rawness

There is a special place in my heart for kids who are raised in a spotlight, whether it be the children of politicians, celebrities, or, in the case I know personally, pastors.

One day, I think I'd love to start some sort of ranch specifically aimed at that category: children of leaders.  Where they can come and just be real.  Be safe.  Be restored.  Learn to be the beloved.  No need to please.  No need to put on protective masks to function normally as the children of leaders.  No need to think that their destiny is only based on how well their parents do in life.  No need to put on a show just so others don't ask questions, or rebel just to break the cycle.

With life being lived in a glass house, it's often the failures people remember the most.  In many ways, people feel like they deserve to know the inside and outside workings of your life.  Why else would we have tabloids?  People like to watch the drama of other peoples' lives unfold.  But they don't like it went people probe into theirs.  Leaders don't get to lay down that boundary--they don't get to say "hey, actually, that's none of your business."  Their reputation is a very public matter, and when something goes wrong, everyone hears about it.  Or at least that's been my experience.  Maybe it's good.  I mean, we all want vulnerability in the people we follow.  I get it.  But it's still hard.

Whether it be an accurate perception or not as I reflect on this type of upbringing, as a pk, the emotions that I feel are real.  In failure, everyone gets to watch your world fall apart.  People talk.  The critics make an analysis of you, pass it along, try to put it in concrete (if you let them) so it marks your life.  It makes you feel like your voice doesn't exist anymore.  Like you could fade into oblivion, and the world would be better for it.  Some will care, try to express concern.  But they won't be there to pick up the pieces--not always out of a lack of care.  Mostly out of just not knowing what to do. They won't understand what it really feels like. They can't.  And I don't expect them to.  In fact, I don't want them to.  

But in the really raw moments of life, like this current one I'm walking through, it's easy for me to think that I am completely abandoned.  Because no one can make it better.  Not a single person.  Not a million dollars.  Not getting married.  Not pursuing more eduction.  At the core of it, it's God who i need to speak to me.  It's Him I need to hear from : to know that He still has a plan for me.  To know that there is more for me than what I've known, and that life can truly be lived full of joy.  That there is a place for me--a place where I can make a difference, where I can release life to others.

More than anything, I don't want the enemy to win.  I don't want him to take me out or my family.  Even if no one else believes in us, I believe in us.  I believe in me.  I believe in what God has placed inside of me.  The processes He's taking me through, and the one I'm walking through--they're not in vain.

I wish that this blog could be written more eloquently.  Maybe one day I can put this season into better words.  Maybe time and healing will give me a perspective that is healthy and life giving to others who have or will experience the same.

So now I turn my eyes to heaven.  I get on my knees.  I stretch out my arms.

I don't know what to do.  And so forever, my eyes are on You, Jesus.  Make my life a love song to you.  Bring it into deeper consecration.  Fill me with all that You are.  Whatever it takes.  Whatever needs to be laid down, purged out.  God, do it.  Because you are worth it all.