Today, I’m going to be honest about something.
Today, I’m going to be honest about what I do for a living.
I work in the marketing department for a company that makes and sells wheelchair vans. You know, the ones you see in handicap parking spots with the motorized ramp that extends out of it?
My official job title is “Social Media Manager.”
Seven months ago, I tweeted about how I could use the extra prayer for the job hunting and interviewing process. Because I wanted to marry Greg, and I’d need a flow of income to do that.
I tried branding myself: I made the graphics, started putting a portfolio together, looked into selling a book of all the poems I haven’t shared with the world yet, joined all of the freelance websites, downloaded the Indeed.com app onto my phone. I did all the things that looked like the life I had lived before God had called me out. Searching for a full time job was a full time job in itself.
And this wheelchair van company was the only company that reached out.
When I finally started working here, people who’d been praying for me asked where I had landed a job, and I avoided answering.
So here’s the truth: I use my words to help sell wheelchair vans.
And it has been one of the most transformative, difficult seasons of my life.
There’s nothing sexy about 9-5. Little girls don’t dream about one day getting to sit where I sit.
The other night, I was having dinner with a friend I used to work with in Atlanta and she said, “It’s weird, ya know? You go from being one thing where you’re recognized and strangers know you, and then you just get forgotten.”
To be forgotten wounds the soul deeply.
And I have undeniably found myself submerged in a season of irrelevance where my pride was the first thing to take a hard hit.
The thing is: I want to be a good adult. I want to be a good pastor’s wife. I want open hands and a spirit that will rise to all the places God has called me to.
But what about the dessert? What about becoming a good listener before I can live in what God has planned?
God has surely taught me how to be unimportant. He has taught me how to be alone and even sat back while I felt crazy for stepping out into the places He’s lead me. He has taught me how to sit in the passenger seat and how to play the understudy well.
It’s just that, if we’re doing this whole honesty thing today — today I feel boring and tired. Flat. So I sit and pin photos of purple hair and try to figure out when I can get my next tattoo, flipping through these immature outlets that I know are a quick fix to make me feel exciting again.
Greg met me when I had white hair and wore all black and had a fake nose ring. He met me when I was somewhere between coming to terms with all the things that made me bitter and stepping into a life lived for Him.
And the sad thing is that, the more my life becomes less of my own and more of something that is entirely managed by Him, the more nostalgia tries to reign me back in. The more my own ghost shows up to remind me of who I was before, like I’d already attained the best version of myself. The more I feel like I was prettier, thinner, with better hair and even funnier.
So how’d I get through the past 7 months?
All that I am becoming now is an echo of God’s heartbeat. I don’t move without Him, and I cannot leave Him again. I have this life with Greg that I wouldn’t have been able to have had I not shed my old skin.
Usually, I don’t write until I’ve come out of something and have a lesson to offer up for the next person. I don’t ever want to share my words unless it’s to say, “Me, too,” for someone.
But I think today is about being honest. About calling myself out. Because that’s how we fight the dark, isn’t it? We point out its lies and tricks.
So, being honest: I have to remind myself daily that out of all the places God could have taken me when my spirit was finally humble enough to listen, He chose here. At a wheelchair van company. Teaching me how to be unimportant. Teaching me how to let Him live this life for me, in place of all I used to be or wanted to be.
And my, “Me, too” for now, until I can see the whole picture?
Do you feel like you’re drowning in all the change? Do you feel like you have to die to self daily? Do you feel like the only way to stay sane is to remind yourself that God is here and He’s still staying faithful in the ways He’s given you things to be grateful for, even in the dessert? Do you feel boring and flat and like somehow you were better before even if you were unhappy and lost? Do you feel like there aren’t any traces of even the parts you used to like about yourself?
But how “good” could those parts have been if God is still trying to transition them out? And yeah, don’t forget how unhappy you were before. Now you’re moving uphill. That’s why it’s taking the breath out of you.