a trailer, and sleeping on the floor. We were getting ready to head home, and were visiting a local church.

The song “Shout To The Lord” had been chasing me all summer. I felt like it was EVERYWHERE.

But on this day, God revealed himself to me through this song in a way like he had never before.

You see, I wasn’t in a good place.  I was an awkward teenager (I mean, I’ve still not grown out of my awkward phase). I had just come out of a nearly year long relationship with a boy I genuinely thought I was going to marry. (Y’all, it wasn’t a pretty breakup…) Did I mention that he was in my youth group?  Uggh. Kill. Me. Now.

Additionally, things weren’t going super well in my family. There were some legal issues with my little brother (and that’s his story…not mine). All of these circumstances had left me feeling isolated and alone. I didn’t feel like I was “part of the group” (I know, typical teenage girl). I was lonely and just needed someone to SEE me. And no one did.

But God.

In a church of thousands, he bent down from heaven and held my sad little heart in his hands.

He reminded me that in everything he is holy, and he is present, and he is aware and not a single thing in the universe can compare to him.

As I sang that chorus from the depths of my soul I was telling my Jesus and my savior that there is none like him. In that moment he was my comfort and my shelter and a tower of refuge and strength.

As tears streamed down my face I promised that with every breath and all that I am I would never stop praising him because nothing compares to the promises that I have in him.

This moment – this meeting with Jesus in the valley would carry me through the next 8-12 months as God called my family away from the church we had attended my entire life. Once again Jesus held my broken heart in his hands as we dealt with rumors started by people that we thought were friends and a new loneliness as it became clear that we had just been another family in the pew, rather than people who were invited into the church community’s lives.

It sustained me as I attempted to find myself in this new group of youth (and even through never really feeling like I belonged there either).

What I didn’t realize at the time, and what 17 year old me could have never foreseen, was that this moment where God clearly lifted my eyes to him was a process that would be repeated frequently over the next two decades.

Each time I began drowning in my circumstances he reminded me of the promise that I made to sing for joy at the work of his hands and praise the wonders of his mighty love.