The Space Between

Last week I took the LSAT (Law School Admission Test), and I won’t find out my score for another week. This score is important because it could determine scholarship options and therefore could determine whether or not I pursue a law degree at all.

Needless to say, this could be an excruciating waiting period. It could be an anxiety-filled time. And in a way, it is.

But more than that, these two weeks are a space for me to practice living in the “space between.”

Right now, it’s the space between taking a test and knowing the score. 

Sometimes it’s the space between leaving a job and finding another one.

Sometimes it’s the space between fertility treatments and the pregnancy test.

It’s the holding pattern where we so often find ourselves in life.

It’s all around us. Our lives are filled with “in between” times—and they can be some of the most uncomfortable moments of our lives.

In these moments, we’re acutely aware of the uncertainty of the future. The unknown blares loudly. The what ifs stack up.

It’s in these moments that we are reminded of our lack of control. We cannot decide future events, nor can we determine our future emotions.

It’s also in these moments that we have an opportunity to let God mold and shape us. We can allow our brains to follow the natural, human neuron pathways of anxiety and fear, or we can choose to set our eyes on Jesus.

We can focus on our weaknesses, or we can orient ourselves toward the One who is greater than all our strengths and weaknesses. We can allow Him to transform us by renewing our minds—by rerouting our broken thought patterns to neuron pathways that reinforce our identity in Christ.

We are in Christ.

When this is the focus, all else fades away. And the space between—the space that would normally be filled with anxiety and fear—becomes a space to be filled with Jesus.

It becomes a practicing ground to keep turning our faces toward Him.

When I get the LSAT scores, I’ll enter another space between—the space between applying and awaiting an acceptance or rejection. And the space waiting for news of a scholarship.

On this side of heaven, we will always be in a space between in some way. It’s hard and nerve-wracking and beautiful and exciting. Because we will always be in a space where we can look more like Jesus and let Him redirect us to train our eyes not on His creation, but on Him.

Terrified: A Blog on Dating

Terrified.

That’s how I feel when I sit down to write this. It’s been well over a year since I published a blog, mostly because my writing is an overflow of what I’m learning—and what I’ve been learning has seemed far too vulnerable to share. Because it revolves around dating.

I chose not to date for the majority of my life for a variety of reasons: I was too busy, it was scary, no one seemed interested in me…and mostly, because I hated vulnerability. It was vulnerable to say yes to dating someone, even more vulnerable to ask someone out. 

Yet after a few years of therapy and a truly supportive group of friends, I decided to try a dating app, which led me to Josh. Two years later, Josh and I are still together, and dating has taught me more than I imagined about God, about myself, and about others. Vulnerable as it may be, I hope to write about the moments that have changed me most—starting here.

It had been a long day, and I was overwhelmed by emotions. I had spent the previous two days wondering about the relationship, worrying I was making the wrong decision, and paralyzed by the mere concept of a long-term relationship. When I make plans, I always have a plan B and plan C—I always have a way out, an escape hatch, if you will. I also tend not to share my concerns or worries with others because firstly, they’re often absurd worst case scenarios, and secondly, to admit my fears is to admit weakness. And as we all know, that’s not my strong point. 

It turns out that this kind of thinking does not lend itself well to dating; in fact, it produces a huge amount of anxiety and will land you on your boyfriend’s futon, crying and covered in snot, refusing to hold a conversation and repeating, “It’s fine,” over and over.

This is why one of the things I appreciate most about Josh is his willingness to face difficult things head on. When I lay there on the futon, I repeatedly turned my head away from his, trying to hide my tears. 

He knelt on the floor by my side and gently—but firmly—put his hands on my face and turned me so I was facing him. 

He broke through my desire to stay hidden, to live in the facade I had created where tears meant weakness, where denial of weakness meant it didn’t exist.

When he turned my face and I looked into his eyes, all my fear and my shame were met with concern and with kindness. Instinct told me to pull away, but each time I did, he gently turned me back toward him so he could look me in the eyes. Eventually, he held my face in place so I could not turn—and finally, when the shame was gone (but the tears and snot were not), I didn’t want to look away at all.

Josh isn’t perfect—actually, this whole story occurred in the middle of a fight—but still, I met Jesus in a new way in that moment, and in the moments to come (there have been many), when this same scenario played itself out over and over again.

When I think back on this experience, I think of how I so often turn away from Jesus’ face—on a daily basis, even! How in shame, I make split-second choices not to pray about something, or I believe there’s no way He could want to see my tear-stained, sinful self.

Yet He does. Gently—yet firmly—He puts his hands on my face and turns me toward Him, turning me to look in His eyes. And I am met with grace, with kindness. 

How tenderly He redirects my gaze! Over and over again, I look to myself to fix earth’s problems, and over and over I find myself entangled in a web of shame and guilt, believing lies and fixating on unfixable things.

The root lie is that I am not worthy of love and belonging—and then, the web of solutions entangles:

If I lose weight, I will be worthy.

If I make more money, I will be worthy.

If I own a business, I will be worthy.

Gently—yet firmly—He turns my eyes back to Him. There is nothing in the world as stunning as His face, but somehow I get distracted anyway. Slowly, I am beginning to understand that the brokenness of the world can be a blessing, if only to show me there is nothing like His face.

I am like a child standing at a locker with the combination lock code written down in bold letters before me, but who chooses to try to open the lock by trial and error. Jesus, in His patience, stands with me.

0000 doesn’t work. He redirects my eyes to the key—to Himself.

0001 doesn’t work. He turns my face toward Him.

0002. He puts His hand under my chin and lifts until my eyes meet His.

0003…

Again and again, gently—yet firmly—Jesus puts his hands on my face and turns me toward Him. No amount of shame (or snot) will deter Him from turning my face to Him.

And it hits me: He doesn’t just want me to see Him. He wants to see me. Because I am valuable. I am worthy of love and belonging. 

Love, belonging, and me—we find our place in His eyes.

Rent to Own or Own to Rent?

A few months ago, much to everyone’s surprise (including my own), I decided I was ready to buy a house.

I’ll give you a few seconds to recover from the shock…

Allison, who loves traveling and can’t make up her mind if she wants to live in the US or Cambodia (just kidding—but sometimes it feels like that!), who fears long-term commitment and always wants to keep her options open, that Allison decided to buy a house.

After a few short weeks of studying real estate, praying, finger-biting waiting, trusting (thank God for my realtor—if you’re in Waco, holler for a 5 star rec), and stressing, I found myself standing in my new home. What I didn’t know was that buying was only the beginning of the stress of homeownership.

Before I moved in, I wanted to take care of a couple projects to update the house. I had about a month before I had to move out of my old place, so I set to work painting and, with plenty of help, redoing the floors.

I spent entire days by myself in the house painting, taping, cleaning, and painting some more…and some more…and some more. After work, I headed straight for the new house (okay, I may have stopped to grab a Dr. Pepper or two first) and plodded away for hours before going back home to sleep and prepare for another long day.

Now that I owned the house and wasn’t just renting, I felt a new burden of responsibility. And for someone who loved the carefree, pick-up-whenever-you-want life of renting, the emphasis lie heavily on the word burden. Repairs, updates, aesthetics…I was the one who would have to do it. And I wanted the house to be stunning.

After all, when I closed on the house, I was fully intent on using this new space to honor the Lord. I wanted this place to be perfect, to be beautiful, and to be inviting. Almost subconsciously, as I found more things in need of repair, I became frantic in my work on the house. I was trying to make the house perfect because it was dedicated to the Lord. I wanted the best for Him.

But frankly, I was overwhelmed. I began to question my decision to buy a house. It was more expensive than I had anticipated, more time-consuming than I had guessed, and more energy-draining than I had ever planned. And every day, I was finding more things in need of repair.

It was on one of these long days that I found myself standing on the ladder, paint roller in hand (boy do those things give you a work out!), exhausted. I stared at the color smudged on the ceiling, and I asked aloud that God would help me figure out what to do as the owner of this house and not the renter.

As I prayed, I heard Him whisper to my soul.

I heard Him remind me that all things belong to Him. I heard Him remind me that we are all stewards, every one of us, whether we own or rent or live somewhere for free.

A weight lifted from my shoulders as I realized the burden of homeownership did not, in fact, rest on me. It was the Lord’s. He had asked me to tend to this new house, but the responsibility was neither more nor less than it had been as a renter.

At the core, we are all renters.

God asks us to steward the breath in our lungs and the brains in our heads and the legs we stand on. Everything around us is the Lord’s, and we are renters. We are tenants even of our own bodies.

With this realization comes great relief! The renter has an ease of mind because there is little to no responsibility for upkeep, mortgage payments, insurance, taxes, pest control, etc. In the world’s eyes, I “own” a home and the land it sits on, but truly, it is the Lord’s—it always has been and always will be. I will do my best to take care of it and make it beautiful, but in the end, it is not mine.

That day on the ladder, as I painted and painted, I breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude. The home didn’t need to be prepared perfectly because I had dedicated it to the Lord. It was already the Lord’s. He wasn’t looking for a breath-taking open house experience nearly as much as He was looking for an open and humble heart.

He owns it all, yet each day He gifts us more than we could ever comprehend. He gifts us life without demanding rent, when we praise Him and when we curse Him. He gifts everything to us, even His Son’s very life…even relationship with the God we shunned.

Daily, we have the choice to recognize these gifts and praise this God—this merciful and gracious God!—as the One we want to reside and be glorified in our homes, these homes He rents to us.

I Don't Have to Do a Thing—and Neither Do You

It’s been a while since I’ve posted—I’ve been enjoying a break from scheduled writing and posting (though I’ve still been doing some of that over at karatmag.com). Today I’m taking a “break from my break” to share a couple things that have been wrecking my life (in the best way), and I hope they encourage you! Here's what I’ve been learning.

When God speaks to us, it isn’t always because He wants us to do something.

At the beginning of the year, I spent time praying about when, where, and if I should travel. I felt the Lord was saying this would be a year that I’d get to share a country I loved (Cambodia) with others.

I was thrilled at the prospect. Sharing Cambodia is one of my favorite things—I wish everyone in the world could visit at least once! Quite quickly, I created a long list of possible travel buddies in my head.

Then life sped up. I agreed to various commitments and shouldered new responsibilities. Days sped by, then weeks and months, and suddenly I was committed to going to Cambodia on a medical mission trip—without having “recruited” a single person. I was disappointed.

Yet a couple weeks later, one person wanted to come—and then another, and another, and another. Suddenly, a group of people I knew (and some I didn’t even know!) were eager to travel to Cambodia.

It was then I remembered the other thing God had spoken to me at the beginning of the year: 

You don’t have to do a thing.

Photo by Aki Tolentino on Unsplash

I hadn’t connected these two phrases previously, but I was blown away when I did. I realized the Lord wasn’t kidding around when He said in John 15:15, “I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you.”

For some reason, I’d started to believe the main reason God spoke to us was because He wanted us to obey Him. When I think of the Bible, I think of instructions and commands—often within the church it’s called the “instruction manual for life.” 

Yet when I really examine the Scriptures, I find much more than instructions. I find stories, poetry, and promises—all pointing to connection. Connection with the One who created us. In fact, the majority of what I read in the Bible guides us to walk with God, not work for God.

For the first time, it dawned on me that perhaps Jesus placed that sense in my heart—the sense that this would be a year when I’d share Cambodia with others—not to instruct me but to give me something to delight in. As a friend shares exciting news with confidante, the Lord had whispered this news to me. Simply because we are friends. Simply to share His joy.

To be a servant of the Lord—this would be enough. Yet He invites us into friendship, too!

As I write, I cannot think of anything sweeter. Sometimes when He speaks, He does call us to action for and with Him. Sometimes, it’s simply for the pleasure of our company in the knowledge of His will.

That is a most beautiful thing.