refuge.

I HAVE MY OWN BEDROOM.

Six months ago, I dropped into the lives of five people who were not exactly expecting me. I imagine that it would be sort of like giving birth the instant you find out you’re pregnant...and then discovering that your “baby” is actually a fully functioning 20-year-old, with a personality and a life and a separate network all in place already. Jarring, to say the least. Anyway, since then we’ve had a little bit of a space conundrum. Until this year, I was wholly unacquainted with the feeling of “displacement” that comes with not having my own bedroom. And to be honest, I didn’t really even notice how stressed it was making me until I moved into my new bedroom. But now that I see it, it’s actually crazy to me how necessary it is to be able to spread out into my own defined space. I have been incredibly grateful for one of the little ones, who so graciously gave up his room for a little over five months so that I would have a corner of the world to temporarily call my own. But dang, am I ever glad to be able to give that space back to him, for both selfish and unselfish reasons- he and I both (actually, I think all of us) were needing some refuge. For a while there, it felt like we had people on top of people, sharing rooms and shifting around and fighting over toys...

My beautiful little room is tucked away down in the basement of the house. It is consistently the perfect temperature for me, just cool enough that I can bury myself under six blankets and purr myself to sleep in a little "cocoon," as my dad used to always call it. The day I moved in down here, I snuggled into the deepest corner of my bed, wrapped in my fluffy fleece blanket, with a mug of tea perched on my lap and my bible open in front of me... and I prayed over this room. For a long time. For really vague things, like safety and refuge and good chi, and for specific things, like space for grieving, godly conversation, and a good night’s rest. I knew that being down here would dramatically impact my feeling of being settled here, for better or worse I wasn’t certain. And for the first couple days I think I was waiting to see if the house would close in around everyone else, like a body healing itself after a thorn is removed, shutting me into my own little secluded pocket of the world. Silly, I know. But it’s changes like this that test my level of trust in the security I have in this world. This time around, I’m fairly certain I failed the test. I fell in love with my bedroom the second I entered it, but fear gripped the part of me that still sometimes questions how much I belong anywhere. And those first couple of days, I allowed the fear and lies to be my reality and truth. I gave in to the idea that I was separate, physically of course, but to my confused and darkened mind, that translated to a relational level as well.

Sometimes it seems there is just no pleasing me. I’m always asking for more. God gives me the greatest desires of my heart and I find ways to tell him that they're not good enough. I find ways to convince myself that I’m not worthy of being loved, and then that belief grows and mutates until I am hypersensitive to everything, and reading between lines that are between other lines that don’t even exist. I wrap myself up in excuses about how entitled I am, when in reality, everything I have is completely an undeserved gift of grace. Scott and Kara didn’t have to adopt me. But they did because they love me. They didn’t have to build me a bedroom. But they did because they care for me. And what do I do in return? Pile up ridiculous and uncommunicated expectations, and then convince myself that because transition is hard, I probably just don’t fit. Moron. Sometimes I think if I had a conversation with myself on things like this, I would sooner use my fists as advice than my words.

What I really want is to rewind and unwind some of the emotional crap I’ve tangled myself into. I want to be able to walk into those hard moments again with some of the fresh perspective I have now, and come out on top. That way, I could be absolutely certain that the good parts of me outweigh the nasty, messy, dramatically emotional parts. And I can be that wise, steady, independent (yet still maybe somewhat fragile) 21-year-old human that I long to be, instead of broken and teary and constantly in need of forgiveness. But I’m learning the hard way that that is exactly and specifically anti-grace. Yes, I have been called independent, and steady, and even wise on occasion. But to hide the fact that I can be nasty, messy, and dramatically emotional... well that would just be fake. And to be loved for part of who I am and not all of who I am is not really something I’m about, admittedly. 

But there are a handful of people who have seen those messy versions of me- they’ve waded through a good sample of my emotional drama, held my hand lovingly and graciously the whole way through, and came out looking just as muddy and worn as I am- and to hear them say, “I love you still”... MAN, there is something so much more precious about that than if I was the perfect, single, independent 21-year-old woman that I sometimes wish I was, invested in relationships that were completely monotone and unshaken. 

Because love is not monotone. Love is color and sound and texture and light, and hugs and tears and forgiveness and puzzles and pillow fights, and plates of dinner saved for me when I come home late from work. 

And love is grace. From every angle, love is grace.

I need grace. I don’t want to need it. But every day I need it. Grace is my refuge, like my bedroom is my refuge. At the end of the day, it’s where I can rest. Grace softens my heart and humbles my pride. It makes me more beautiful and more human, in a world that is shouting at me over and over to be more god. It seems foolish and surprising, but it is actually the single oldest divine encounter between God and us- we have been given the gift of grace since we ate the fruit on day one.

We all fall short. I fall short. Man, that’s a gross understatement. I fall flat on my face. But I’m incredibly lucky to have people surrounding me who live and breathe God’s grace and who love me more deeply than I can yet grasp. And you are lucky too, because even if you don’t have that, you and I both share one gracious Heavenly Father. 

His grace is enough.

bittersweet.

Six months ago today, I found out my dad was gone from this world.

It hardly seems like it could be that long. Six months? Just yesterday he was helping me move into my new house in River Falls. Just last week we were enjoying a weekend together at camp, playing cards with beautiful friends and marveling at the glory of the Lord in a sunset from a pontoon on the lake. I can still hear his voice singing me to sleep at night. If I think hard enough, I can still smell his cologne as his warm embrace envelops my broken heart. 

These may seem like weird reflections. But I cling to them. 

It is shocking how often I still experience that punch-to-the-gut sensation when grief overwhelms me. Even after six months, it is almost daily. My dad was my rock. He taught me everything I know about being a functioning human being. He knew me- and I mean really knew me, almost everything about me- and still loved me with his entire being. And even though I was far from dependent on him, I never imagined life without him. I still kick myself every day for putting up so many walls between us. There are so many things I would have done differently if I was given the time back- ways I would have loved him better, listened to him more, been more obedient and honest and vulnerable. But I was given such a beautiful 20 years with him. He was the kindest, most gentle, thoughtful, loving, faithful, tender, and caring father I could have ever asked for. He was my father AND my mother. And he was brave. In ways that I never saw until he was gone. I can’t believe the courage it took to raise a daughter as a single father. My dad was a champ. He was a picture of Jesus' love- granted, a very torn and faded picture, but beautiful nonetheless. For as wounded and broken as he was though, he is completely made whole with the Lord now. I love to reflect on that, often. He is no longer suffering loneliness or grief or pain over failed relationships. He no longer harbors the resentment or suspicion or bitterness that the world created in him. He has a restored view of his own self worth. The scales have been removed from his eyes and he is a more healed and complete picture of himself. 

I can’t wait to meet that Daddy.

* * * * *

Have you ever tasted bittersweet chocolate? It’s not that good. In fact, I’m not really even sure why it’s called bittersweet. Because, straight up...it’s just bitter. I ate a chunk of it plain when I was 12 and I think I can still taste it.

Here’s my advice. Don’t eat bittersweet chocolate.

BUT, the thing about bittersweet chocolate is that it’s actually fantastic for baking. I can’t pretend like I’m the expert on this, because I know almost nothing about ovens. Ours was broken my entire life. Literally. So I never baked. But I do know a few things, and what I know is that when you mix bittersweet chocolate with other ingredients and apply some heat, it’s delicious. 

Can you see where this is going?

Suffering, when experienced alone and outside of context, is awful. And that’s an understatement. Losing my dad was one of the bitterest things I’ve ever experienced in my life. I can identify remarkably well with the author of Lamentations in chapter 3, verses 19 and 20-

“The thought of my suffering and hopelessness is bitter beyond words. I will never forget this awful time, as I grieve over my loss.”

Sometimes it is simply the thought of my grief that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. The best word I’ve been able to come up with to describe the feeling is stale. After six months, grieving is becoming incredibly stale. I’m drained. Exhausted. Some days I roll out of bed feeling like I was just hit by a bus while wearing a giant suit of armor- flat on my back, several yards from reality, and heavy. And that feeling gets old fast. There is nothing sweet about it.

But man, oh man... when this bitter suffering is mixed with God’s perfect love and goodness, and some refining heat of trial and change is applied... the product is exactly one million sweet reasons to say yes to whatever God has for me in this season. The blessings I’ve experienced through my suffering are so beyond anything I could have created for myself, or for that matter even imagined for myself...

For example: here's something you may not know about me- in November, I was legally adopted into the Wicklund family. This is actually a whole other complex and beautiful process that I will be reflecting more on later... but what I will share for right now is that the adoption gives me a whole new appreciation for the concept of being adopted into the family of God- my Father in heaven loves me deeply enough to sacrifice everything to claim me, protect me, and care for me. Scott and Kara are incredible reflections of that. They love me so well in Christ's love.

And those three little squirts- those are their three kids. I can't believe that I lived 20 years without them. They bring so much life and energy to my world. I love the way the littlest grabs my face with both hands and puts her nose right up against mine, to make absolutely sure I hear her when she says, "Quisten, I WUV you." I love how deeply emotional and imaginative the little five year old is, and how his sparks of creativity manifest in bright eyes and wide grins. That boy lights up the room. And the oldest... he is steady and wise so far beyond his seven years. I love that I get to enjoy him in that delicate age where he is just beginning to test the waters of more sophisticated language and humor and thought. I literally cannot wait to watch all three of them grow up and walk with them through life. It has already brought me so much joy. 

My dad's death completely shook my world. The day he died, a whole series of events was set in motion that would eventually change nearly everything in my life. And that is not an exaggeration. Each day seems like a new adjustment, a new transition, and a new normal. And while all of it is so good, it's still ridiculously hard. I remember receiving that phone call like it was yesterday... I remember exactly where I was sitting, what I was doing, who was with me, even what I was wearing. And I remember those terribly bitter and panicked tears I cried when I heard the words I'd been dreading all day. But I also remember being surrounded and comforted by community. I remember pausing within those first five minutes of my grief process, taking a deep breath, and just reminding myself that I was okay. I actually spoke those words, "I am OKAY." Even in that moment, there was no doubt in my mind that I was going to be taken care of. I knew that the Lord had a tremendous plan and no matter what, I would be OKAY. So much of that had to do with my community.

This is just a sampling of people that have been an incredible constant presence in my life. They have been such a source of strength for me the last six months, and long before. They've laughed and celebrated with me, but also wept and grieved with me. A few of them have shown tremendous courage in caring for me- those few have been the ones to enter into my suffering right alongside me, praying and processing and loving with such commitment. Experiencing this kind of friendship has been another one of my sweetest blessings. It's hard to imagine separating from such a beautiful community... but after a lot of prayer and counsel from others, I have made the decision to transfer to Bethel University in St. Paul. I am walking into this move completely by faith, and it has been one of the hardest decisions of my life. I have NO idea what's in store for me at Bethel, but I know that God works all things for the good of those who love him. And for as much as I will ache to be back with this community that I've grown and healed in... I am certain that I will know them the rest of my life :)

Through all of this, my greatest hope is that I can be used. For the sheer volume of things I'm learning about myself and Jesus and the world, I can't imagine that that is outside of God's plan. The challenge will be figuring out what that looks like for my life. There are a hundred directions, and discernment is hard. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that God creates beauty from ashes. I could make a million mistakes along the way, and He will STILL make it beautiful. I'm going to screw up- it's inevitable. Life is going to break me sometimes. But the more I'm broken, the more need I have for Jesus. And the more need I have for Jesus, the more I will run to Him. He can take those broken pieces and rearrange them into a more beautiful mosaic than I ever could. In fact, if they weren't broken, it would be a heck of a lot harder for Him to make me a new creation... which is what He's all about. 

I miss my dad every day. There is not a waking hour that goes by that I don't think of him, and if I could, I'd have him back here in a heartbeat. But I also would not trade this life for anything. And I don't think my dad would want me to. In fact, I am absolutely certain that he is bowed at Jesus' feet, thanking Him a thousand times over for providing me with the loving hearts that have surrounded and drawn me in. And I know that one day we will all be reunited in heaven as one giant family. Cheesy, but it's the hope I cling to. I literally cannot wait for that day :)

THAT is the definition of bittersweet.

* * *

Lamentations 3 continues, in verses 21 and 22-

“Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this: the unfailing love of the Lord never ends! By his mercies we have been kept from complete destruction.”

I love that phrase, "dare to hope." Because hope is totally a dare. It’s a bold challenge, and it renounces all those places in me that tell me God is not big enough. When I have hope, that is my soul’s display of trust in Jesus... trust that He can turn my bitter suffering into something sweeter than this world could ever offer. 

Because God makes some pretty dang good chocolate cake.

I have come broken before the Lord so often in the last six months. I have had to lay everything at His feet. And to be totally transparent, I don’t even know what it means. I’m still figuring it out- and all the while, Jesus has been redefining the things that make me who I am. I’ve had to relearn what it means to find joy in Christ, as well as begin to learn what it means to find rest in Him. I’ve had to re-fight battles that I thought I’d already won, with self worth and identity and value. And every day I have to choose to walk straight into my grief and face it head on, even with the fear of being consumed by it... knowing that Jesus goes before me and behind me and with me, and has already conquered it all. Including death. Jesus conquered death. 

Simultaneously, our one greatest fear and our one greatest weakness was destroyed.

That's truth. Stop and think about that for a second. It's earth shattering in every sense of the phrase.

I am broken. That’s pretty darn bitter.

But I’m blessed and usable. And that is definitely sweet.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

Praise Him all creatures here below.

Praise Him above, ye heavenly host.

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Amen.