Yogurtland Diaries
We’re on our way to Yogurtland to eat dessert instead of dinner for the second night in a row. The night is humid and the city is neon. Shannon is driving and Claire is in the passenger seat. I used to hate frozen yogurt. All the hype. All the cold plastic, modern decor. But then something switched and I decided it was a viable option for meal replacement and best-friend bonding time.
The music in the car is loud and conversation is light. Inside jokes lend to laughter and goodness; the world should feel good. But my mind is in a million places, everywhere but where we are. My mind is lingering in the sad truth that I’d rather be heading to the bar; a truth that I’d rather not admit, rather not declare for the world to read. It’s just that whiskey numbs pain better than the taste of fake frozen cheesecake. And in my moments of weakness I’d rather be feeling nothing than be feeling everything.
Feeling it all is hard and it leaves me unsure of what to do. Doesn’t feeling too much always leave us unsure of what to do? It leaves us with two options: succumb or fight.
The illusions that we can succumb to are strong, sometimes they even feel like the only option. But the temptation to cover pain can’t be trusted. When it comes to our hearts, smoke and mirrors can never be trusted. The things that paralyze and deaden us can’t be given power. Allegiance to the things that want to distract me from feeling and confronting pain must be abandoned. But the only way we can choose this, the only way we can align ourselves with the real life that forsakes numbness is through believing that there is something better; that there is something worth the fight to know your own heart and seek healing.
And so I’m sitting at Yogurtland and it’s as if the veil has been lifted and I see things as they are. Nothing is as it ever seems: another trip to the mall, too many drinks, music really loud, extra plates of nothing good. All distractions that would like to keep me busy- all distractions to keep me from knowing myself- from knowing my heart. And lately it’s as if I can’t walk away from pain. It’s as if I have to confront it. I have to gather all the weapons I have and put up arms against discomfort.
So I eat frozen yogurt and ask God to hold me because I need Him and He’s really the only weapon I’ve ever had. I ask God to help me see that He is close, because I don’t know what else to do. Because, when I’m honest with myself, when we’re all honest with ourselves, there is nothing else to do. There is nowhere else to go that will ever be worth our attention.
The battle between succumbing and fighting doesn’t end in my head though. I’m learning that we can’t wrestle alone and expect to last more than a few rounds.
So I talk to Shannon and Claire about the state of my heart. I invite them into the place where I am. In vulnerability, I explain that I don’t know what to do with a bad day or a broken heart or the pain that sometimes feels like too much. I only know how to walk into my bedroom and fall asleep. I only know how to go to the mall and buy a new dress. I only know how to pour myself into too much work.
But I’m learning better. I’m learning more and more to resist the allure of easy, the temptation of slight comfort.
I’m beginning to really understand that Christ is the Comforter. He is the one who knows us well, who knows how to do more than slap a dirty bandage on the wounds from the world. And so we can spend our days in nothingness, in the exploration of what will never heal us or we can fix our eyes on our God in the moments when we need Him most. We can pray and press into a hope that we can’t see. We can read Scripture and feast on what is lovely. We can find Him in the times when we feel it all and are left with uncertainty.
I’m on a journey that we’ll all find ourselves on if we are brave enough. It’s the journey that declares suffering less powerful than God; a way that causes the heart to depend more fully on Him who loves us most and best and strongest. It’s a journey that transforms the heart from absorbing morphine and entertainment into one that is strong enough, through Christ, to withstand the blows that come our way.
