How Joey Happened

I want to have a record here of how things happened with Joey. I wrote this letter to my dear friend Ashley, who has sort of been my confidante and mirror since the day we met at Biola. Our lives have paralleled each others for years, and we've always kept each other posted on the latest and greatest (and worst and most heartbreaking) things going on in our lives. We've vented to each other, celebrated together, encouraged one another, and held each other up in prayer, and this year, it was our year, the year that our hearts accepted the truth of what God has for us. It may not look the way we've thought it would, but the reality is better than we could have imagined. Here's my version of what happened:

Over the past year and a half, Joey has struggled a lot with his feelings forme. He fell hard and fast, and then when it became clear that I did not feelthe same way, and wasn't even interested in him at all, he swallowed his feelings, gave them to the Lord, and prayed himself through it. One day in themidst of his angst, Joey heard the Lord say, "wait patiently." He didn't think then that it would mean that my heart would change now, but hedid know that he could trust the lord with his heart. Still, it took about a year for him to get to a point where he felt like he could just be my friend.Even that was hard for him; he didn't know how to be just my friend, but he didn't have a choice because that's all I wanted. And through it all, Iwas terrible to him. I shut him out and kept my distance because I didn't want to give him the wrong idea. I hurt him pretty badly in the process.

Over the past few months, though, things have changed in my own life--a lot. God's been doing some intense healing of my heart, and I got to a point where Joey and I were actual, true friends. He didn't bother me at all anymore. In fact, I began to really enjoy him. I was myself around him, and I discovered not only that he's an amazing friend, but he's one of my best friends. He knows me in a way that I've never experienced. He sees me for who I really am, and for some reason thinks I'm pretty much amazing (something I'll never understand, based on what I put him through).

Meanwhile, some pivitol moments in my walk with the Lord have happened. I've been living under this cloud for the past several months, feeling extremely inferior in every area of my life. And the truth is that I thinkI've been living under it for years, but in the past few months it's gotten much much worse, much more noticeable to the outside on-looker. And I'm in this small group at church where we're reading John Elderidge's Walking with God--a fabulous book--and one of the things we're dealing with is spiritual attack. Well, one night we dealt with spiritual attack that we're facing. And I dealt with mine, and something broke. Seriously. It's like a veil was lifted. A stronghold was broken. A dam broke. A prison door was unlocked. Suddenly I began to see clearly. And I've never experienced anything like that before, but Ashley, everything changed after that.

I immediately began to see Joey differently. And it shocked me. I didn't trust it because I don't trust myself with love. I don't trust myfeelings. I've made bad decisions before, and I didnt want to make a bad decision on Joey to wake up and think, "Just kidding! I don't really have these feelings!" But I realized that I do have feelings for him, and soon discovered that his feelings for me are real. They're still there, strong and true--despite what I put him through. And I didn't breathe aword of it to anyone because--for goodness sake it's Joey! And I was terrible to him. Awful. Spiteful. Mean. I was SO against the idea of being with him. How could I possibly tell him that my heart was changing? Did I really expect him to say, Ok cool! Let's give it a try? It's hard to swallow that sort of pride.

But Ashley, the Lord is good. He changed my heart. He softened it. He had the grace to show me just how wrong I was. And apparently everyone around me could tell things had changed even though I didn't mention it to anyone. So on July 3rd, Christy called me out on it. She asked me about it, and I didn't freak out and tell her "eew,no!" I told her, yes . . . my feelings are changing. She challenged me to tell him, but I chickened out. But . .. Joey had noticed, so he called me outon it. I was put on the spot, and I didn't run from it. It was scary and hard, but real. More real than anything I've experienced before. And so over the past two weeks, we've had an intense, fast-forward, whirlwind of a romance that scares the living daylights out of me, and blows my socks off. Joey's amazing. I don't know how I missed it before. But at the same time, I'm just now discovering my feelings, but Joey's pretty solid in his.

And that's what I need, for sure, but it scares me because it's SO new. Yesterday we were at a BBQ with a lot of people from church, and word got out and spread like wildfire, and let's just say that it ended up feelinglike we'd announced an engagement, not just the fact that we're dating.It freaked me out. It was so sweet to hear "it's about time!" and"we've been praying for this!" and "oh you two are PERFECT together!" but my goodness, it's 2 weeks old! and I'm really having to face my fears about relationships in general. I realize it's not about JOey. JOey's amazing. It's about me. I dont' trust myself with love. I don't want to hurt him, and I'm afraid that I will. I keep asking the Lord to continue what he's started in me--I know it's him andthat he's smiling down on both of us. His timing is perfect, and I know thathe's given me an amazing gift in Joey. Joey seriously is everything that I've been praying for. And when that stares me in the face, it freaks me out because it's real. I know it is. And today (sorry, you're getting the version of this that's borne out of the freak outyesterday), today I'm praying "Lord, let the light of your truth wouldbe ever-illuminated in my heart."

What We Are, and What We're Becoming

I realize that I've written very little about Joey here. It's not to say that I don't want to write about him. I do very much. I already made a resolution to document our lives in pictures, so I've been trying to remember to bring my camera with us wherever we go and to actually use it. It feels funny, I frequently forget, and when I do remember, I feel silly, like I'm capturing moments that don't really matter because they're just simply little moments in a normal day. But I realize that these small moments when taken collectively make a life. And I am determined to document our life. Our life. Wow.

So far, I've done a fairly ok job. Not great, but ok. Here's one of my favorites from just a couple of weeks ago. We were on the BART train heading into San Francisco to meet up with one of his friends from PA school. There's nothing particularly special about this picture, except that I remember that moment. I remember sitting with him on that train, I remember how the sun was setting and we were laughing and full of the promise of what lay ahead. You wouldn't know it by looking at us in this picture; we're not smiling, nor do we look particularly excited about much. But to me? This picture is comfort, a representation of my new definition of Home.

So maybe I need to resolve to write about our life as well, to not leave it as moments frozen in a digital frame, but instead to expand on it, paint a true picture of who and what we are.
We’re nothing special, but oh what a special thing we have. No, ours is not a sweeping romance of epic proportions. But to us, it is. It’s made up of small moments, of seemingly insignificant times when taken together are carving out what we're becoming. I'm not done. He's not done. We're not done. With every day that passes, our lives takes shape just a bit more, and I can begin to see more clearly what’s intended to be made of us. And I'm not going to take it for granted or miss a moment of it. I'm determined.

The Joy and Pain of Writing

I'm supposed to be writing tonight, but as I sit quietly in the corner of this coffeehouse, I realize that purposefully taking time out to do so proves to be more difficult than my imagination makes it out to be. This isn't new; each time I intend to spend a significant amount of time writing, I somehow find that I have nothing to say. How can that be when every moment of every day, I try to make sense of the jumbled mess of thoughts that are bursting to be written out? You'd think that they'd spill out the moment I give them a chance to, but instead it's as if they've suddenly got stage fright, like they're shy children who refuse to say out loud what they've whispered to their mother in the privacy of their own home.

But God said, "Write." The message was direct--and confirmed many times. The most recent time was perhaps an encouragement for me to do so, sure, but sometimes, his confirmation feels overwhelming, and I think, "How in the world will I ever write anything worthy of what You want me to say?" Part of me has wondered if this desire in me was born of my own selfishness, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that my desires are lining up with God's dreams for me--and isn't that the way it should be? Before, His gentle encouragement felt like Him saying, "Sure! Go ahead and write." But now? I feel a sense of urgency, like it's a sort of command--like I need to do it, like I must do it, like something's on the line and I need to do my part--and I don't want to disappoint. Oh, how easily I could disappoint the God of the universe. The Creator of the universe. The ultimate in creativity. He's got endless reserves of it. There's no end to it. How can my piddley little mind create anything worthwhile? Anything of particular interest or wonder? I'm just me, little ol' me, with a heart desperate to write, and words bubbling up to the surface and falling into a jumbled mess.

The problem is that there's simply so much to say, and I honestly don't know where to start. I have stories--several, in fact. But they live inside of me, they're mine--and to put them to paper risks someone else sharing them. Which, I suppose, is exactly what a good author would want, isn't it? Isn't that the point? To create something for another to enjoy, or to enjoy right along with someone else? Watching the face of my daughter as I read a story to her that I've written, seeing her smile as she points to the picture that makes her breath catch in her throat, knowing that her uncle drew it for her to enjoy? Knowing that somehow my experience could encourage or inspire someone who's encoutering the same sort of heartache that I've walked through? It all feels so important, so overwhelming, so necessary, so difficult.

I think that people assume that writing is easy. It's not. It's perhaps one of the most difficult things in the world, but like anything, if you love it, or if you're good at it, it comes a lot more easily than for those who do not share the same sort of sentiment toward it. As for me, I love it. I love it so much that I pray that one day it will be my occupation. To write, to read, to raise my children, and to serve my Lord. Perhaps somehow they'll all be related.

For now though, I must not be morose when I do have an opportunity to write. Slunking around feeling sorry for myself that I cannot do what I love simply won't work. Instead, stealing every moment possible, writing down every last thought or idea that happens to cross my mind during the course of a normal day, exploring thoughts and ideas on paper or on screen--someday it will count for something. And someday starts today.