Uncharted Territory

Did you know the Grand Canyon was formed over six million years ago by the flow of the Colorado River? This force of nature carved out one of the most beautiful landmarks this world has to offer and I cannot help but relate. While I can confidently say I am no Grand Canyon (unsolicited advice: go there), I do find myself feeling eroded by time. I find myself eroded by life. I find myself eroded by change. I find new depths of my soul surfacing, creating layers I didn’t know I had (or likely just ignored). Grand Canyon personified would likely tell the Colorado River to stay out of its dang business and quit exposing the vulnerable layers that have so intricately been preserved. I feel that. Deeply.

But the inexplicable beauty that resulted from this erosion is unparalleled. Instead of feeling like the Grand Canyon, I feel like I am stuck in the white water of the Colorado River trying to cross, but being no where near the next stone that would bring me to safety. But you know what? Maybe I’m not meant to reach that stone. Maybe instead of resisting what beauty life can bring through these trials, in I need to jump.

I have spent a large part of my life as a busy-body, primarily as a distractor from feeling and experiencing real-life trauma. While I can truly say this nature has brought me ‘success’, it has also left me emotionally battered, but mostly emotionally immature. When you spend all of your time avoiding having feelings and you are continually praised for your successes as a result, you start to feel like maybe emotions are the enemy. It took me until the age of 25 to understand that emotions are just feedback on my experiences of life and not something that gets in the way. And here I am at 27 still unable to filter my own information system. People who experience trauma often go through a period of guilt where instead of blaming x, y, and z (the true cause), they flip it around and blame themselves and end up mad at themselves instead of who is really at fault. I spent years blaming myself – “I should know better; I am smart girl; there were so many red flags; how did you not realize it?” I also spent years in denial. Years hiding my bruises. Years believing I was less because of my experiences. And I even still find myself falling into these patterns of flipping onto myself a sense of lack. A lack of beauty. A lack of intelligence.

A lack of worth.

Ouch. That one stings.

I think this is when my faith became so important to me. While I could not find this sense of worth within myself, I found a God who saw my broken parts as whole. I found a God who said “that one over there in the corner — yeah, the one who is crying, beaten, and bruised — she is mine and she is perfect.” For as much as I see lack, I have a God who sees perfection beyond measure. I have a God who sees I am being eroded, but also knows that He is the one shaping me into something that will someday be as lovely and perfect as the Grand Canyon. Life is meant to erode. Emotions are meant to be felt. My layers are meant to be exposed. I am meant to show the world that I was beaten and bruised and within that lies my strength.

Romans 5:3-5 says  “And not only that, but we also rejoice in our afflictions, because we know that affliction produces endurance, endurance produces proven character, and proven character produces hope. This hope will not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured out in our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us” and Hebrews 6:19 goes on to say “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.”

I know I don’t have all of the answers and I know that this uncomfortable feeling of uncertainty I currently experience feels more like drowning than becoming the Grand Canyon, but I know my afflictions bring me hope, and in that hope I am firmly anchored within the love of God.

xx, lauren.