You Okay? No. And That's Okay.

So I have this friend who is really close to me. The last couple years of high school, we did all kinds of stuff together. Anything from running around in blanket capes, to McDonald's in our PJs, to deep late night conversations.

One time, during one of our late night conversations, she said something that revolutionized my life. I don't remember what we were talking about, I don't remember the day, but I remember the words.

"It's okay not to be okay."

That sentence changed how I thought about everything. We have this weird custom in our culture (I'm sure you're aware of it) where we greet each other with the phrase, "How are you?" The typical response, I know you'll remember, is "I'm good." This response is given regardless of circumstances.

Now don't worry, I'm not going to rant about the dishonesty or whatever with that whole thing--at this point, it's just another way to say hello. But it does illuminate an interesting aspect of our culture.

Everyone has to be "good" or "okay" all the time.

I'm sure you've heard or said something like, "They just look like they have it all together." That's what we do as Americans (and especially as Christian Americans): we gotta keep it together.

But who the heck has it all together? Who is okay all the time? Stuff happens, things get hard--tests are failed, relationships crumble, loved ones die--life just happens with or without our say-so. And even sometimes, for inexplicable reasons, we just don't feel okay.

Life can be going smoothly. Lots of friends, decent grades, time to sleep, roof over your head, food to eat, but you hurt. That's kind of where I'm at tonight as I blog at 1:30 in the morning with a Biology test in seven hours (for which I should be desperately studying). I just don't really feel awesome about myself right now. I'm not okay.

But that's okay.

When things happen (or even if they don't), you have to work through it. Cry, scream, hug someone, get angry, whatever you need to do. It's okay to express what you're feeling.

Ecclesiastes says there's a time for everything under the heavens. Jesus sweat drops of blood in the Garden of Gethsemane. You can't tell me Jesus was okay--I've been in some rough spots, but I've never sweat blood. Jesus wasn't feeling too great in that moment.

Now, don't get me wrong. We are not to be ruled by our emotions. But. We do have emotions. God didn't give us feelings to force us to subdue them. We aren't Vulcans, people.

Talk to God about what you're feeling. I don't mean recite the Lord's Prayer (though that's never a bad idea) or start speaking Elizabethan English...verily forsooth.

No, I mean really talk to Him. God is a God of all the ages. There is literally nothing that makes English from 1611 better than modern English. God wasn't like, "Pray without ceasing--but none of this 2000 AD stuff. That's not good enough." That's what is incredible about our God! He transgresses all barriers--time, language, people groups, etc.

Sorry. I digress. That's a topic for another time.

If you want some inspiration, just read some of David's Psalms. That guy was seriously not okay sometimes--and he let God know it. You aren't fooling God with your fancy, masked speech. He already knows what you're feeling so you might as well scream it out at the top of your lungs. Trust me, you will feel about a billion times better about everything if you just let it out. 

Anyway. All this to say, I'm not feeling very okay, but that's okay. God's listening. I can still have joy in Him even when I'm upset (the beautiful difference between joy and happiness). 

Most importantly, He loves me whether or not I'm okay--and that's pretty great.

The One with the Bounce House

Being social is hard.

At least, it is for me. A lot of people confuse enjoying social interaction with being good at social interaction. While I (for the most part) thoroughly relish in conversing with/meeting people, I'm usually pretty bad at it. It also absolutely terrifies me.

Literally (yes, I mean literally) hundreds of thoughts flash through my mind at warp speed. I analyze everything I say before I say it.

If I phrase it this way, they'll think I'm too nerdy, but if I leave that word out, I'll come off as arrogant, but I don't want to be arrogant. I also don't want to seem like a push-over so maybe if I just say it this way...

And so the saga continues. Unfortunately, however, with all of these thoughts (and more) going through my mind at the same time, my brain goes all Windows Vista and just freaks out. As the great sage Chandler from Friends says, what will come out sounds approximately like this (now I'm paraphrasing here): "Bloughaooiewwooaghoisljgd..."

Such uncontrollable awkward outbursts lead to situations such as...

• having an asthma attack in the middle of Olive Garden
• spraining both ankles in one night and having to be carried downstairs
• accidentally setting up the guy I've liked for a year on a date with someone else

The list goes on. One of my favourites, however, takes place just over a year ago--August of 2012, and my first night at Cedarville University.

Okay, let me set the stage for you. It's been less than twelve hours since my parents dropped me off at my first year of college. I've been whisked around all day, and speaking as a small town girl from a small town church and a small town private Christian school from Maine, I'm experiencing some severe sensory overload. There are people--hundreds--a few THOUSAND people my age all around me....

WHAT?! That just doesn't happen. I was a graduating class of two, youngest of three kids. There were a total of fifty students at my school K-12. I'm in full-blown panic mode.

Now it's approximately 9:30 at night, I don't know anyone at CU (except for one guy I met at youth camp one time), and I'm at the Getting Started Party--affectionately known as "The Awkward Freshman Party."

Never has a nickname been more accurate.

Okay, so at this party, there are all kinds of shenanigans going on. Zipline, mechanical bull, Just Dance, these weird spinny swing things, basically everything that further proves that college students are just taller second graders. Most important to the story was the bounce house obstacle course.

Here it is: my doom.

My roommate asked me if I wanted to race her in this bounce house, and me, all ready to be adventurous, excitedly agreed.

If you know me at all, you know I'm not incredibly...agile. My brother's used to say that my middle name should have been "Grace" instead of "Faith" because it would be so hilariously ironic. This vacancy in my abilities meant I was pretty slow moving through the course. I was near the top of the wall, ready to slide down to the finish, and thankful it was almost over.

But of course it couldn't be that easy.

Suddenly, as if Thor himself thundered down into the bounce house, I heard a loud cheer, and everything was shaking. I was relatively certain there was a massive earthquake and there, in that bounce house, I was going to die. I lost my grip on the wall, plummeting back down into this little crevasse at the bottom. It was pretty tight before, but now, something else was in there with me.

That something else was a six foot three (not gonna lie--pretty attractive) dude.

Limbs were tangled, awkward apologies were uttered, and confusion took over. This bounce house clearly wasn't big enough for the two of us.

In that moment, I questioned why I ever thought college was a good idea. Why did anyone think releasing my crazy redheaded self into the world would benefit anyone? I was ready to call my parents, tell them to take me home, and never let me leave my room again.

Eventually, we figured out whose limbs were whose and were able to escape that air-filled den of torture. He was extremely apologetic, very kind, and we both had a pretty good laugh about it afterwards.

I see that guy on campus all the time. I'm 99% sure he doesn't know who I am, but I don't think I'll ever forget his face. Every time I see him, I chuckle a little bit and remember just how incredibly awkward I am.

Talking and opening up to people is terrifying for me. I felt pretty vulnerable that moment in the bounce house. I was leagues out of my comfort zone. My whole life, I had thought out every college scenario possible, dreaming about what it would be like. But I definitely never came up with a strategy for being squished in a bounce house with a strange man.

Anyway, I digress. This is all to prove that interacting socially is just really difficult for me. It honestly terrifies me--mostly because I'm ridiculously proud. I don't want to look like a fool. I don't want others to dislike me because that exposes what I already dislike about myself. I would spend my First-Year Seminar (a freshman English course) classes sitting by myself in the back because I didn't want to screw anything up.

What I've been learning at school, though, is how much life is not about me. I live to serve--both Christ and His creation. It doesn't matter if they like me, think to include me, or hate me. I am called to serve, and that's what I want to do. I'm an English major because I love discovering more about people--their thoughts, passions, feelings, ideas.

It's about time I started loving not only what people create, but the people themselves. It's time to stop loving myself so I can love the Creator and His creation.