God Will Not Drop You on Your Head, Kacy…

I must confess something. I have been very fearful these past few weeks. Very fearful. Having nightmares, not sleeping well, and over-reacting about popcorn. Yes, popcorn. Don’t ask.

 I am moving out of my mom’s house and into a house with my sister, brother-in-law, and nephews in a few weeks. The Lord has provided a place for me with them, and I will have my own separate and large space, albeit, there is no air conditioning or heat, but if I get too hot, cold, lonely, ect., I can always come in and sleep on the couch. Plus, I lived in Honduras where the large range of temperature was never tempered by any sort of indoor regulatory measures, so it may just be a fun trip down memory lane. A very sweaty memory lane. 

And in moving out, comes, well, bills. And, I do not make enough money. So I am afraid of that. Afraid that I will run out of money and I will just wither and die. Because, naturally, running out of money is quickly followed by withering and dying. Duh. And with moving out comes needing furniture, because we sold ours when we moved to Honduras, and then had some donated when we returned, but due to recent events, I don’t feel comfortable claiming any of those items. 

But here is what I am really, truly, deeply afraid of. Perhaps, more than anything. 


I am terrified to fail. 

I am terrified of not being perfect, not doing it right, not succeeding. My perfectionism comes out most commonly in my lack of trying to do anything new because I am afraid of failing. If I can’t do it perfectly, I won’t try at all, then it will be crappy and I will know that it is because I didn’t really try. It’s a sick cycle. Right now, a big part of my life is failing. I have failed. Failed to keep a relationship in tact. Failed in Honduras. Failed in recovery. Failure. Failure, in that everyone knows the mess that is my life right now, and I am ashamed. I feel like a huge, giant, failure. The worst part about feeling like a failure is that I abuse myself because I mess up. I must be perfect in all ways and when I am not, I have some seriously harsh inner dialogue about it. I would never talk to another human being the way I talk to myself, yet, I take it and I believe it as gospel truth. Failure terrifies me. 

As I cried about this on Friday, my counselor reminded me that failure is a part of life. We talked about my three year old nephew, how his entire existence right now is trying stuff and failing, and then trying again. And, amazingly, he does not beat the ever living snot out of himself when he messes up. And we talked about how God is kind and good and loving and He is my protector. He knows I will fail, and He will catch me. In fact, her exact words to me were “God will not drop you on your head, Kacy”. 

He won’t. He has already provided a free bed, free couch, free dresser, and other household items. He has provided extra work and babysitting opportunities. He is holding me up. He holds me in yoga class, where I can never do the poses perfectly, yet I go back week after week, perhaps to challenge my perfectionism, perhaps because I like hearing Him remind me of His love when I can’t do it all correctly. He is holding me. 

And, as He holds me, I with cling to the truth of His love and kindness. He does not expect perfection from me, because if I was perfect, then why would I need Jesus? So, as I embark on this new chapter of life, where I live a grown up life, all on my own, with no one else to take care of me, I will probably mess it up and not do it perfectly. And, I think it is a sweet gift of God that I will step out in challenging my perfectionism while living with a super fun three-year-old who fails and tries again and laughs about it.


Waiting…and Waiting…and…

Three years ago I got a seriously awful stomach virus (thank you, students) and had to go to the emergency room around ten at night. I was sitting in the waiting room and in so much pain and I remember rocking back and forth and saying “I don’t think I can make it”. Yeah, the stomach flu, I know. But, the waiting was made so much worse because I didn’t know how long it would be before I could get help, before the medicine would work, before relief would come. Sweet, sweet relief. It finally came, of course, but gosh, that twenty minutes in the waiting room was rough (go ahead, mock me, I know I am a baby).

So, waiting. Not my favorite thing. At all. I do not like to wait. Especially when relief is nowhere in sight.

Right now, I am fighting the waiting because I am in immense pain. I am hurting, scared, lonely, angry, and sorrowful. And it is all I can do not to yell out “I QUIT! I WILL WAIT NO LONGER!”, followed by a long string of expletives and foot stomping. 

I want deliverance. I desire deliverance from this hurt, but I have chosen to wait. I am waiting, sometimes for a person, but mostly for God to work. My prayer has been that He will prepare my heart for what He is working. My cry has been that this will all be over soon. 

He is answering my prayer. He is not, however, answering it by means of immediate deliverance. He spoke to me this week in a plethora of ways to wait. To stay where I am, rest in Him, and trust that He is working. It is awfully prideful of me to think that I should decide what will happen. It is, after all, human nature to want to be God, but what we desire often is just to stop the hurting, not to learn from it. I often think if I could just stop the pain, then things would be better, but what I really desire is more of Jesus, and that is painful at times. But what I have seen and learned is that I cannot possibly plan what God will do through my pain. After all, I would have never chosen to have anorexia or spend time in a treatment center, but God did plan that for me, and in that pain, my family was reunited and large wounds were healed. I would have never chosen to have a man break my heart at the age of 21, but God planned it, and through it brought me to the Village church and to many wonderful people to live this life with. I would have never chosen for my dream of living in Honduras to be put on hold, but I would not have given back the time I have gotten to spend with my nephews because I am here in Texas. You see, God works, and His story for us often means we wait on Him. Even in the extreme pain, extreme heartache, and extreme fear of the future. But, God’s work is always beautiful and sweet in the end result. He is good and His plan for me is beautiful, though it may not look like it now. So, for now I sleep in my half-empty bed, waiting to see the end result of God’s mighty hand, and through my tears and pain, and sometimes in my anger, I am anxious to arrive at the end result. Because, although I cannot see it now, God is working, He is moving, His hand is guarding me and His plans are unfolding. So, even though I yearn to scream and punch and kick, I will wait on Him, out of love, out of faith, and out of pure curiosity to see the outcome of His workings. Because I know He is good, and as a friend reminded me this week, even though we want out, the end result of waiting is often sweeter than our immediate out. 

Psalm 130:5-6

I wait for the LORD, my soul waits,

and in his word I hope; 

my soul waits for the Lord 

   more than watchmen for the morning, 

   more than watchmen for the morning.


The folly of not waiting for God is that we forfeit the blessing of having God work for us. – John Piper