Jenna Galbraith

God is still proud of me.

I’ve been struggling with identity.

What am I suppose to do?

Where am I supposed to be at?

Who am I supposed to be?

There is so much pull from the world and faith and hope and love and doubt and truth and deception. You grow up believing the world is mostly good and love will be the ultimate experience in this breathe we call life and yet one night you’re yelling at God for letting you down yet again and you’re kissing strangers as they touch your back to cure whatever gray void you can’t help but feeling. Like when you’re sitting outside watching the sunset and the only colors the sky is producing is one hundred and two types of just yellow and the leaves are just as quiet as your breath and you can’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment.

Who am I supposed to be.

What am I supposed to be feeling.

I am confused about a lot of things a lot of the time and for some reason I get frustrated at God for that.

Keep going. Keep trying. Keep crying in Walmart parking lots. Keep dancing at red lights and green lights and stop signs. You’ll get there.

Read a new book. Throw said book across the room when it doesn’t play out. Order the same coffee you have the past twelve times in a row. Make eye contact with handsome boys. Compliment strangers. Keep being breathing hope for people that don’t see it in their dark tunnel. Ask for hope when you get tired from grasping at nothingness.

Keep going.

Have the courage to ask God why. Then ask Him again. Even Jesus prayed the same prayer over and over.

Identity doesn’t come in a day. Know who you are. Figure out who you want to be. The goal has never been to impress other people.

God is still proud of you.

God is still proud of me.

Servant.

I have learned that serving is not always as pretty and put together as Christians make it seem to be.

My job at a hospital has taught me this very well. Working many exhausting days, physically and emotionally.

Sometimes it’s getting on your knees to help someone with simple tasks because they don’t have enough strength to tie their shoes.

Sometimes it’s holding your breath because the room has a stench, and you’re not the only one who knows, but no one else is willing to step inside.

Sometimes it’s physically walking into the mess because the only way to clean another up is to get into the mess yourself.

Sometimes it’s going back into the same room over and over because sometimes we all struggle with a lack of feeling seen.

Sometimes it’s physically dragging your body out of bed in the morning when the sun hasn’t even come over the horizon, and you have to stop your salty tears while fixing your mascara because of your exhaustion.

Sometimes it’s feeding someone who spits their food back out at you because they do not have the energy to feed themselves, and their pride is getting the best of them.

Sometimes it’s simply sitting in the same room with someone because they’re confused and you’re confused and life is confusing.

Serving, truly serving, is exhausting. Your clothes will show from your body’s perspiration and your legs will shake and your feet will ache, even when you are finished and finally getting to lay in your own bed.

Serving is not expecting a thank you every single time we “humble ourselves” and do something for someone else.

I still get frustrated. I still lose my patience. But I am still learning. And I am still trying.

Jesus didn’t call us to serve others because it looks good on our Christian resume. He calls us to serve to suffer with others. To get into the mess with others. To sit with others. To show up for others. To be Jesus to others.

It’s a Wonderful Life

In the sunsets where the colors bleed down the landscape of the sky like tsunamis of vibrant and muted colors joined together from the clouds and become one like the most beautiful celebration.

In the tears that stream from your eyes while driving your ancient car down the dim lit, outcast roads that are no longer on maps because you oh so desire to get lost so your mind isn’t the only thing wandering past midnight and as the water drips from your cheeks you know you feel and love and ache because you’re alive.

In the warm embraces of friends or lovers or family where you can feel the warmth from their body against yours and their chest falling in and out as you cradle your head in their neck just to know the scent of their body so you can reminisce on it later as you lie in your bed that has sheets and a pillow in your room with a roof as a canopy over your head.

In the laugher that sounds like an innocent child who just saw snow for the very first time, and as the tears stream down your neck like the white snow falling from the black sky

it is not because of your loneliness,

but because of the joy you are emulating like the rays of sun that pierce through the clouds in the middle of May,

and you simply have no idea how breathtakingly beautiful you look in that moment

and in every moment.

It is always worth it.

“Remember, no man is a failure who has friends.” – It’s a Wonderful Life

I hope you feel it all.

I hope you feel it all.

I hope you let life break you. I hope you get shattered. I hope your pieces get so scattered you need community to help put them back together. I hope you let your heart break. Over boys. Over friends. Over family. Today. Four weeks from now on a Tuesday afternoon.

I hope you feel it all.

While laughing in the car as tears stream down your face and the street lights become blurry as your stomach aches from joy. While sitting at your desk crying for the third time this week over what you’re losing and what you lost and who you don’t have. While laying on a park bench holding down the pages of the book that you’re reading for the third time so the spring breeze doesn’t make you lose your place. While losing your place in life and struggling to balance feeling everything always, and the only certain thing is God and your family’s love.

I hope you feel it all.

I hope you feel everything at once. I hope you feel the aching that comes from growing pains within your body. I hope you feel phantom pains of what is no longer a part of yourself. I hope you question love and grace and Jesus and the good and the bad.

I have learned sometimes you must break open to be able to feel every aspect of your heart. I hope you allow your heart to break over the little and the big things. Over a city or a snowfall. Over a broken promise or an old voicemail. Over the smell of spring or a lover. Over a sunset. Over a book. Over God’s tangible love.

I hope you feel it all.

Grace.

Recently I have been struggling with the idea of grace. What that looks like within family. Within friendships. Within relationships.

When half of the world is screaming at you to keep your heart in a healthy and loving place, while the other half is burying you in ideas of always putting yourself second to others. How do I balance protecting my own heart while also continuously giving it away just as Jesus did?

I don’t know.

I am still learning.

I am continuing to wrestle with this intangible thing called grace while also remembering to have grace for myself when I fall short. When my insecurities wash away my love. When my pride overtakes my actions.

Keep wrestling. Keep fighting when you feel pinned to the ground, exhausted from throwing around your mangled body with nothing to show for after you’re done.

Keep praying for conviction, remembering it is never meant to push you away from God’s love.

Keep allowing your heart to break daily, over what may seem minimal and unimportant; the things that Jesus would never look past.

Keep having grace for yourself. With your insecurities and previous decisions that broke you and so many others. With others who break your heart and never fully realize the damage. Keep having grace, allowing yourself to learn from where you kept what is meant to given away all to yourself. Learning from mistakes was never meant to make you feel small.

Learn from this grace.

I will continue to remember God’s grace and the undeniable love that flows through it.

I will continue to wrestle with the idea of grace and where to find it. Where to place it.

You’re there.

Dec. 2018.

As you drive your rusty car down the road as it shakes along with your body as you accelerate while the lines beneath you become blurred because of the tears which fall from your cheeks and you are confused as to which are straight and which are dotted along with the path for your life as everything keeps spinning and hearts keep hurting and trust keeps breaking.

You’re there.

As you sit in your parked car in the lit up church parking lot as your mascara drips down your neck and this scene is no longer improv because it’s suddenly become a scripted occurrence as it has happened over and over and over. And your throat becomes scratched and your voice becomes exhausted from screaming at God and slamming your bruised fists into the steering wheel asking why and when and why.

You’re there.

As you walk through the halls wearing your smudged round glasses that do not even help you see clearly anymore; they’re simply to cover the smudges of your makeup and the heaviness under your eyes as “How was your day?” turns into, “I promise one day it’ll be okay.”

You’re there.

As you sit outside of your dorm room on the floor at 2 in the morning because your stomach won’t stop turning and your intestines won’t stop cramping but the doctor says it’s only the stress or the caffeine but I can’t seem to take the stresses of feelings breaking and family members relapsing and moving and college and doctors and surgeries and insecurities out of my brain and place them elsewhere.

You’re there.

;

You’re here.

As the sun hits your cheeks and the wind blows your hair as it cuts across your face and begins creating constellations between your freckles and all you can do is be content in the warmth from the rays that come from the sun and the feeling of the breeze through the leaves and the sound of the trees and the baby girl laughing and the chatter in your local coffee shop.

You’re here.

In the awkwardness of phone calls and coffee dates between old friendships and new romances that slowly begin mending and forming over the seconds and minutes of quiet, hidden laughter of old memories or the creating of new ones.

You’re here.

In the music playing so loudly you cannot hear yourself think but by allowing your thoughts four minutes to breathe as you can’t even hear your own voice over the instruments in the background and you laugh to yourself while you are by yourself in the dark while driving and dancing.

You’re here.

In the late nights with pure souls who encourage others simply for the joy of spreading love and you begin thanking God daily for the many blessings He has placed in your life in human form and how you realize more and more that life is meant to be lived in community while loving thy neighbor always.

You’re here.

Try to enjoy the moments you are living. There is joy; I promise you. Seek it out. You will find it.

“It’s all worth living for.” —Levi the Poet