On Courage & Transparency

I.

A few weeks ago, I found the words,

“Real courage starts with showing up, seeing God, and knowing he sees us—even if no one else ever does.” It’s been at least three weeks, and that quote is still sitting on a post-it on my desk and is still working its way through my heart. I'm slowly learning the rhythms of this. I’m learning to lean into it. When things get hard and it’s easier to quit, where do you go? How do you keep moving forward? I’ve been searching for that answer, and I think it’s here in this unseen.

II.

Autumn has been a hard season for me throughout my undergrad years. Beginning with fall of my freshman year and major adjustments to college, it has seemed as though the calendar turns from August to September, and I’m a mess until December. Sophomore year’s fall was rough when I crashed and burned hard after an incredible summer at camp. Junior year, an ant bite turned into eight weeks of sickness while I grew apathetic about my sin. I spent that entire fall not caring a thing about my relationship with God—and it showed. Fall of last year, my senior year, I was reeling from a long, intense summer in Nepal. I had no idea where to begin processing the hard things, no idea how to move forward in my new normal, no idea how to keep believing and trusting in the goodness of God. Each fall semester, I look back and trace patterns of doubt, discouragement, and fear throughout those months. Though autumn is still somehow my favorite season, it’s a consistently difficult one.

Knowing this reality, these patterns, I determined this summer that I wouldn't let this fall be that way, that I wouldn't slip into discouragement and apathy again, if at all possible. I determined that I would press in to the uncomfortable things, whatever they would be. I didn’t have a plan on how I would break the cycle, I simply knew something needed to change.

III.

I've always been an encourager of honesty, transparency, realness—in face-to-face conversations, and especially on social media. I’ve foolishly criticized people for only posting their picture perfect moments instead of recognizing the reality, the difficulty of life. I’ve been a proponent of admitting that life is messy and hard and that it hurts. I hate small talk—and it shows in both my conversations over a cup of coffee and in the way I approach social media. Honesty and transparency, always.

But you know, I'm realizing that complete transparency isn’t always best, for me or for the people I’m interacting with. As life gets real and gets messier (beyond just the stress of a busy school year and the day to day mess that being human brings), I’m realizing that there is a legitimate place for edited and curated photos, for small talk, for surface level conversations. Not always, and not necessarily as a pattern of my life, but as a chance to breathe. As a chance to recognize that yes, though life is hard and painful, there is grace and kindness in the midst. There’s enough grace here and now to be content with a quiet afternoon at my favorite coffee shop, even though the moment before I came and the moment after I leave I will feel as though the pressures of life are too much to handle. There is a place for a dumb, cheesy caption. There is a place for simple conversations about the weather. There is a place for keeping things to myself rather than sharing every detail of my life for hundreds to see, flung out under the banner of transparency. 
The choice for simplicity and curated photos is not to mask the pain and pretend that my life is perfect, but it’s to acknowledge (to myself, mostly) that there's grace even in the painful day, that I’m deeply grateful for calm moments where I feel some semblance of normal, that I don't have to focus on the messy side of my life.

IV.

This summer and this fall, they've been the hardest and most growing, challenging months of my life, despite my efforts to make them otherwise. I’ll spare you the details if you’ll just trust me on this one— I’m not exaggerating when I say I’ve walked through darkest days and deepest waters. I’ve asked hard questions and I’ve dealt with the harder answers. It’s left me feeling weak and vulnerable, hurt and exhausted and insecure. Yet, at the same time, I’ve never been more peaceful, more confident, more secure. I’ve never valued Jesus as much as I do at this moment. I’ve never grown this much, never felt this healthy in every way. Oh yes, there is still deep hurt I’m dealing with and uncertainty that I’m facing, but there is also Jesus who is holding me through every bit of it. And, for once, this fall season I am embracing Him—choosing to do this well rather than quitting.

V.

For someone who values transparency and honesty as much as I do, it's actually difficult for me to know that only a very small handful of people know, truly, what I'm going through and how hard most days feel. It's hard to know that no one sees, that people I love most don't get it. Transparency is valuable, but it’s not the ultimate goal. Resting in that fact has been a learning process, one I’m still growing in.

VI.

So, I guess this is all just to say (to myself and to you): have courage. Keep showing up and keep pressing in. Whether that looks like transparency over coffee and praying with a close friend for strength from the Father, or whether that looks like posting an edited picture on Instagram of the one pretty moment when you felt like your life wasn't falling apart today. Whatever it looks like, keep showing up. Even if no one else sees. Jesus sees, He’s here in this, and that’s enough. Truly.

I know that the difficulty is intense and it’s easier to feel the hurt than to feel the nearness of your God, but keep preaching the gospel to yourself. Keep preaching it until you see the real beauty and treasure that it is. And even then, don’t stop. One day, you’ll see--- this is worth it all. It may not be something you see today or tomorrow or next week or next month. But one day, you will see. Because one day you will see Jesus and I promise you, in that moment it will all be worth it, because He is worth it. But for now, until then: keep showing up. Keep seeing God. Keep resting in the truth that He sees you, even when no one else does. Keep believing that that’s enough. (Because it is.)