“Why do you do everything the hard way? And I mean everything? You always find the hardest possible way to do everything, and then do it that way a thousand times before figuring out a better way.”
My manager two years ago told me that. I might have been offended if I hadn’t known she was mostly kidding.
Because I don’t always find the hardest way…it’s just that if the hard way is the first way I try, I stick with that. And I rarely see the easiest solution first.
I’m impressively stubborn and somewhat rebellious, and don’t like to ask for help unless I desperately need it. I’ve always been this way. Half the reason why I eat cookie dough is because the package says not to and my mom ground it into my head as a child that I would get sick and maybe die if I ate it. Then I grew up and tasted freedom and it was delicious.
At the end of May, when the World Race was ending, God told me that as soon as I got home, I would want to run as far as I could from community, but I needed to find it and pour into it as soon as I possibly could.
I thought “I love people. There’s no way that will happen.”
But I came home and that was exactly what happened because God is always right. And I tested him instead of trusting him and continued to further isolate myself.
Six weeks later I was in a downward spiral of depression, and it only got worse, and I knew what was good for me but I kept convincing myself that I needed to be alone and get okay with God before I could be okay with people. That wasn’t true and I kept getting worse.
So I tried God’s way.
Fast forward to now. I’m still nowhere near fully okay…but I’m much, much better than I was, because I have a church that loves me anyway and because God is once again always right.