Somewhere along the way in this journey most of us refer to as "Life," I started believing it was better not to feel. Those who have walked closely beside me have often told me with their furrowed looks of concern, "you have built up a lot of walls, Kelsey." And most of the time I found myself defensively disagreeing or, even worse, taking that as an internal pat on the back. If I've conquered my feelings, then certainiy I am better able to navigate right/wrong and all the difficult life decisions without those obnoxious little buggers getting in the way!
The parts of us that make us incredibly vulnerable are the parts that are the most human. And yet I think I've let myself believe that's not okay. For other people sure, but for me? Somehow in my own ego, I've let myself think that I've either mastered my emotions or been able to run far from them. Maybe even both. And because of this, I often find myself so far away from my desires, hurts, hopes, and fears that I don't even know what they are anymore.
Of course, this isn't the case entirely. I know joy and pain as all of us do, but I also have been spared (or, rather, missed out on) a lot because I'm a runner, a people pleaser, and an independent single woman gosh darn it! I think sometimes because I am a Christian, I've forgotten that I'm also a human. Trying on my own strength to live up to a life marked by Christ, I often hold myself to an unrealistic standard of superhuman, and in that process I've tossed feelings by the roadside. Who needs them?! They just get in the way!
But where am I getting that as my example? Certainly not Jesus! It doesn't take a scholar to see how deeply Jesus felt--anger at the temple, joy with his friends, compassion for the hurting, frustration with the Pharisees, rejection on the cross… I believe Jesus felt more deeply than any of us. What gives me the audacity to think that I should "do him one better"? I understand that feelings shouldn't rule us, but that doesn't mean that it's best to obliterate them as I so often do (subconsciously or not).
With that said, I have a confession: I need the Lord's help to be more human. Even as I write this I don't fully feel my need for his help. Even more shamefully than that, I don't often feel my need for him. And, again, I know that's not the point. If I get shot in the leg and I'm somehow numb to the pain, I'd be an idiot not to get medical attention. I KNOW I need the Lord, whether I explicitly feel that need or not. But, oh, to feel it, too! Lord, I need you! Help me to know my need for you--in mind, heart, body, and soul! Because, Lord, I know you will respond. You always have and you always will! May we know every day more and more deeply how much we need you--even to be ourselves.
***Disclaimer: The author of this post is writing with the knowledge that she still has a lot of walls that she is helpless to tear down. She knows, however, that the Lord is faithful to answer every prayer, and she has asked for the Lord to have his way in her. She believes that as the Lord does his refining work, she will be an even more powerful tool in his hands. "For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it." --Hebrews 12:11
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