Anna Rae Gwarjanski Portfolio |
There's no one in the Bible I relate to more than Doubting Thomas.
Thomas, one of Jesus’s 12 Apostles, was not present when Jesus first appeared after rising from the dead. When the other disciples told him what they’d seen, Thomas is famous for saying “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe” (John 20:25). Maybe this isn't the typical Easter message, but here's the truth: There's stuff in the Bible that doesn't sit right with me. There's a lot about God that, deep down, I'm a little skeptical about. To be frank, the logical researcher in me has a hard time with the concept of a resurrection, and that's literally the entire point of Christianity. In my teens and early 20s, I was ashamed of that. I was smart enough to memorize all the Sunday school answers, and I could parrot those to anyone who asked, but the fear of sacrilege kept me from really exploring my questions. In elementary school, I tested as “gifted.” (Is that still a thing?) From what I know, being gifted can often be synonymous with being curious. I read the difference between the bright child and the gifted child is that the bright child knows the answers, but the gifted child knows the questions. And that pretty much sums me up: questions. I’ve always had so many questions. It’s why I love books and research and the internet and interviewing people and just learning in general. Unfortunately, those questions don’t stop in academics; they carry over into my spiritual life as well. I wish I could be like those stalwart, obedient Christians who just know. Because I don’t. But the opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty. I try to be comfortable with the fact that God is beyond all-knowing, and Christianity by definition requires conviction in sights unseen, but it's human to crave certainty. Fortunately, the older I get, the more I understand and believe that Jesus has room for my questions. My prayer for the last, oh, decade has been, "I believe, Lord. Please help my unbelief." I'm thankful that I've been a messy, obstinate student, and He has still invited me into His classroom. I'm thankful He didn't ask me to have all the answers before I stepped in, just that I'd be willing to learn. I'm thankful He accepts me raising my hand an infinity amount of times. I'm thankful He's with me as I learn to not look away from the discomfort of my distrust. I'm thankful that He gives me the courage to sit with it. I'm thankful He continues to reaffirm my doubting faith.
0 Comments
"The first chapter I wrote for Untamed was not the prologue -- it was Aches. Aches is the touch tree of the book. Aches is the touch tree of my life. I spent most of my life running from the deep ache inside me -- numbing it ignoring it denying deflecting it -- because I thought if I let it rise up, it would kill me. Today was a hard day. A day full of the “Aches,” as Glennon Doyle calls them. A day of worry, of fighting down panic, of wanting to curl up and block it all out with a blanket and a too-loud TV.
There’s been more than a few hard days over the last few weeks, despite being one of the lucky ones. My husband and I are both ok financially, our health is fine, and we have a good home to shelter in. I feel so much stress and anxiety over even having stress and anxiety. It’s a shitty, never-ending cycle. I’m hurting. People I love are hurting. I don’t know how to stop it. Maybe it can’t be stopped. Maybe it can only be made better. And the only way I know how to make things better is by writing. I wrote the following in my diary two-ish weeks ago. I almost published it then, but it felt too “me me me.” It still does, honestly. Plus, I couldn’t figure out the conclusion. It ends in a question, which I never like to do. I like to have answers, make absolute statements (don’t we all?). However, I’ve learned when I give myself a lot of reasons not to publish something, it normally means that’s the very thing I need to do. David Foster Wallace wrote, “Writing, at its best, is a bridge constructed across the abyss of human loneliness.” In my own words, I believe writing is a bridge across humanity that connects us to our collective human experience. I write to get things off my own chest, but more than that, I write as a way to connect to other people. Sometimes, by talking about ourselves and the way we’re feeling, it confirms to others that their feelings are also valid. That’s my hope, at least. _______________________ I felt it today -- the weight of everything that’s going on in the world. I’d been running from it. In the past 11 days I’ve been self-isolating, I have: Ordered a ukulele in an attempt to learn a new instrument. Made way too many bad jokes on Twitter. Cleaned and organized all the rooms in my house. Deleted a bunch of apps and photos and streamlined my phone. Worked out. Walked my dogs. I’m redecorating. I’d been ignoring it, but the truth is that none of those things on my to-do list completely hid the stress and anxiety I’ve been feeling. My patience is frayed and my skin is thin. I’m getting irritated at things that I typically have a much longer fuse for. My poor husband gets the worst of it. Normally, we never fight. We have disagreements, sure, but they look more like discussions than anything else. Recently, however, we’ve just been on completely separate communication pages. I notice him glance at me when he thinks I’m not looking, and I see the confusion written on his face. I hear myself speak shortly and I feel myself turning cold, but I can’t stop it. So I do more until I don’t have to notice it. But today, I was looking for a yoga practice on YouTube. I wanted something challenging and centering without being too reflective. I clicked on one I thought fit the bill. It started slowly, but I thought it would pick up… but no. It was long, slow movements with lots of meditation. (I almost changed it, but I hate leaving things unfinished. I don’t know if it’s an obsessive-compulsive thing or just a personality trait, but once I start something, like a video, show, movie, or book, it literally twists my stomach if I have to get up before it’s done). In any case, in one of the poses, the teacher said something that has stuck with me: “Be really honest and present with whatever is showing up.” “Ugh,” I thought. “No thank you.” But she kept us in that pose, and she kept urging us to feel whatever was there. And while the strain in my hip flexors was definitely showing up, the biggest presence was that of fear. And anxiousness. And a feeling of being caged. And, along with that, a feeling of needing to escape. Listen, I’m a homebody. I LOVE being home and doing nothing. I’m an EXPERT at it. On top of that, I’m so lucky to not be affected financially by this shut-down. I should have no reason to feel so fragile and be so stressed. So why am I? This class was at 11 a.m., and I have been searching inside myself all day. I’m still trying to figure it out -- God, emotions are hard -- but I think it’s because I’ve been “checked out” for the last several months. Scrolling mindlessly. Posting the same happy-go-lucky shit. Exercising without any real goals. Going to work. Watching the same TV shows. I focus on health, but not wellness. I talk about living fully, but I don’t walk the walk. I’ve become complacent, but not in a good way. It’s like being forced to quarantine has been a blaring alarm, and I’m waking up to the realization that this lifestyle doesn’t really feed me. Maybe that’s why I feel so… off. I feel everything, and it’s incredibly overwhelming if I’m tuned into it all the time. So I think I simply tuned out. There’s a balance to strive for in this, obviously, as in all things. It’s good to be awake to the world, not so good to be incapacitated by it. But it’s easier to be “checked out,” and I think that’s what I’ve unconsciously done. This isn’t the first time in my life I’ve had a wake-up call like this, so it’s a little shocking to me that I didn’t recognize what these feelings of frustration were really saying. 2020 marks a decade since I first went to therapy and started learning to feel my emotions in a healthy way. I hate that this is a lifetime learning experience. I got my masters degree in two years -- shouldn’t mental health work the same way? |
About the AuthorConfessions of a failed southern lady. I've got messy hair and a thirsty heart. Writer, photographer, career wanderer. Archives
May 2023
Categories |