Having a hard time sleeping tonight.

These are typically the sort of posts that I inevitably feel [minorly] annoyed with myself for publishing at this time of night. Yet, here I am, lost in my thoughts, and not really knowing which one should be given my full attention. And, honestly, I’m kind of exhausted at the thought of having to sort through much of what I’m thinking about. I have a feeling, though, that if I don’t attempt to write about it that I’m not going to be able to think about much of it linearly. Or worse, not be able to sleep.

Today I woke up in a van next to one of my best friends. We went to breakfast with two of our other best friends (one of them being her husband). Bought some supplies for our Sunday. And then set out for Tucker and Lauren’s wedding in a Georgia town called “Rising Fawn”. This is when I got a text from my sister letting me know that my cat, Huxley, had just unexpectedly passed away due to something that he ate. I immediately burst into tears, then quickly allowed myself to be distracted, so as to keep the air light before the wedding.

For those who know me well, they know how important this cat was to me. And I’m pretty sure this is the closest to losing a family member or friend that I’ve ever come.

There’s something to naming things. Ascribing them meaning, personality, and purpose. You can’t simplify this task. Once you give it a name, it says that you intend to create history with it. It sparks hope for love and language. The more those things transpire (love and language and history) the more attached you become. The friendship grows outside of you, yet tied still, and is now a collaboration between you and one who was named.

This gives you a sort of double-sided delight. One side of it speaks on the choice you made towards the one named. And the other is being able to know the one who is named in their specificity. You get to know them in their chosenness. You get to see how they relate back to it. You get to see what your love offers them. And what they express in return. Is it freedom? Is it condemnation? Is it affection? Is it torment? Is it peace?

It makes me wonder about God, and how They’ve* named us. It makes me think about the act of becoming someone’s companion (naming and being named). It makes me think about adoption and child-bearing. It’s all so beautiful. It gives you the potential for a hope fulfilled as well as one of the most hollowing pains you’ll experience in your life.

The power of naming things seems to have been given to us. This privilege is abused by most. But for those who know it’s power can choose their intent for creating such a bond. It has to be obvious: naming something doesn’t always mean love, but it can mean love. This can only be tested with time.

I can’t help but feel hyper-aware of all the names I’ve given and the effects it’s had. I’m definitely more guarded than ever. To give a name, to start a relationship, to commit to anything is a holy act. It seems like it’s something that should always be followed up with a commitment to an ongoing, creative, and wonder-filled love. It’s not something that should ever be thrown around.

To name something is precious.
To name something is life-changing,
especially so for the one who is giving the name.

Well, I think that’s all I have for tonight.

I was just growing up.

End of Summer 2012 I moved to St. Pete from Orlando and lived on a sailboat for a couple months. Most everything that I loved about my hometown, with the exception of my family, was there. However hard with the sort of isolation I’d experienced, the wonderful chap I starting dating was living with me and processing through quite a few things from his recent past years, I found room for delight and gratitude.

I was simultaneously working at a local tea shop and at the corner Starbucks. Both were a short walking distance from the boat. Most days were sunny and breezy. I didn’t have any limitations on time, space, or resources. I knew a lot of the locals, and a lot of them knew me. The situation I was in would have been perfect by many standards. If I am to be honest, though, everything in me felt like it was breaking. I was very lonely. Life circumstances [and the lack of tools I had to deal with them] kept me hurting pretty badly. I had more than one internal battle going on; taking hits from underneath my armor.

I was figuring out how to be sufficient in everything, especially for my special someone. Their battles kept hitting me pretty hard, and I didn’t fully let them in on that at the time. I was exhausted. I scarcely felt like I was fully myself. I didn’t know why I was waking up in the morning. I didn’t know what I was working towards. I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t know how to be settled in my own skin again. I didn’t know where my inner strength went. I couldn’t remember who I was.

I was Nineteen. Forgetting how to be in child-like wonder. Forgetting how to be simple, and how to rest. Relational circumstance was definitely punching me in the heart, but I was also seeing the issues that I already had in the midst of it. I didn’t know how to deal with any of it.

March 2013 I had the rare occasion of having a day off from both jobs. I decided to try to find some alone time and wandered over to one of my favorite coffee shops around the corner. There I ran into an old friend, Billy, who used to be a sort of support for a church I went to a couple years back. He asked me how I was doing and for the first time in a good while all the issues that I’d been so good at repressing just kind of fell out of my mouth and onto his lap.

The redeeming part of that conversation was he and his wife had previously been praying about bringing a girl into their home. He immediately offered me a place to stay seeing that my living situation was not helping me. Two weeks later I moved into their home; sharing a room with their 9-year-old daughter. The solemn months I lived at this home passed quickly and quietly. I got very sick on a few occasions and really only remember (if I can use very simple terms, here) being sad during that time. I can say, while this was one of the most difficult parts of my young life, it was a turning point.

Up to this point, my experience with Christian churches always had a tinge of dissatisfaction. Especially when I could never find the connection or commitment that I was looking for. I always wanted to feel like I was truly connected and collaborating with a team of people who had the same goal as me. After moving in with the Mitchells (Billy’s family) I found myself welcomed as a little sister. A part of the family and their family goals.

They never offered me counsel that I didn’t ask for; they were just there. There when I needed to talk. There when I needed to listen to someone else’s life. There when sweeping the kitchen was the most therapeutic thing I could ask for. They let me be a part of family events. They gave me space in their lives to contribute. They were the best thing to happen to me in a really long time. And, to make things even better, they became the people that I could call my “church home”.

Every Sunday we would get together with one other family (The Gerkes) and tell stories about Jesus- the kids included. We’d all discuss what the stories said about God, ourselves, and the world. We’d talk about how to apply it all out our specific lives. We walked and prayed for our neighborhoods. We’d actively strategize on how we were going to love well; about how we were going to bring what we had in this home- to other homes. We prayed that in a year things wouldn’t be the same and that we’d all [hopefully] be bringing peace, joy, and relationship with Jesus in other homes.

This was Christmas for a girl who had no good answer for life without family/community.

We met like this for nearly a year before the Mitchells had to leave for Oklahoma. This departure wrecked everyone in our little community. But we all also knew it was an answer to a prayer we’d prayed a year ago. It was time to bring the freedom that we gave to one another into other places, bring a sense of community and commitment that breeds rest, and support others as they find their way back to their identities in Christ.

These people and their investment changed everything for me. They gave me the strength I needed to see clearly. Reminded me of who I was. Challenged me. Built me up. They stood up for me when they saw I wasn’t being cared for. Brought me “truth” when I couldn’t find it myself.

They left me with the tools that I needed to bring the same sort of hope to people around me. Setting a high standard for honor, boundaries, communication, and seeking the Lord with people who are committed to knowing, praying, collaborating with/for me. They helped me decipher where to invest my time, resources, and energy simply by knowing them and having them in my life. A friend of mine told me that even my voice was different and that I seemed to have a backbone again. So, it seemed, in the process, in community, I won back my sense of self. My trust. I started to see in child-like wonder again. I started recovery and remember what is was like to be simple, to rest, and to seek out exactly what I need to be my healthiest self. These people lead me back to a freedom that I used to be so familiar with.

Usually, when I talk about this portion of my life, I’m tempted to go into detail about all of the hurt I’d experienced and try to forcefully piece together a narrative ends with “happily ever after”. An “…and everything is all better now because… Jesus”. This isn’t or wasn’t the case. Life didn’t continue on with a “happily ever after”. When I look at the things that I learned from this vignette, it’s pretty clear: I was just growing up. Learning to deal with heartache was just a part of that. (I don’t even think I learned the lesson perfectly well). But, instead of a happy ending, I’ve found an Identity. And with an Identity, I feel wholehearted… even in my issues.

Now I’m left with an unwavering standard for community and connection that I’m very happy with. I may not have a very wide reach of friends, but most all my friendships run very deep. I have little need from people I don’t trust and, conversely, am happily interdependent with people that I trust a lot. My “love tank” is rarely empty and that frees me up to simply give to those around me from a place of abundance. Life’s not perfect but in brokenness, in transition, in becoming I feel capable of handling what may come my way due to the fact that I’m fully supported.

I don’t take that for granted one minute.