Satisfied

Right after I published my last post, I spent a couple of minutes on Facebook before turning in for the night. I ran across a post from a friend, about a conversation with a colleague at the school where she works. The teacher told her that the only way to get through all the stress of this crazy year is to focus on being thankful for something every day. He also said it's important to make ourselves vulnerable so that we don't miss out on meaningful relationships.

I fell asleep thinking about both of those ideas. As I mentioned in my previous entry, I'd already been thinking about all the reasons to be thankful for the most important people in my life. Now I considered something I'd written several times on my inventory, in the column about the long-term effects of others' actions: "mistrustful... I built a wall." 

I don't like having walls up. I spent too many years hiding behind them, a prisoner to my perfectionism. How disheartening it was to find myself ensconced inside what feels like a fortress, to be lonely, yet afraid to open myself up for more hurt. I probably prayed about my feelings, but I soon lost consciousness because it had been such an emotionally draining day.

When the light woke me, I stretched luxuriously and then reached for my Jesus Calling devotional. Within moments, my eyes widened as I recognized one sacred echo after another, as if the entire entry had been written in response to my spoken and unspoken questions about how to let my walls down and how to open up and receive the unconditional love that I crave.

In the end, I'd underlined at least a third of the entry:

"You don't have to perform well in order to receive My Love.... The Light of My Love shines on you continually, regardless of your feelings or behavior. Your responsibility is to be receptive to this unconditional Love. Thankfulness and trust are your primary receptors. Thank Me for everything; trust in me at all times... open to My loving Presence." (Sarah Young, Jesus Calling, November 20, emphasis added)

The words in bold were the ones that echoed my blog entry from the night before, as well as my text conversation with my friend Laura and the Facebook post from Lizzette.

Suddenly wide awake, I felt a flash of understanding. The part about being thankful was just a reminder. I know from long experience that focusing on gratitude makes sorrows fade into the background. The part about trust was the key. I realized in that moment why I have felt mistrustful: I had put my trust in the wrong place. Of course the people I love have hurt me. We are all human, and when we love each other, misunderstandings and unmet expectations inevitably lead to wounds. What I need to learn is that God is the one I can always trust. People will disappoint me over and over, but God's loving presence can take away the sting. I can extend to them the same grace that covers my own failings. If I let go of my expectations of others and trust God to protect me in every situation, then I can feel safe as my walls naturally start to crumble.

I was still marveling over the way the Holy Spirit connects ideas using scripture and my own thoughts when I walked to the kitchen to make some tea. Taking care not to stumble over Arwen, who wound herself around my ankles crying for her food, I stretched out my arm to flip on the radio. 

Deep in thought, I didn't hear the song until these words penetrated my consciousness: "I am chosen, not forsaken."

This, too, was a sacred echo from my blog entry. Forsaken was one of the most painful words I'd written on my inventory. 

"Oh, Beloved," I breathed. "You are so good to me."

When I sent Laura a text about these sacred echoes, she reminded me of something I'd never thought about. On our first day on the job last January, our cubicles were not ready. Three of us, and eventually five of us, all worked in a large webinar room at makeshift workstations while we waited for our new quarters to be completed. "The lack of available cubicles was such a gift," she said. "I'm not sure our group would have bonded so well, otherwise."

She's right. As I look back on the transformation I went through as I began to build friendships with my colleagues, I can see God's hand in everything that has happened to me over the last 18 months. I can see how the doors that He closed opened better opportunities for me in His perfect timing. 

Over the last week, I've felt much more thankful for the blessings that 2020 has brought me. Yesterday, the first Thanksgiving I've ever celebrated alone, was a day to revel in gratitude. Throughout the day, I exchanged messages with dear friends, old and new.

In the morning, after a wonderful conversation with my friend Sophia who lives in China, I enjoyed cooking my Thanksgiving sides: roasted Brussels sprouts and butternut squash with cranberries and pecans, and sauteed kohlrabi with bacon and scallions.

I saved portions for myself and then drove the rest to my sister Emily's house, where some of the family would be gathering. After hugs all around, I left with a deviled egg on a paper plate and sandwich bags full of my brother's fabulous smoked brisket, his wife's amazing potato salad, and some pecan cobbler--I never even knew that was a thing!

It was an unseasonably warm day, so I took my little feast to my back porch. It was particularly beautiful out there because recently the contractor who replaced my roof threw in exterior painting for free. While I ate, I watched one of my favorite videos of all time, a virtual choir version of The Blessing, sung by members of many different churches across the United Kingdom as a prayer for their nation. The combination of their loving faces and the comforting words from scripture made it impossible for me to feel alone. Instead, I felt like part of a heavenly choir praising our Father. "He is with you, he is with you," I sang, tears in my eyes. 

Ten minutes later, I set aside the last three bites of potato salad and then dropped the paper plate and the baggies in the trash. I smiled as I thought about the mountain of dishes our giant family always generates at Thanksgiving. "Dishes... done!" I said aloud. 

I grabbed a windbreaker and my scripture cards and then headed across the street to the park. I couldn't stop smiling as I surveyed the impromptu soccer and basketball games, the kids on bikes and slides and swings, and the old man on a one-wheeled, motorized skateboard. There were families walking in masks, and Frisbee golf players, and dogs of every shape and size. 

As I followed the path to where it curves around a meadow, there was also silence--or the sounds you can hear when all other noise has ceased. I heard the gentle breeze in the trees and the grass. I heard a bug choir singing. I heard the flap of birds' wings.

"Thank you," I said. "Thank you for this warm sun and this blue sky." 

On the wooded nature trail, I sank onto a bench to study my scripture cards. Behind me was tall meadow grass, and in front of me were lush trees that made a canopy over the winding stream. On my left side, the sun clothed me in golden warmth, but shadows on my right side kept me comfortably cool. 

I lingered over the cards, savoring this moment when I had nowhere to be. 

When I quoted from Psalm 63, I had to laugh over the appropriateness of these words: "My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods." I smiled and rubbed my belly, still heavy with my Thanksgiving meal.

Remembering some advice from my counselor, I meditated on just one word. Satisfied.

I realized that it was true. I felt satisfied in every way. Even though this was nothing like my usual Thanksgiving, and even though my life looks nothing like I ever imagined, and even though I have no clue what 2021 will bring, I felt satisfied. Perfectly content. And thankful. Oh so thankful.

Chalk drawing in front of the bench where I stopped