The Oasis

I work in grocery retail, and as often as some have implied that it's not a very glamorous job (Oh, you work at Kroger? And what do you want to do after that? is a question strangers have asked me at social gatherings.), I enjoy it. There are so many moments I've shared with customers that have stayed with me because of the sweetness of a conversation, the tears of grief that inevitably and stubbornly slip out, or because a kind soul let me partake in a witty joke. I love asking where a shopper is from if I hear traces of an accent. (Bonus points are collected if I've visited that same section of the globe.)

As much as I enjoy these moments, they don't happen as often as I would like. I admit I often get caught up in making sure the produce shelves are full of fresh product instead of truly trying to meet the needs and answer the questions of shoppers who are responsible for supplying my paycheck. I don't know how many strangers I serve on average in a day, but it's a lot; I admit I start to see those customers as part of a mass of consumers I am to serve instead of seeing them as living, breathing souls who have stories to tell. They're just people who come to me when they need to know where to find ginger root or avocados; what vegetables are good for juicing; or if I could possibly bring out more broccoli from the back because what's on the shelf looks terrible.

That is my routine day in and day out, and within in that routine of customers coming to me with their needs, I begin to feel . . . invisible? I'm the one who answers the questions about product location, suggests different apple varieties, endures complaints about product prices when I have nothing to do with such decisions, and more. Basically, I am among the fruits and vegetables to be your produce and customer service "Go To Girl," but sometimes working to please as many people in a day as I can begins to feel lonely.

I'm sorry if that comes off as whiny -- that's not my intention -- but my point is that loneliness doesn't discriminate. We all feel it and we all wonder if anyone sees all our serving and caring and trying and pleasing. Maybe you are a stay-at-home mom who wonders if her husband sees and appreciates all the sacrifices she makes for the family on a daily basis; or a nurse who, quite literally, gets shit on all day, only to be yelled at later in your shift by the same grumpy-ass patient; or a businessman who is handed project after project when you're already struggling to keep up with your regular work load. Regardless of your place in life, eventually that question slaps you in the face: Does anyone appreciate me? Am I only important to others but only if I have something to offer? That question pierced me a few days ago and I ended up wallowing in that loneliness most of the day.

It took me a few hours to snap my head back up from the Eeyore-esque mentality I had donned, so when I felt like I no longer wanted to be a victim of my circumstances, I started to pray. (I hope this doesn't come off as a look-at-me-I'm-so-holy humble brag.) God, I feel invisible, unappreciated, and like I don't matter. Could you please meet me in my loneliness and remind me that you see me, love me, and fill me with purpose?

There wasn't an immediate relief from this burden, but feeling the sweet freedom from my pangs after a time was encouraging. As much as I know God created us to have friends and find joy in knowing others well -- He did give Adam a companion in Eve (Genesis 2:7, 18-23) and Jesus commands us to love each other selflessly (John 15:12-15) -- I also know that as wonderful and fulfilling as friendship and community can be, they aren't meant to fill every dusty nook and cranny of our hearts. I think it was author Donald Miller who wrote in the book Blue Like Jazz, "There are some places only God can go." Consider what Jesus says in John 6:55-58:

For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him. As the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever feeds on me, he also will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like the bread the fathers ate, and died. Whoever feeds on this bread will live forever. 

All the food, friendships, delights we could possibly enjoy eventually will leave us hungry again and craving something more; the love God gives us in and through Jesus Christ is the kind that was made to satisfy us eternally. We were made specifically to know God and delight in his love for us. Find your purpose, significance, and love in Him; in my own search for various things to fill that void, I've discovered that nothing else will do.

Truly my soul finds rest in God;

my salvation comes from him.

He is my rock and my salvation;

he is my fortress, I will never be shaken. (Psalm 62:1-2, NIV)

O Glorious Breakthrough

It has been more difficult than I realized to write my thoughts when they're peppier and less gloomy, and that has made this entry particularly trying. Mostly I think I'm afraid of coming off as too syrupy sweet and full of fluff, when substance and depth is what I hope for; alas, I'll try to remove myself from Cloud 9 so that my good news will be worth the read.

I wasn't expecting a breakthrough to happen so soon. In fact, I was bracing myself for a period of an unknown number of years full of all the crap I've already written about before. Maybe this season of struggle isn't really a season at all, but is my new reality. I just didn't want to get my hopes up. After all, I would read my Bible on occasion, but most of the time I felt numb when I did. Maybe there was a verse or two here and there that stuck with me or made me feel at peace, but mostly I just saw a bunch of lifeless words on a page.

Admittedly, I sucked at opening that thick book on a regular basis. It spent more time gathering dust while sitting on my bedside table than it did with the pages supine. Trying to motivate myself to read even a few verses felt like it required the effort it would take to push a giant boulder uphill while I'd be wearing roller skates. I just. didn't. want. to. do. it. Being in that rut sucked and I wasn't sure I had the energy or desire to fight my way through it,

But one day a few weeks ago, I started to challenge myself. (I have no idea where this newfound motivation came from, but I was thankful for that drop of life-giving water.) You know, if you keep sitting here like this, nothing is going to change. So why not do the very thing you don't want to do and choose to fight your way through these doldrums? So that evening I picked up my Bible, opened it, and [gasp] READ IT. The next evening I followed suit.

I believe that second night was the catalyst for my 180-degree turn. Begrudgingly I had opened that professional dust-collector to Isaiah 54 and the first three verses did absolutely nothing for me. Why is this so difficult? I asked myself. You used to feel so joyful when you read these verses; so why is this so difficult now? Then I read verses 4-5 and that's when that dusty light bulb turned on:

Do not fear, for you will not be ashamed;

Neither be disgraced, for you will

not be put to shame;

For you will forget the shame of your youth,

And will not remember the reproach of 

your widowhood anymore.

For your Maker is your husband,

The LORD of hosts is his name;

And your Redeemer is the Holy One of Israel;

He is called the God of the whole earth. (Bold print mine)

Back in my first blog entry, I hypothesized that maybe in my arid season I just needed to "let God love the hell out of me," but I wasn't doing that. Some of my wounds felt too tender to touch; I still didn't quite trust God to take care of my pain and turn it into something beautiful. But these verses reminded me of his mercy and love, and all of my walls crumbled. I felt joy and peace and relief again; any anger or resentment I had for more than a year concerning church and faith disappeared. And the depression with which I co-existed for the past few years and which only grew worse these three recent months? Gone. 

I don't think I ever imagined myself having the kind of testimony that feels as dramatic as the one I just recounted here. This good little church girl turned into a rebel, wandered into a desert full of doubt and anger, and finally made her exodus having rediscovered grace and peace and the unconditional love of Jesus Christ. For all my struggles, I am glad I endured them because he has made me stronger. When in doubt, look for the Author of hope. He is always there.

Therefore I am now going to allure her;

I will lead her into the desert

and speak tenderly to her.

There I will give her back her vineyards,

and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope.

There she will sing as in the days of her youth,

as in the day she came up out of Egypt. (Hosea 2:14-15, NIV)

Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us. 

(Romans 5:4, NIV)