Last week, I found myself in need of a new journal. All my empty ones are still packed in boxes from moving, but I lucked out when I opened one of the book boxes. At the top of the stack was a journal I’d started when I began my journey to Europe, some five years ago. As I read, I found a brief entry of the pains of the itinerate lifestyle, but mostly I’d converted the journal into a quote diary, focusing on finds from a Flannery O’Connor biography I’d read. They were all great, of course, but the last one one slapped me in the face. You know that sudden moment when life makes sense, and it’s like you’re able to see your experiences and history more clearly? That’s what this did for me.
“The devil accomplishes a good deal of groundwork that seems to be necessary before grace is effective.” —Flannery O’Connor
She was speaking of how she frames her writing, but the life-truth in that statement brought the past four years flashing across my brain. Was it just in writing that this happens? Or could it also be reflective of life in general?
Grace Outlined Pain
I had lunch with a dear friend of mine from Greece, a Texan traveling through Tennessee with wisdom for the ages. She told me something new: that the moment she met me, she could see the devil coming at me in all my areas of my life. Her reminder brought back the warnings I’d ignored when I was on the way to Greece: that when you’re working in ministry in another country, all your hidden sins come to the surface. Not to mention all the resistance to what you’re doing. You’re literally a living, breathing, walking spiritual target in a way you’ve never been.
Whatever you believe about spirituality, I think we can all agree there’s evil and injustice in the world. The horrors in Ukraine and war in Ethiopia immediately come to mind—not to mention the greed, corruption, and power grabbing happening all around us. This friend’s perspective shed light and reminded me of the quote, causing me to reflect on what I’d faced and affirmed my experiences when I had been gaslit too often there.
Though the two-year fundraising journey was incredibly difficult, the actual living in Greece (at least with the last 10 months there), was among the hardest of my life. Coming back to America so suddenly also added to the pain. The experiences in my first year being back weren’t exactly easy, either. It took fleeing to the community of L’Abri to find some semblance of healing and perspective. And, it took me doing something I swore I’d never do—stay in Tennessee and move back to my hometown of Franklin—to find what I really needed.
No Quick Fix
I won’t lie, I’m still recovering from those years and I know healing will continue for years. Yet, reading Flannery shocked me into seeing the grace outlines of the experiences. I would never, ever want to go through what I did again, but distance and perspective begins to show me grace framed those hard times. The difficult lessons were hammered home in a way I actually learned from.
Do I have holes where the tragedy and trauma pierced me? Yes. I was essentially Swiss cheese. But is grace filling those holes? I’m beginning to think so. And as my anger at the pain subsides, I’m seeing these lessons as a bigger work at hand. Does that excuse the pain? Absolutely not. I don’t know why I went through the hell I have. But I’m accepting it did happen and that I can either live in resentment and bitterness, or accept the experiences for what they were, grow from them, and know how to face challenges better when problems lie ahead.
Lessons Learned
What have I learned from the pain? Here are a few thoughts:
Community and friendships are absolutely critical.
Friends can come into your life for a short period of time and move on—that’s ok. Treasure the fun and wise moments as you can.
Sometimes staying still and in the same place is better than moving on to something that appears better. The grass isn’t always greener.
Saying “yes” to certain opportunities means saying “no” to others. You can’t have it all.
Prioritizing career, adventures, and proving yourself can mean sacrificing your personal life.
Having a high power you trust is essential for mental, spiritual, and emotional health.
Self-care must be done, not just talked about.
Meditation to calm the nervous system, reading to feed the intellectual life, and journaling are pivotal.
It’s ok to be a verbal processor—just make sure people you process with are trustworthy.
But, probably the biggest thing I’ve learned in my journey is that my priorities needed to change. And they have. A happy life, full of ups and downs, lived in anonymity with the people I love, growing into a more whole person, and pouring into others. That now what I strive for, and is what I want. I’ll leave fame and notoriety to everyone else.
What Really Matters Now
At the end of my life, I’ve realized this: does it really matter if I became CEO of a major company, topped the best-seller list, traveled the world, made millions of dollars or went to space? I’m thinking not so much. I want to be surrounded by those I love, not reflecting back on my accomplishments (that others will have already surpassed) on my death bed. I know we’re all built differently, and boy am I a driven and ambitious person! I want to make the world a better place and succed. But I don’t think checking off things for notoriety is actually going to be fulfilling if I’m doing it and life alone.
Relationships, community, and people matter to me more than ever. Creating a legacy so that people remember my name? Not so much.
The pain has been horrific, but the perspective I’ve grown into is so freeing. And I’d definitely call that grace. Wouldn’t you?