Sitting in my house this past New Year's Eve, happy to let go of some pains of 2019 and anxiously excited for the start of 2020. As I sat there, surrounded by my friends, there was an exact moment that stuck out where I knew, this group of some of my best friends, these people, this time; it will never be the same again. This is the year that we will all change and grow – and it felt good. There was a brief period that night where time slowed and almost stood still, and I wish it would have stayed there, but I could feel it would never be the same; we would never be the same. Oh, how I wanted that night never to end.
And then March of 2020 happened. Our fast-paced world would come to a freezing halt due to a global pandemic? Face masks would be the new must-have (and please wear) accessory? Live stream mass? April crept by, then May, June, or July would be better, right? No. Here we are, mid-October, still struggling through this pandemic – and I'm so tired. And not just physically exhausted, but spiritually exhausted, emotionally exhausted. I feel defeated.
The closing up of churches, gyms, restaurants, etc. has caused a closing up of myself. And while, I tried to say, and was pretty good at, putting on the façade of, "oh, this is a weird time, I'm going to give myself grace, and it's okay, things are totally fine, things are all fine," the truth is, I had plain given up. With every new cancellation and closure, catastrophizing became my mind's distortion, and life was never going to go back to that time in my living room on NYE. The pandemic would never end. Hate and injustices would never end.
All of this extra time spent with my thoughts allowed the negative voices to intensify. The "you're not doing enough, you're not good enough, you're not fighting against injustices enough, you're unlovable and unworthy…" loudly rattled, and for a long while, I just let them ring.
I silenced these thoughts with food, comforting myself the way I knew best, the way I have done for years. Ice-cream, cookies, and other tasty treats briefly quieted the anxiety I felt, but then hours later, guilt and shame took their place.
I felt stuck, like a caged bird.
Praying felt useless. If God was listening, then would it feel as if the world was ending?
And then I heard a song with lyrics that hit me directly in the heart:
"While I'm on this road, you take my hand.
Somehow you really love who I really am
I push you away, still you won't let go
You grow your roses on my barren soul."
Somehow, amid my mess and this dumpster fire of a year, Jesus isn't going to let go, He isn't going to abandon me, despite the many times I've tried to push Him away or the number of times that I've told Jesus to take a hike.
Maybe quarantine is the season of barrenness, but underneath the surface, roots are taking hold, forming a strong foundation for something more beautiful than I could ever imagine. This is the time to till the soil, pull the weeds, add fertilizer so that the roses can bloom.
It's hard to imagine somedays that God loves me as I am, especially right now. Lately, I don't feel that I've done anything worthy of being loved, but I do know that God sees the worst and the best of me and chooses to love me just the same. Jesus sees my struggle with my body image and self-worth. He knows the pain and suffering it has caused, and yes, even in that shame, He says, "I love you, and I want you to love yourself too."
Take some time this week to pray with "Who am I?" by Needtobreathe. Imagine that you're singing these words to Jesus and how He would respond.
Somedays, I struggle to find my worth, and other days, I'm confident in my place in this world, but each time I ask Jesus the question, "Who am I to be loved by you?" His answer is simple. "You are mine."
Natalie Nathan