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.

Poison Ivy and Jesus

I was sitting on the floor during a time of worship at my weekly life group with friends. The room was dimly lit, and music was playing. People’s eyes were closed and hands were lifted toward heaven. Meanwhile, I was trying not to lift my hands toward my arms to squelch the insane itching sensation from the poison ivy rash on my arms. 

My attempts to ignore the itching didn’t seem to be working. So I leaned back against the wall, tried not to scratch, prayed for my sleep-deprived friend Dani, whose 3-month-old was only sleeping in 30 minute to hour long intervals, and talked to God about how the rash began.

It all started last weekend, when Josh surprised me with a date to play disc golf at a park I’ve been wanting to check out in town. The disc golf course is notorious for the many places you can lose your discs—the course winds around a densely-forested area along the bank of the Brazos River. So not only is there the chance of the disc veering off course and becoming hidden in the trees, but there’s also the possibility of the disc landing—and sinking—in the river or the marshy areas along the bank.

On one of our missions to retrieve a disc, while ducking under branches and trampling vines, I must have brushed against some poison ivy/oak/sumac/evil plant. 

I thought nothing of the encounter. In fact, I didn’t even know it happened.

Later, that insignificant encounter turned out to change my life (at least for a few days…hopefully only a few days!).

To distract myself from the insane itching, I did some Google research on poison ivy and learned a few things:

• Poison ivy rash is caused by urushiol oil found on poison ivy plants.

• The rash erupts in a pattern that follows wherever the oil touched skin.

• The rash itself is not contagious (contrary to popular belief)—after the area has been washed, the oil is gone and touching the rash won’t cause it to spread to another person or further along the skin. (If the oil is still there or if it’s on clothing, it can still spread!)

• Last but not least is that the rash has a delayed onset. The reaction takes hours to days to manifest.

Hours to days. An unremarkable, 5-second event can occur with a significant but delayed onset. 

As I sat there in life group, subconsciously rubbing my arms every few minutes before realizing what I was doing, I began to wonder if our encounters with God are like our encounters with urushiol oil.

So often the seemingly unremarkable, everyday events in our walks with Jesus spark a delayed reaction much later in life—days, weeks, or even years later.

What if the moments I deem the most insignificant, the moments I don’t even remember, are actually some of the most catalytic in the spiritual realm? What if the results, like the appearance of a poison ivy rash, are significant but delayed?

When we brush up against poison ivy, it may take a while, but the way our skin breaks out is an easily identifiable sign of what we were exposed to. And when we brush up against Jesus, I wonder if the same thing happens. Maybe not immediately (though sometimes perhaps). And maybe not the way we expect.

Maybe the moments Jesus sat with me during deep depression—the moments I brushed up against him in the darkness—gave me a gift with a delayed onset. Maybe that gift is the ability to sit with people in pain and in darkness. Maybe it’s a deeper level of compassion. Maybe I won’t fully know what it is for years to come.

Maybe the moments Jesus sits with my friend Dani as she awakens hourly to comfort her sleepless son—maybe those moments are a brushing up against God, and she will see an unexpected change in herself in the days, weeks, or years to come.

I’m convinced of this: every time we brush up against Jesus, something changes. Each time we are exposed to him, a reaction happens, even if we can’t see it now.

 So I pray. I pray that we’ll brush up against him more and more. I pray we’ll recognize the power of encountering him the same way the woman with the issue of blood did: if I just touch the fringe of your garment, I will be healed.

I pray we’ll be changed in ways that clearly show to whom we’ve been exposed.

I pray we’ll break out with a reaction to his presence that shows the world the areas he’s touched. I pray he’ll touch those places of deep pain in us so that they will be transformed, even if we can’t see the effects right now. I pray our lives will erupt with mercy, patience, joy—all the things of God—as bright and bold and conspicuous as the red rash covering my arm.

I pray we won’t overlook those urushiol moments: the whispered conversations with him in the seconds before we fall asleep, the passing sense of his presence when we’re out eating dinner with friends, or the deep peace from him when we catch a glimpse of the sunset. But perhaps that’s the most beautiful thing about urushiol moments—even if we don’t see them, Jesus is still orchestrating them. He’s still moving, even when we are unaware. They can happen anytime, anywhere. 

Unlike poison ivy encounters, the change Jesus brings is lasting. It’s beautiful. It has the potential to be contagious. And, perhaps most exciting of all to me right now, it doesn’t involve insane itching!

5 Things I Learned from Online Dating

A couple years ago, I decided to try a dating app. I have hilarious stories and sad memories from various dates, but overall, it was an invaluable learning experience for me. Here are 5 things I learned from online dating:

1. Apparently, I’m still a lot more judgmental than I thought I was.

Though meeting people through online or mobile apps is becoming more and more common, I still felt uncomfortable with getting on a dating app. I wanted to meet someone the old-fashioned way—at church or work or somewhere in the community in “real life.” I thought turning to online resources was a cop-out, that it was “cheating.” Putting my information into a database, letting an algorithm work, and searching through profiles to find a good fit just didn’t seem right (or romantic).

I thought utilizing a dating app was the opposite of trusting God to bring the right person to me. I believed He could and would bring the right person to me in the traditional way. It was only after two women I greatly respected found their now-husbands on a dating app that I questioned my beliefs…and found them to be more grounded in stigma and bias than in logic or spiritual conviction.

I learned I was prideful and biased—and well, that certainly wasn’t a good reason to stay off a dating site. So I downloaded a dating app because…

2. With an attitude of learning, I really have nothing to lose.

To be honest, I didn’t create a dating profile thinking it would lead to a long-term relationship. I created it because I realized I had a plethora of insecurities about going on dates.

I was afraid I wouldn’t know what to say or I’d be awkward. I was afraid because I didn’t have a lick of fashion sense or know anything about makeup. I was afraid because talking to single men intimidated me and I was sure they could read the discomfort on my face. I was afraid because I’d only been on a couple dates in my whole life, and I was 25 years old. There were just too many unknowns.

The beautiful thing about online dating was that I could approach it with an attitude of learning rather than an attitude of impressing. I didn’t know these men, and they didn’t know me—and if it didn’t work out, who cared? I could simply focus on learning about myself and getting out of my comfort zone during the date.

So I did. With nothing to lose, I went on dates, and I practiced. I practiced talking to single men and putting on makeup, and I practiced shopping for cute clothes. Soon I realized my insecurities were fading and my confidence was rising, not only on dates but in all arenas of life.

3. Life truly is richer when I lay aside my judgments—of myself and of others.

Since I was going into the online dating world for the purpose of learning, my threshold for a first date was pretty low. Usually we would text for a week or two before the guy asked if I wanted to get coffee, and unless any red flags came up, I agreed.

I went on dates both when I thought we would really hit it off in person and when I thought it would be a “one and done” situation. But everyone, I thought, deserved a first date.

Wow, am I thankful I had this attitude! I met people I never would have met otherwise. I learned things about myself, others, and a variety of topics ranging from the practices of Messianic Jews to what it takes to get a degree in meteorology. These encounters made life richer, without a doubt. They also led me to number four on this list.

4. Honest conversations are worth it, even when they’re hard.

While first dates are fun, they’re also stressful—it takes a lot of energy for an introvert to keep up conversation with a stranger! But what was harder for me to navigate were the conversations when I knew I didn’t want to continue going on dates with someone.

In the digital age, “ghosting” (when you just never reply and disappear on someone) has become quite common, especially in the online dating world. When I began online dating, I decided to do my best not to ghost people or lead them on after an initial date if I wasn’t interested. I definitely appreciated when guys let me know they weren’t interested—it eliminated the guesswork and emotional roller coasters—and I wanted to show the same courtesy to others.

As someone who tends to avoid conflict at all cost, this was an extra step outside my comfort zone. But just like most uncomfortable things in life, the more I did it, the easier it became. I found, surprisingly, that my willingness to have hard conversations in the dating realm gave me confidence to do the same in other parts of life as well. The clarity and resolution it brought was well worth any pushback or discomfort involved.

5. Sometimes I put God in a box, even without realizing it, and it never works.

I thought I was going on dates just for practice. I didn’t think a long-term relationship would come out of it because I thought God wasn’t going to work that way in my life. Not that He couldn’t but that He wouldn’t. I thought God was too creative to resort to using an algorithm and an app.

Instead, I found God was so creative He would use an algorithm and an app—in ways I never could have imagined. Through an app, He introduced me to the man whom I’ve now been dating for two years. That’s a story for a post of its own, but one thing is clear to me: in countless areas of life, I subconsciously limit the ways I think God will work. I put imaginary boundaries on His creativity—and on His kindness and mercy.

I tell myself God would never do this or use that, and perhaps more dangerously that He wouldn’t forgive this or redeem that.

Yet God—well, He blows past all these imaginary boundaries I place on Him. If I am projecting limits on things as practical as God providing a significant other and as fundamental as God redeeming my worst mistakes, what other areas of life am I trying to keep the God of the universe in a box?

Oh Lord, help me see those areas.

Thank God that He knows no bounds.

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.