Seeing God's Love After Witnessing a Suicide

Todd and I saw a man kill himself 2 months ago on the side of the road in Kentucky. We, along with his girlfriend, were the only witnesses. It was the most violent thing I’ve ever seen, even in movies, and my mind was firing on all cylinders. In the moment, I thought a million things from “Who invented the 9mm?” to a scene from the film Just Mercy to “Will Todd be ruined forever? to “Can this woman afford therapy?” to a sermon I heard in seventh grade when a pastor said people who commit suicide are selfish and go to hell.

God, have mercy.

I’m willing to bet my life that this man had never witnessed a suicide before. For all 172,000 words in the English language, “selfish” is at the bottom of the list of ways I would use to describe what I saw. When we drove home that afternoon, Todd and I wept in compassion for him— both of us affirming we saw Jesus cradle him in his death while whispering, “Father, forgive him. He knows not what he does.” If we, complete strangers, have  such compassion for him, how much more does the God who made him?

In my sexual ethics class, my professor talked about Christian missionaries that went to polygamous African tribes back in the day and told them God created marriage for one man and one woman. The only choice, the missionaries said, was for the men to pick one wife and divorce the rest. This caused hundreds of women and children to be displaced from their homes, torn away from the safety of their families, and left with both food and financial insecurity. It disrupted an entire ecosystem and disproportionately disadvantaged the already-marginalized members of their communities… all in the name of God.

The closer you’re wiling to get, the more complex life becomes.

It reminds me of the time Jesus talked to a group of Pharisees and said something like, “The law prohibits you from working on the Sabbath but if your donkey fell into a pit, who among you would not pull your donkey out of that pit?”

Man was not made for Sabbath, Jesus affirmed, but Sabbath for the man.

Life isn’t back and white, is it? So often we pin down butterflies and smash cookie cutters on top of them, clipping their wings so they fit into our circles. But greater than our ideologies or theologies or good ideas is love. Love looks to the dignity of every person and discerns where the Spirit is leading. Love does not cripple, it heals. Love does not condemn, it shows mercy. Love is not weak, it is powerful— and praise God, love persists with unfurled wings despite our grating attempts to control her.

On Learning to Love Disagreement

When I started graduate school two years ago, I was shocked by how low my tolerance was for disagreement. When peers debated about the doctrine of original sin or women in leadership or Biblical innerancy, I disengaged, fearful of adding my opinion to the messy mix.

As I described how uncomfortable I felt during a heated argument about Noah’s ark (LOL), one of my best friends asked this: “Why do you think disagreement makes you feel unsafe?”

“I wouldn’t have used that language but I guess you’re right,” I said, “Disagreement feels like a threat.”

An experience from high school came to mind. I was in a fight with two of my best friends about who-knows-what, and after a heated confrontation they got in their car and drove away, leaving me alone at Starbucks on Maryland Way. I felt chillingly alone, terrified of going back to school and facing them the next day.

Traumatic experiences, both small and large, act like liquid nitrogen and flash-freeze us in time. If we don’t intentionally thaw out, our beliefs will remain crystallized and resistant to growth. This is why some adults suck their thumbs when they feel triggered— part of them is frozen in a child-like state and have not thawed out whatever traumatic experience it was that caused them to self-soothe in the first place. Or, in less extreme examples, this might be why you cringe every time you drive past the intersection where you got in a wreck a few years ago. This might be why you fast-forward through the tense parts in television shows, because discomfort— even fictional discomfort— taps into some moment in your life that is frozen in time.

And yeah, this is why I felt unsafe when my classmates disagreed about the flood in Genesis.

I associated disagreement with that Starbucks experience, when disagreement led to feelings of abandonment, rejection and loneliness. 

If there is no room for disagreement, someone is going to end up voiceless. We are not a monolith, are we? Part of the beauty of the Body of Christ is there are ears and hands and toes and kneecaps and heart tissue and livers and brain cells, and each of us will share a unique perspective. Some of us, like the liver, will focus on ridding the body of toxins. Others, like the brain, will be consumed by thought. Others, like the hands, will be practical in nature, focused on building, writing, and serving.

Without each other, we’d be one giant liver without a body to cleanse. We’d be one brain without the compassion of a heart. We’d be a big ‘ole eye without mouths to speak.

We need each other because of our differences, not in spite of our differences.

And that will come with heated debates about creative things like music and serious things like Hell, but that’s okay. Our goal is not to agree about everything, but to love in everything.

Maybe your tolerance for disagreement is low, too? Maybe you feel afraid, unsafe, voiceless, or small when people argue. I wonder if there’s a correlating experience that got doused in liquid nitrogen, freezing you in time? What would the process of thawing out look like?

You Don't Have To Do Anything Great During the Quarantine

Yesterday I saw a viral post with a picture of Shakespeare and Isaac Newton side by side. It said that while both men were quarantined because of plagues, they achieved some of their best work. Shakespeare apparently wrote King Lear, and Isaac Newton invented calculus and developed a theory of light and figured out gravity.

“Can’t wait to see what you guys achieve during quarantine!”

I have to admit, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why are we turning a pandemic-induced quarantine into another pressure chamber for people to PRODUCE more and GAIN more influence and utilize every waking moment to work even HARDER than before?

Are we so addicted to production, that we can’t help but twist the world’s biggest opportunity to slow down into a demand to speed up?

Maybe you know this already or maybe you need to hear it:

You don’t need to feel pressure to write the next King Lear in the next few weeks.
You don’t need to discover something new about black holes or quantum physics or gravity.
You don’t need to do your “best” work.

Instead, what if you focused on resting? There may never be another opportunity in your lifetime to slow down with the rest of the world in the same way. What if you focused on being with your family and friends? What if you connected with God? What if you wrote something for the sheer delight of it? What if you drew with crayons for fun! What if you danced in your kitchen like a wild person after wiping down your countertops for the 20th time? What if you played a game with your kids without your cellphone nearby? What if you had a conversation with your spouse without Netflix playing in the background?

In a hundred years, nobody will write a viral post about you. No one will say, “Savannah wrote letters to her friends with dainty stickers from Target and spent lots of quality time with her husband and dog for two weeks.” But the people who matter will know, and that is enough.

Sending all my love to you in these strange times, and cheering you on.

Are You Up At Night Replaying The Same Conversations In Your Head?

A few weekends ago I had several difficult conversations back-to-back-to-back and each talk left me more vulnerable than the one before. I felt like I’d been flipped inside-out, sort of like what you do to nice jeans before throwing them in the washer. I was exposed and sensitive and off balance.

Heightened moments of vulnerability often leave me “hungover” and ashamed, questioning everything I said or did. I go back and replay every word, every facial expression. I wonder if I should’ve kept my mouth shut and suppressed my feelings.

Sound familiar? It’s called rumination. It’s a common, sneaky manifestation of shame. Like a Netflix binge, I replay memories I’ve seen a hundred times, combing through every detail and pronouncing judgment on myself/others:

“I’m such an idiot.”

“I can’t believe she said that to me!”

“Why was I so awkward?!”

“What do you think he meant by *that* phrase?”

It’s a way our minds cope with shame we’re experiencing, by addictively hyper-focusing on past experiences in an effort to “fix” them, when the truth is— we can’t go back and change what happened. Time-travel only happens in the imagination.

Every time I watch the episode of Friends where Ross cheats on Rachel (“We were on a break!”) I feel this way. I’ve seen it a million times, but part of me holds on to hope that Ross will make a better choice even though IT’S AN ACTUAL RECORDED TELEVISION SHOW AND I HAVE ZERO CONTROL OVER THE PLOT.

Sometimes, when I am ruminating over the past, I think of that episode of Friends and say, “I can’t change Ross and I can’t change the past.”

…but you know what I can do? I can deal with the PRESENT shame I’m experiencing by externalizing my internal thought processes and revealing shame for what it is: and attack on my Belovedness. Some effective ways to do that are:

1. Invite God to share God’s perspective about the conversation, argument, or awkward interaction you’re replaying. Imagine the memory in your mind and invite God to participate! See what happens.

2. Have a follow-up conversation if needed! Oftentimes, resolution is as simple as a text or quick phone call.

3. Share what you’re feeling with friends. The minute you share a simple, “I’m feeling shame about *THIS*” you give others an opportunity to speak truth over your identity.

If you’ve been stuck in a rumination cycle, I hope you feel encouraged to reach out to someone. Shame feeds off secrecy and dies in the light of vulnerability. May you draw near to light today.

The Letter I Never Sent

Packing up our house this weekend, I opened a random box under our bed and a loose letter fell out. I instantly recognized my own handwriting and my stomach danced because I knew what it was: a letter I wrote to the person who abused me. I stuck it in my pocket and finished packing.

A year or so ago, I heard he was in a bad car wreck. I didn’t know many details, like whether he’d die or live, but at the thought of his death I had an unexpected response: I wanted to tell him I forgave him. I chose to forgive him years ago, but as time went by, I actually developed deep empathy towards him.

I opened the letter and started reading:

“…I realized I have not said all I wanted to you. I honestly don’t know what condition you’re in— whether or not you’ll even be able to read this— but I need to write it regardless.

With every year that passes, especially ones I have spent in therapy, I grow in empathy towards you. You stole something from me and others, no question, but your heart must have been in a devastated place to do such things. As an adult, I look at you as a child and feel deep grief for the ways you lashed out for the pain you carried.

My life was affected in a thousand ways because of your abuse. I have spent the past 6 years healing from the abuse and the system that protected you instead of defending me. But it was a system that ultimately hurt you, too. I see that now.

I am never going to excuse or make light of what you did because it is devastating. But I want you to know I fully and 100% forgive you. I release you from ever repaying me. I hold no bitterness towards you. No anger.

I pray you find healing. I hope you take this fragile season of life to reflect. To repent and take ownership of your actions so that healing might take place. Wholeness is not on the other side— it is, by grace, an invitation for you in the present.”

He recovered from the accident and I never sent the letter. Honestly, I thought I threw it away. But reading it a year later makes me grateful for the healing process. Sometimes it feels like I’m ten steps behind where I ought to be, like God is disappointed with me for still being “in process.” But submitting to the process without a timeline produces fruit. Otherwise, you’re just in a pressure cooker of perfection.

Healing is messy and the letter’s still in my pocket and who knows if it’ll ever reach his mailbox, but I wanted to crack open a bit of the unfinished-ness of my journey and remind you: it’s okay if the letter’s written but not yet sent. It’s okay if the thought of writing a letter makes you sick. It’s okay if you’re angry. It’s okay if you’re sad, even after all these years. Wholeness takes time and sanctification is a life-long pilgrimage. You can celebrate where you are today, knowing it’s good enough.

"You're All Caught Up!"

“You’re all caught up!”
Instagram says.

My heads tilts sideways.

Then why do I feel so lonely?
Caught up in what?
And how did I fall behind,
in need of up-catching?

Who did I connect with?
Another person?
Or a storefront mannequin version
of said person—
plastic and shiny
and so terribly
one-dimensional?

“You’re all caught up!”
Instagram says.

I pull down and refresh.

“Not quite yet,”
I respond,
starting again.

Three Questions to Ask Yourself Before Posting Anything on Social Media

Having been on both sides of terrible social media storms, I try to filter everything I post through these three questions. If you find yourself feeling “icky” after being online, try asking yourself these prompts.

1. AM I TRIGGERED?

The internet is a battleground of propaganda and provocative click-bait, so it’s natural to feel triggered by the intense visuals and divisive language we’re constantly bombarded with. It’s also normal to desire connection after experiencing an overload of information, especially if it relates to our own stories. Maybe that’s why we see videos or read articles and instantly share them— we want to divvy up the burden because it’s too much to bear on our own.

When the Kavanaugh hearing was happening a few years ago, I was super triggered (although I didn’t realize it at the time). I was triggered because of my history of sexual abuse. I was triggered by the power dynamics. I was triggered by the ways God was being represented. It felt similar to my story even though it was entirely different, and it was hard to discern past from present. Was my unresolved trauma showing up? Was there actually something wrong?

Instead of reaching out to my therapist and community to process what was happening inside, I reacted by searching for connection online. Every article I shared should have been titled, “Please connect with me. Please tell me I’m not crazy. Please tell me I am seen. Please tell me I am loved.” I don’t regret using my voice, but if I could go back, I would’ve come from a more centered place. You want to share online, Savannah? Sure thing. Just make sure you process it with your real-life community first. That way if the internet blows up on you, you won’t feel even more isolated. Instead, you will feel supported.

I love online dialogue and I think it matters, but starting a conversation from a triggered place will never end well. Either you will dominate (troll!) someone else into submission as a form of self-protection or you will feel dominated by others and be driven into deeper loneliness. Use your voice and speak up about what matters to you, but from a centered place. That way, you’ll be able to see things more clearly!

2. AM I BEING LOVING?

If you wouldn’t say it to Jesus, don’t say it to someone on the internet. Using words like moron, idiot, crazy, lunatic, dumb, etc… just feeds into the dehumanization of others that deteriorates our own souls. Every human being on the internet has unsurpassable worth and is loved by God. There’s a passage in Matthew 25 that says, “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’” Jesus uses this story (vs 31-46) to illustrate how our actions towards one another are ultimately actions towards God. When we degrade another person, we degrade God. Another way to put it is in 1 John 4:  “Those who say, ‘I love God,’ and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen.” Maybe a modern version would read, “Those of you who say, ‘I love God’ and hate people online are liars.”

Before you post, comment or DM, ask yourself: will these words honor the image of God in this person?

If not, don’t do it. No exceptions. Honor the image of God in Meghan Markle. Honor the image of God in evangelicals. Honor the image of God in Trump. Honor the image of God in your friends and enemies. It’s better for them not to feel judged. It’s better for you not participate in judgment.

3. DO I KNOW THIS PERSON IN REAL LIFE?

If you do, having a conversation in real life is an optimal option. Sitting across from flesh and blood has a way of disarming us. So if someone you know posted an article that hurt you, what if you bought their coffee and talked to them about it? Ask to hear their opinion and give them the dignity of having someone real listen to them. Maybe they’re desperately searching for connection, too? Share your thoughts. Express how it made you feel. Be humble. Be honest. Be kind. See what happens!

A few years ago, I posted something that unintentionally hurt a friend. They called me and said, “Can we talk about that?” I was sort of defensive at first and felt cornered. At that point, I subconsciously felt like words on the internet didn’t count as much as words in real life. Luckily, this friend was bold enough to bring the internet into a real scenario for me, showing how words on social media reach real ears and touch real hearts and hurt real souls. I am grateful for that experience because it showed me the value of having conversations over coffee instead of arguments in the comments section.

If you don’t know the person, refer to the “Am I Being Loving?” section. Encouragement is always a good idea. Unsolicited critique without the safety of relationship isn’t.

These three questions have helped me love people better and use social media more responsibly. There are many more questions to ask, I’m sure, but these have served me well for the last few years! I hope they do the same for you! Cheering you on.

Step Out of the Darn Washing Machine

Last Fall, I went to therapy more often than usual because I was stuck in a frustrating codependent cycle. It seriously felt like I was locked in a washing machine and whenever I got triggered by a situation/person/social media post, the “Start Cycle” button lit up and I’d spin around for 30-minutes till I couldn’t tell up from down. Whenever I’m in that spiral, I tend to accommodate everyone around me, working extra hard to take up ZERO space, have ZERO opinions and make ZERO waves in the relational pool. I strip myself of my own voice in order to self-protect.

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Some people cope in other ways, getting louder and more abrasive and opinionated in order to dominate their perceived threats into submission (aka most people on Twitter).

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During one session, Shari said I was exhibiting adolescent behaviors. She noted multiple instances I said I was scared of getting “in trouble.”

⠀

“Teenagers feel like they get in trouble, but you’re 28 years old. You don’t get in trouble with your friends/boss/parents/people on Facebook anymore. You have peer-to-peer conflict. You’re not a child.”

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The washing-machine-spiral sends me into adolescence. I feel like I did as a voiceless child being abused with no way out. I feel powerless. I feel scared of getting in trouble with the “adults.”

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But getting *out* of said spiral comes with realizing I AM an adult. I have a voice that matters. I am not powerless. Conflict is peer-to-peer and I can vocalize my opinions, thoughts, and needs without timidity..

⠀

No pretty, I’m-all-fixed-now ending paragraphs here— I just wanted to share a bit of the process and remind you that you’re an adult with a voice and the power to step out of the darn washing machine.

Maybe the Harbor is Exactly Where You’re Meant To Be

You’ve probably heard the saying,

“A ship is safe in harbor,
but that’s not what
ships are built for.”

Dang.

Makes you want
to take risks, doesn’t it?

But then the dog starts barking
and your phone lights up
for the 154th time
and the market plummets
and politicians fight
and Facebook groans.

And you wonder
what it is exactly
you’re on this earth to do,
or, maybe even more important,
who you’re meant to be.

Yeah,
the ship quote
makes you feel
warm inside
but isn’t being human a little more messy?

What about us,
in all our non-water-vessel,
complicated mess?

What about
those of us
whose sense of purpose
(or calling, if you grew up in church)
isn’t as obvious as masts
and anchors and rudders?

Where’s the
instruction manual
for being human?

Is it okay that everything
is a little less obvious?

Maybe,
just maybe,
it’s okay
to be in harbor.

Maybe ships
aren’t meant to sail
24 hours a day,
7 days a week.

Maybe humans
aren’t like machines,
designed to DO, DO, DO
instead of be, be, be.

Maybe the harbor
is exactly where you’re meant to be,
and you’re not missing out
and you’re not failing
and you’re not lazy
and you’re not going to be harbored forever
and you’re going to sail again
but it’s okay to rest.

It's okay to say no,
even to good opportunities,
and drink deeply of the
Joy of Missing Out.

Want To Grow? Stop Avoiding Pain.

Driving to work this morning, my mind wandered to a conversation I had several years ago. It was one of those conversations in which your body instinctively holds it together, proving you’re strong and indestructible, then you walk out of the room or hang up the phone and everything falls apart— cue tears, pajamas, chocolate, anger.

At the core of it all, I desperately wanted this person to tell me I belonged. He worked at a church and I felt traumatized by church and instead of taking ownership of my pain, I wanted him to alleviate it. I wanted him to fix everything for me.

But he didn’t.

I called a friend and ranted: “Isn’t he being sort of insensitive to what I just went through?” I talked and she listened and asked questions and eventually said, “You know what, Savannah? It sounds like you’re really hurt.”

(….and? Can’t you fix it?! Can’t you fix me being hurt so I don’t have to feel my own pain?!)

Crickets.

She didn’t fix me either.

To the right a scratched-up silver van cruised by, donning a bumper sticker that read, “No Pain, No Gain” and it made me giggle. Nothing great comes without suffering, does it?

Looking back (#2020vision), I am filled with gratitude that both of those people had boundaries and didn’t “Fix me” like I wanted them to. I was forced to take ownership of my own life and feel the suffering I was avoiding.

And because of that pain, I grew. I developed endurance. I was more resilient than I realized. I cultivated a real relationship with God. I leaned on my community in more appropriate ways. I developed boundaries. I learned to trust the Spirit inside me. I found my voice.

Maybe you need to hear this today? You don’t need anybody to fix you. You can take ownership of your life and experience the pain and feel the feelings and know you’re going to make it. You’re going to grow in directions you couldn’t imagine because suffering has a way of redirecting you like nothing else can. Cheering you on from my corner of the world, friend.

(Below is a picture of me winning a game of mini-golf after getting 3 holes-in-one, and when will be a better time to celebrate?!)

Worshipping Money

Now that Todd has a full-time job and we’re not living on pennies, I’ve found myself worshipping money. The first seven months of 2019 were painful, and just like a starving child with a plate full of food in front of her, it’s tempting to consume everything in sight. I go online and see advertisements of things I’m missing out on, things that will really make me happy and give me the life I deserve.

The other day I read this passage in Matthew 6: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also…No one can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth (the Greek word here is mammon which means money/wealth/possessions).”

Exhale.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m missing out on the good life because I’ve got an ordinary house, a regular job, a leaky kitchen faucet and reused clothes my mom gives me in a trash bag twice a year.

The World Famous Leaky Faucet

Sometimes I wonder if I should listen to the people who tell me to monetize my Instagram. It’s just business. But I don’t want business, I think. I want Kingdom.

Maybe they intersect?

Either way, I don’t want to worship money. If anything, 2019 taught me how quickly money comes then goes then comes again. The tighter my grip, the less I seem to have. The more open-handed I am, the more delighted I find myself with enough.

Smack dab in the middle of our financial crisis last year, I cried and told my (rich) friend, “Honestly, once we have a stable paycheck I’ll feel so much better.” She chuckled and said, “You’d be surprised. If you idolize money, you’ll never have enough.”

My heart knew she was right.

My mind went to that leaky kitchen faucet, you know the one I mentioned earlier. Something you need to know is it doesn’t steadily drip. It sort of flushes like a mini-toilet. Most importantly, it has terrible timing. When my Monday Night Life Group first started, it would flush in the middle of someone’e serious story and all of us would try to ignore it as to not derail the conversation but it was obvious…we were all thinking about the faucet. It would flush in the middle of a heated conversation. It would flush when I was trying to impress someone. It would flush in the middle of Instagram videos.

One Monday night, a gal in our group looked at me when it flushed and giggled. I blurted out, “He’s peeing!” We laughed, and every single time it flushed after that, we made eye contact and simultaneously said, “He’s peeing!” It became a joke and bizarre source of connection.

I wonder what it would look like to see all the leaky faucets in our lives as opportunities for connection rather than sources of discontentment. What if the leaky faucets in your life— the things that aren’t Instagram-perfect or quite right— are untapped resources of joy and creativity and relationship? What if they are yet-to-be miracles, vessels of water just itching to be turned into wine?

That perspective where the Kingdom is. It turns shame into joy. Water into wine. Less into abundance. Imperfection into grace. Mini-flushes into laughter and little into enough.

* FYI we fixed the leaky faucet in kitchen renovations last month and I sort of miss it. Oh, the irony.

Ps: If this helped you in any way, please feel free to share with your friends! I am so grateful and appreciate it!!

On Meaning, Christian Movies, Curated Realities, The Hustle, Luke 12, Greed, Jack Sparrow, and Money.

When we were falling asleep last night, Todd asked why I’m running in ten different directions and scared to sit still. He said the minute I finish one project, I move on to the next. “It’s okay to BE,” he said, “and I guess I’m wondering what you’re searching for.”

Slipping from my tongue like jello off a spoon in a toddler’s clumsy hand I said, “Meaning.”

Queue the tear-duct faucets.

I felt like the protagonist at the beginning of a cheesy Christian movie— you know, the girl who stares at the ceiling every night, wondering if her life has meaning before she meets a wise old sage who explains the purpose of life in one conversation.

I look online and feel behind because it seems like everyone’s climbing the American ladder and buying bigger houses and quitting their jobs and making money and getting fit. I wonder if I’m just *one* mindset-shift away from a care-free, adventurous, easy life where I can have perfectly manicured fingernails and Instagram-worthy-curled-hair and a bright white kitchen with bright white walls and bright white teeth.

Then I say,

“Savannah. You know better.
This is a curated reality.
THIS IS A CURATED REALITY.
THIS. IS. A. CURATED. REALITY.

….unless it’s not? Maybe the grass is greener over there?”

So I hustle. I grind it out. I say yes to everything even if I don’t have time because if I say no, I’m scared I’ll never get asked again. I drink deeply from the well of productivity, sometimes five, ten times a day, yet my soul is dehydrated. I ignore her cries.

This is what everyone’s doing, I think.
I know what’s best for me, I think.
God is withholding, I think.

I finished my word study for school on Tuesday.

Jesus said, “Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” Greed’s empty promise is that life is found in THINGS. Greed tangles a web in our hearts, creating toxic attachments to our possessions.

Later in that passage Jesus says, “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Your heart is your tell.

Your heart acts like the compass Jack Sparrow carried around in Pirates of the Caribbean (moment of silence to honor Johnny for fearlessly owning that eyeliner). It exposes your treasure. You might ignore it or sugar-coat it or paint a cross over it, but the truth of what you treasure most is in your heart.

When Todd asked what I was searching for and I instinctively spouted out, “Meaning!” my treasure was exposed. Digging deeper, meaning was undergirded by success. Success was undergirded by money. Money was undergirded by security. Security undergirded by independence. Independence undergirded by never wanting to rely on anyone for anything so I never get hurt (self-protection).

Consider the lilies, Jesus said. They can’t earn a thing, but God clothes them with more glory than the richest of kings. How much more will you be clothed, beloved child?

Everyone says social media is fueled by comparison, but, at least for me, it’s also fueled by greed. Greedy for what’s next. Greedy for more. Greedy for empty promises in my search for meaning. Bigger barns. Bigger houses. Bigger storage. More money. More influence. More fame and friends and white walls.

And we go to bed dehydrated. Numb. Wondering about meaning.

And just as soon as the still whisper begins her work, a screen lights up on the bedside table; we pick up our phones, and start again.