grace obsessed

For the past three years, I have attended Christ United Methodist Church. Realize that making that decision took nearly a year in itself, because moving from the church I attended since I was a little kid was, well… My OCD didn’t love it. Didn’t love that “change.” It told me things like “You are giving up,” and “You are not loyal.” See, the funny thing about my OCD, those intrusive thoughts in my mind… They are mean. They say things to me I would never say to another human being. But my daughter had been attending Sunday School with hardly any other children her own age. I wanted so badly for her to experience growing up with close friends in church. This was the move…

I shared in my first post that I was hoping to let you in on how I have felt led to blogging about the tightrope walk that is living with OCD while accepting Christ’s grace. Man, I love this story (or series of no-doubt intentional God-things) because looking back on how He wove multiple moments together to make a bigger moment happen is just the coolest.

I am a social media drop-out. Because of my condition, it is awfully difficult for me to sustain any social media because I ultimately wind up feeling like (or rather, my intrusive thoughts tell me that) “You are not that important.” Correction: “You are not important.” Mean girl-style.

I share all of that to share this. A few weeks ago, Pastor Chris gave a sermon (as part of a rad series called “What the Tech?”) on how we should be thinking about and using social media, if we are in fact doing so at all. He began by addressing that if people had sworn off social media for one reason or another, that is fine, because the message could also be applied to how one represents themself in real life. Then, he went there. Asked the question. “If you were to go back through your last 10 posts, what would they say about who you are?” I heard that as…”What would they say about WHOSE you are?” Holy crap. My last instagram was an “Outfit of the Day” account, where I would share news about what I was wearing, where I found each piece, and how much I paid (because I’m really darn good at finding deals, just sayin…). Then, every now and again, I would sprinkle in a post about Jesus, because well, nothing excites me as much as when He moves. So, it was there. But buried.

And I love fashion. There’s nothing wrong with having fun with fashion or establishing one’s individual style. But it’s nothing. It’s got nothing on my God. So, needless to say, the majority of my previous 10 were about cardigans or barrel jeans or whatever the heck trend crept into my cart of late.

“What do your last 10 posts say about who you are?”

I wanted to give you a second to process that question. Hope you don’t mind. To be clear, Pastor Chris wasn’t making a mockery of posting whatever it is you may be interested in, not at all. Go for it. He was pointing to the opportunity each one of us has to share our faith. He was calling us to consider why we maybe wouldn’t share about this incredible story of grace and love and forgiveness. The gospel story. The greatest story ever told. I think what he was really doing, though I don’t pretend to have mind-reading abilities, was giving everyone (me, for sure, without knowing it) a nudge. He was dangling the carrot.

In the last 24 hours since opening my blog, my intrusive thoughts have been on the attack. They never leave. They are always with me. If you have even the slightest idea what it feels like to be a prisoner in your own mind and body, my heart aches for you. And it is not because you don’t love Jesus enough. Have your thoughts ever told you that? And it is not because you haven’t tried hard enough to overcome your disability. Have your thoughts told you that? “Here you go again. You have nothing to say. You are not an expert. You are a woman with a mental health condition that makes you crazy. You are not well enough to say anything to the world. You are not enough.”

Whoa. Do you have any idea how POWERFUL it is for me to write those words? “You are not enough.” Typing those letters that form those words empowers me to realize how cruel and idiotic they are. They do not come from my Father. I try hard not to put stock into them. But I definitely do.

This is hard for me. It’s painful and wonderful at the same time. There is never a moment my mind is not telling me I am not good enough. But then again, there is never a moment I’m not asking Jesus to save me from my own mind.