The Thing About Being Sad

“You aren’t who you are all the time.”

At least that’s the case according to Lisa Feldman Barrett, professor of Psychology at Northern University. She goes on to say, “you have a vocabulary of the self, a range of people who you become.”

This idea seems familiar and comforting to me, like an NPR-ish way of saying what Paul does in Romans 7:

It happens so regularly that it’s predictable. The moment I decide to do good, sin is there to trip me up. I truly delight in God’s commands, but it’s pretty obvious that not all of me joins in that delight. Parts of me covertly rebel, and just when I least expect it, they take charge (v21-23, MSG).

I find that I often write from a certain disposition; it’s the observant, insightful, idealistic, convicted of a greater good/hope/purpose “self” that cranks out most of the essays. Interspersed between city drama and heartfelt narratives is the funny/snarky “self," and then we have the dormant chef "self" with an occasional recipe to share. That last one hasn’t surfaced in a while, mainly because it’s summer and we’ve been surviving on a steady diet of sandwiches, processed carbohydrates, and chicken nuggets. Lord have mercy on our digestive tracts.

But the melancholy part of me, the one who recently told my husband, “my problem is that I feel like a failure from the moment I get up in the morning and it just goes downhill from there”....that one doesn’t write much.

“I think that’s called depression,” he responded.

I think he’s probably right. And depression wants to run away and hide. It loves isolation, so naturally, it doesn’t have a voice. Or pen many essays. 

I’m not sure when it happened in our society, but sadness became “negative” and uncomfortable. It doesn’t jive well with perky status updates, 140 character one-liners, or pretty pictures of home decor and flowers, although I’ve deliberately tried to juxtapose the two. The fact is, no one likes a Debbie Downer, and deep down, everyone wants to be liked.

I think what make sadness so uncomfortable is we don’t know what to do with it, especially if the person has no obvious reason for feeling sad. Then, it’s just...awkward. Sometimes, there are no bandages or platitudes or commiserating that will help. It just is what it is.

Sunshine helps. Talking to people helps. Getting enough sleep helps. So does laughing.

But the thing about being sad? It’s okay.

It’s okay to be sad. The reality is, the world we live in is not all rainbows and unicorns, unless your world is a Starbucks frappachino. Or a bag of skittles.

It’s also okay to not know what to say to someone who’s sad. It’s okay to not have all the answers or know how to fix it. Believe it or not, that was never in our job description. I don’t know that people long to be fixed so much as they long to be heard and loved, and that goes for any emotion or situation.

As much as I’d love to be the encouraging person who’s noticing the many footprints of God in my mundane daily life, the truth of the matter is I’m also the person who wakes up and feels like I’m failing at all aspects of life before I’ve even had a cup of coffee, and there’s simply no encouragement to give. But sadness doesn’t negate the presence of God, even if He’s a little harder to see, and I’m realizing that maybe this other part of me should write.

That maybe, she has something to say, too.

I’ve tried everything and nothing helps. I’m at the end of my rope. Is there no one who can do anything for me? Isn’t that the real question?

The answer, thank God, is that Jesus Christ can and does. He acted to set things right in this life of contradictions where I want to serve God with all my heart and mind, but am pulled by the influence of sin to do something totally different. (Romans 7:24-25, MSG)

10 things I learned this spring

For the first time, I joined in on the What We Learned series with Emily P. Freeman, where we pause to reflect on this past season before moving on to a new one. Here's a random list of 10 things I learned this spring:

1. The most unexpected turns in life can bring the greatest joy.

Years ago, if you would've asked if we would be living in the inner-city, currently raising money to become full-time missionaries, building relationships with the local homeless and the teen/gay community around our own kitchen table, have FIVE children, and so many other things, I would’ve said there’s NO WAY. Not us, no how, no sir. We didn't ask for this, God. We wanted the important careers and the beautiful home and the privileged life. Thankfully He had other plans, because He’s made our lives the richest in ways I never could’ve dreamed.

2. With the fifth child, pretty much anything goes.

If you’d like to become a more relaxed and chill parent, just have more children than you have lobes of your brain. Then you won’t have the sanity or the energy to make a big deal out of non-life-threatening things. For example: "Oh, you picked the dog's dental bone up off the floor and decided to eat it? Ok, cool. That means I don’t need to brush your teeth later, right?" #parentfail #getusedtoit #newnormal

3. I like creating memes.

The whole business side of writing/blogging is overwhelming, but I’m learning. I also learned that I really enjoy creating memes! So yay!

4. Laughing with my kids is fun.

And I don’t do it nearly enough. Laughter diffuses anger and stress, ushers in a spirit of comradery, and creates light-hearted, fun memories.

5. I have never owned my mornings.

Mornings have always been something that happened to me...and I hated morning for it. This was an eye-opening revelation, and so I wrote a little about it {What You Think About Mornings Could Affect Your Entire Day}.

6. There is always enough food.

The neighborhood teens have a knack of showing up at our house right before dinner. Probably because they have no one to cook dinner for them, or maybe because they just want to get away from the chaos that is their home life. Regardless of the reason, I always cringe a little inside when they walk through the door as I'm getting dinner on the table. I can't help but wonder if there'll be enough food to feed everyone.

I don’t know what it is about our sinful nature, but I always feel the nagging urge to store away for myself, for my family, ever doubtful of God’s ability to provide, to turn the not-enough into more than enough. But by His grace, I surrender my fears and serve dinner to whomever wishes to eat, however much they want to eat, and friends, the truth is time and again, there’s always enough food.

7. I love a bouquet of fresh flowers on the table.

For years I avoided buying them because I thought it was a waste. They’ll die soon anyway, I’d think. I’ll forget to water them. I’m not a plant person, I’d tell myself. As it turns out, I actually love them! And they also make for pretty Instagram photos. :)

8. Life with littles is the hardest.

The baby started walking this spring, and there’s absolutely no way around this fact. The need is constant, as is the disasterizing of our house for sport. He’s as cute as he is ornery, and is himself a full-time job, not to mention the other children. I’m exhausted by dinner.

9. Perhaps I will never feel like a competent writer.

My next thought: did I spell "competent" right? Lol. That would be both ironic and sad. I do wonder, however, if I will ever feel confident in my ability, and I wrote a little about those feelings here {For When Words Fail Me}.

10. It’s important to keep showing up anyway.

My daughter said this morning, as she was sitting down to create, “I really have no idea what I’m doing. I’m just winging it.” And I thought, aren’t we all?? But we keep showing up at the table anyway and trust that God take it from there. He creates the most beautiful masterpiece.

The photos are from my Instagram feed, and you can follow along with me there!

What are some things you learned this spring???

Walking in Humility: Even When You Don't Have Enough, Build a Bigger Table Anyway

It's funny that as soon as we got a bigger kitchen table, children from the neighborhood seemed to emerge from all directions to sit around it, like the "if you build it, they will come" idea playing out in real life. 

At the beginning of the summer, there was a very intentional invitation. Come inside, we would say. You're welcome here. Gather around the table with us as we share a meal and talk about our day. When they left, they would tell their friends about the cute baby they got to hold or mention that there exists a table around which there is "extra food," an oddity in a neighborhood where scarcity is the norm and children fend for themselves.

And it organically multiplied from there.

I stood at the counter prepping the meal, the kids busy behind me with their assigned chores. As my hands ripped systematically through the cold head of lettuce, I thought about the phrase, when you have more than you need, build a longer table, not a higher fence.

I love the sentiment behind it--one of generosity, inclusion, and community. The importance of building bridges and gathering together in solidarity and fellowship. The idea of sharing what you have instead of hoarding it for yourselves.

When you have more than you need....

That part bothers me a little with its strong, Confucius-like qualities. You see, God is a God of abundance, of plenty, of enough. And when there's not enough? He makes it enough. That's what He does. Jesus turned Confucius' popular Golden Rule on its head and said instead, "so whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them." {Matthew 7:12}

When you have more than you need...

The phrase is limiting and narrow in a culture that has forgotten the line that exists between need and want. As I rinsed the lettuce shreds out in the sink, I thought, how sad. Because when we live life in a comfortable little bubble of our human limitations, we fail to leave room for God. How sad that we miss out on the miracles, the provision, and the overflow that happens when we step out beyond ourselves, beyond what seems possible with what's in front of us.

When you have more than you need... 

But what about when you don't?

I was moved to tears as I leaned over the counter, chopping up cucumbers and recalling all the times we looked at what was for dinner and glanced around at all the mouths it was supposed to feed and wondered how exactly that was going to work out. All the times that God took our meager offering of loaves and fish and multiplied it to feed the masses. And unless the offering was macaroni and cheese, there was almost always leftovers.

Today we invited two people over for lunch. Then a third asked if it would be okay to stay. The third went to retrieve brothers, which became four and five. Six walked arrived as we were finally getting a very late lunch on the table, well into the afternoon. A quick call to the daughter playing next door, and we figured, at this point, what's one or two more? 

When the neighbor and her grandson walked in the front door, our number had swelled to 17 in all. Come on in, my daughter said to her friend, the little neighbor boy, as they stepped inside with grubby fingers and dirt-stained pants. It's okay. See? This is my family...

And I could see it unfolding before my very eyes: God purposed to give me a tangible example of His incredible ability to provide. He was putting feet on my thoughts at the kitchen sink, just to show me He could.

I'll do you one better today: even when you don't have enough, build a bigger table anyway.

Because when we step foot beyond the tangible, beyond our resources, beyond our abilities--that is the fertile soil in which miracles grow. It's the soil from which the Creator of the cosmos flung the stars into place and crafted the very ground on which we stand, the soil from which He formed the shape of man. It's the same soil in which God plants our temporal fear and doubt, and right before our very eyes, gives birth to new life. 

Even when you don't have enough--especially when you don't have enough--build a bigger table anyway, and watch God work and move in ways you never would've imagined. Because it's in community gathered around a table where the best of life's lessons are learned. Regardless of the color of your skin, the orientation of your gender compass, your various sins and preferences, in that moment, you're all just a bunch of hungry people sharing a meal. 

The ground is as level beneath the kitchen table as it is at the foot of the cross. 

With a warm cup of coffee in hand and a full belly after the meal, she utters, I'm so glad I came over here today. I just feel really...loved. 

Yeah, food and family will do that.

We all need to be a part of something bigger than ourselves. Why cling to your meager share of loaves and fish when God wants to show you a miracle? When He's waiting just past the margin of safe and a hair beyond logic to multiply your belief more exponentially than you ever could've dreamed?

So often, we forsake the unseen for the comfort and the safety of the known. We fail to see that the unknown, the holy ground on which God Himself treads, is found in reckless abandon. It's found in love that knows no bounds, in lavishness that makes no sense, in generosity that doesn't add up. 

It's found in FAITH. 

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This post is part of a series I’m writing for the month of October called, Walking in Humility: Learning to Abide with God in the Everyday. If you’re interested in the reading the rest of the series, you can find it here. Enjoy!