13. galaxies & deities

I couldn’t pronounce the name of the guy sitting next to me on the beach in Barcelona, but I could sense his curiosity peak as I started to tell him about Jesus. He said that he was from Russia and that he had never once heard of this person, Jesus Christ. His eyes widened when I explained bits and pieces of the Gospel to him, but the guy’s jaw nearly hit the sand when I rattled off John 3:16 and said that Jesus died for the world to believe in Him; a concept I had known of my whole life.

He asked questions, thinking that the “the universe” was the ultimate deity in charge of sending good or bad things our way, so his eyes widened as I told him that God is so powerful that He actually breathed the galaxies and every star and sun and planet into being with just His words (Hebrews 11:3). As the conversation continued, I simultaneously felt so aligned in my soul telling this stranger about God and His son Jesus and so ashamed, unsure for the hundredth time, if I was even able to claim to be a believer myself.

This chance to be in Barcelona came from an opportunity presented by my former college volleyball coach needing a tenth person to travel with the team for the missions trip. One of my nine tattoos is an outline of the continents in between my shoulder blades, with the phrase the nations are calling inscribed above it.

Growing up it felt like my family had a habit of collecting addresses rather than staying in one place for too long. So, whether it was the chicken or the egg that came first, I have always been drawn to movement. Filling up a passport had become an idolized goal, so when the chance to receive my first stamp arose, I jumped.

The continent tattoo became a part of my body pre-salvation, and upon finding out about it, my mom nearly lost her mind. Looking back, I think her astonishment came from a worn-out heart, dragged through one too many situations that involved me talking like a Christian but not walking in the light like one. A tattoo like this, that embodies the Great Commission (Matthew 28:16-20) the mark of a Christian life, again did not make sense for me to have yet. My mom asked me, “what do you think you’re going to tell people if you do travel around the world"?’

Truth be told, I had no clue. But I thought if I could just get somewhere different, just keep moving to new places across the seas, I would be able to fill up a treasure chest with amazing experiences; hopefully finding one able to save me and unlock the freedom to truly feel alive and present an identity that could not be taken away.

Fast forward a few years to the time period after ending my engagement, I packed up my life in about 8 boxes, bid a farewell to my apartment in Minneapolis and traveled cross country to North Carolina where my parents resided. I was bound and determined to get the clean slate my bones ached for and felt certain that this next phase would be the greatest time of movement and adventures yet! My expectations were to empty my bank account, backpack around foreign lands learning their language and culture in search of the best version of myself. I had reinvention on my mind, but Christ had transformation in store.

There is a phrase, “we make plans and God laughs”, and that silly saying had actually become a pillar of my theology. I pictured God looking down on me and on earth, seeing the things we wanted most and then planting a tsunami to tear it apart. But I hoped that there was a corner of my mind that God could not see where my wants could stay hidden. Making the journey to North Carolina, I tucked away my wish to start over and travel the world, into the furthest corner and drove as fast as the car would take me, lest God was on the look out to unleash a tsunami.

About two weeks after unpacking a few boxes and gathering travel plans, the world quite literally shut down. Covid stopped everything in it’s wake. The gaping hole in my chest shred completely open with the news of a nation wide lock down. Whiplash of yet another disappointment was total and severe.

I felt like I could hear God laughing.

I was so tired of feeling fragile, afraid that the ground under my feet had turned to glass and shattered at the sound of my own voice. I needed to feel strong before getting too tired to fight. So after realizing that “normalcy” would not resume within a few weeks of the global virus, I started running. In my (abundant) free time, my tennis shoes hit the pavement with vigor to create the only type of movement accessible.

Everyday I pushed my body to feel something, even if just the fatigue of a workout. Alongside this routine, I started ordering Amazon packages left and right. One of them being a paddle board. A beautiful lake rested peacefully about 20 minutes from my house, and to tread on the water felt like a great escape. There were open areas full of boaters and there were quiet coves where the only company were the trees and fish swimming below.

work

run

paddle board

repeat.

The gears of this pattern fell into place, but a restless energy was building and the shards of brokenness in my chest tore away at me in the waiting. Waiting for the world to open back up. Waiting for my life’s purpose to be revealed. Waiting for the memories of my past to fade away and to have something of my own that could not be taken away. Waiting for my black heart to be made new. Waiting to feel like anything but a dead man walking.

A few months into this tempo, I set out for the lake like usual, taking my time paddling out until finding a suitable place to kick back and try to relax. After doing so, I laid on my back and looked up into the sky; a perfect shade of blue without a cloud in sight. The sun glowed and cast down warm rays, but the chill of emptiness within me raised goosebumps across my skin. Able to withstand the feeling for only a moment, the tears previously refusing to shed, overpowered me falling fast and furious.

I shot up looking around, embarrassed that someone might see me losing it, only to realize the subtle current pushed me into a cove all on my own. For a minute I sat still, but when the familiar stampede of anxiety charged, I pushed off into the water. My body converted to rock.
Sinking deeper and deeper, I let out a wild unfiltered scream.

I screamed for the innocence taken from me so many years ago.

I screamed for the person I feared I could never become, for the nights finding the bottom of a bottle, for the pain in the world,

for the times I failed my family and friends.

I screamed for everything I had done wrong, for the dreams ripped away, and the people I loved and were now gone.

I screamed in the face of all the lies I told and were told to me, and I screamed to the God I longed for, but could never seem to reach.

Muffled sounds of sorrow surrounded me under the water, but the outcry reached its end as my lungs pulsed for release. Breaking the surface I sucked in air, and my tears were quiet and soft as my body hugged the paddle board. I didn’t know then how to get it, but I knew I was in need of something more than just my tattered self sufficiency.