The Harvest: Joy

Whether or not you believe in or know anything about the bible, it's true: in life there are seasons. I'm sure I spend a lot of time talking about seasons and life and growing, but it's just what fascinates me. That is when I'm not lost in it.

I feel like I'm on the exiting end of the tunnel, from a long season of feeling at odds with myself, and having lost a sense of who I am. You could read this and know me, or follow my blog and think, She's just over-analyzing and over-thinking, that's her thing. And that is sort of my thing, but other than the occasional case of anxiety, it's never done me wrong. Cognition is what gets me up in the morning, and somehow (mostly by miracle of God) gets me from A to B, helps me retain the wisdom I gain from the revelations I have and the things I'm taught, and causes me to forget the things that are seemingly less important...and help me process happenings in my life, such as this.

The most notable end of a season is harvest. I am in the harvest of a season. Not that it was something where I particularly knew I was in a sweltering, stormy growing season, or like I'm being "plucked". In retrospect, I don't think it was quite so obvious. I felt a little detached from myself, though 'a little' isn't a fair assessment. Since my trip to France and Vietnam, coming up on two years ago now, I haven't felt fully myself. They have this phrase, once you do YWAM you're "wrecked for the ordinary". I thought for so much of these past two years that that's what it was.

In some respects, it was: I returned to an unraveled version of the community I had before, with what was left of it focusing on empty things. I had the choice to move forward in an uncharted fashion of my own, or walk with those I had around me - not to say it's their fault, any of the wandering I did. I think transparency is essential, and will fully acknowledge anything about these last two years, to anyone. But I think I made that choice aimlessly, maybe even unequipped. Ignorantly, is the word.

I felt in the last year that I have not been myself; not fully who I would claim that I am, or who I've known myself to be, in my life. All the time I would get asked why I was so happy, or told there was something different about me. I haven't gotten that in a while, and when I specifically realized that missing in my life, it made me sad. I know that joy is a part of who I am, I know it's a mark on my life. So where has it been? Who have I been being?

I can't explain yet, because I don't yet know why I went through such a long drought of a season, but the beauty is in the return. Over about the last month, I have felt a shift. Like I was suddenly reminded of the person I'm made to be; the reason I bother to get up in the morning - and it's not just to think about things all day! Largely, I can't explain the change because it's not a story. It's almost as if I've been waking up over the last few weeks, struggling through a day, only to find at the end that the joy and hope I have has compounded. And it's sufficient.

In the last few weeks, I've felt like the person I've known myself to be all these years. And what changed to cause this, you may wonder? Nothing. Except God has been working on me, restoring me to myself; to my true identity that reflects his heart. I've always set myself on - if nothing else - two characteristics that I know only because of God, and they are: truth and joy. For a while it felt like I was trying to skate on only my head-knowledge of the truth. Now I feel I'll be able to move forward with my heart's understanding of joy.

Little, human parts of me whisper worries that this is not a lasting change, but I've just felt so different than I had, yet familiar to my make-up. The fact that it's so inexplicable makes it all the more necessary (and confusing) to share, tears of relief well as I write. Jesus spoke to me months ago that He would stand with me and fight for me, and I thought that encouragement was enough; that it was it. I didn't know that I wasn't operating as my true self, under the ailment of whatever plague; in all my knowledge of Him, and so I didn't expect that He would bring me back...

but He's just so good.

When Did I Become Me?

For many years, and particularly when I was in my late teens, I’ve been told that I do not seem my age; but older, usually by several years. When I think back on when my introspective stage began – if it can be called a “stage” – I think of myself as the same as I am now. I don’t disregard that I’ve learned things in, say, the five almost-six years I’ve been blogging, let alone the many years journaling. Rather, that I’ve adapted in character. And if I consciously think about six years of life passing and leaving the teens behind, becoming a legal drinker, a college graduate – it makes perfect sense, but for some reason I thought I was this stagnant person, namely one who had arrived. How ignorant was I, for being so-called mature?

Funny, that for all my introspection I happened to miss these subtle changes in me over time. Probably thousands of pages of journals, hundreds of thousands of typed words on blogs and hundreds of poems written, and I miss it.

After a few weeks back from my six months abroad, (which I wish I could affix a title to that would properly summarize it,) a coworker who was also good friend told me, “You seem different, Losier.” I feel the same; I think I am the same, I thought to myself, feeling almost defensive. “Really? Like how?” …please, fill me in because somehow I’ve missed this drastic change!

All this time I thought that I was consistently one person, but thank God I was wrong! I spent some time recently reminiscing by reading over old blog posts. I could see changes in myself by the way that I've written; both in content and style. There are things I was working through, or desiring to see come to pass or change, and they have. 

It's one of the reasons I love writing so much, even though I know how little all these words are read...it chronicles the changes and seasons in my life. It's something I'm greatly in favor of, sharing life experiences - for whatever they're worth - with others, in the off-chance that they might find themselves encouraged or challenged...or inspired. There's got to be a benefit to being so overly cognitive...

But it's just a reminder to me, that even being heavily introspective, we can misinterpret our own selves. Our self-perceptions can be so far different from how we actually are; and for some, who we actually are. 

All this to say: there's importance in recognizing the places we've come from; the dreams we've seen come to fruition, the things we're still longing for. There is value in stopping to survey where you're at, and admire the distance you've come. Beauty lies in the growth, even the days, weeks, months, and maybe years of struggle that often come with growing pains. A big part, for me, of knowing myself is to acknowledge who I've been and who I am. To see that they are the same person, and yet so different.

Those chronicles map out the developments of how we operate today, and sometimes that can make navigating the things that lay ahead, so much easier. 

Articulate

I always love to write, and to communicate, but I go through phases of being able to articulate. I have these urges to write. I tell myself, "Tomorrow, I'm going to take some Me Time; I'm going to write." And then I don't.

It's not like I don't have things to say, I can always say something. Sometimes I just have trouble whittling it down, so to speak. It's almost a matter of having so much going through my brain, I don't go far enough down any one path to bother. I mean, maybe people want to read more of my fragmented thoughts...but I kind of doubt it.