Hello, My Name Is Resilient

Today my brother and I said “we do” under a white-washed gazebo as we gave away our mom’s hand in marriage. Gathered around by Starbucks-sipping friends and family as witnesses, a man and woman promised to love and cherish each other for as long as they both shall live.
Needless to say, it was not your typical, run of the mill ceremony. The whole shebang was a recreation of their first date that occurred exactly one year ago today. Having initially met via a popular online dating service, they had agreed to meet in person for the first time at our local Starbucks. They hit it off right away and spent hours talking and walking around the neighboring park.
One year later, they met again at that same Starbucks. This time, she was wearing a white dress and heels, and he was dressed to the nines in a silver tuxedo. Dozens of friends and family were there as well. Altogether, with coffee in hand, the wedding procession laced around the coffee shop and across the street to the park.
Horns blasted. Bystanders hollered. Cameras flashed.
The intimate ceremony was short, but the vows were eternal. And in one simple phrase, “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” two families were blended into one.
I like to joke that my brother and I officially have “the whole set” now. We have a mom and a dad, a step-mom and a step-dad, a half-sister and a step-brother. Our life is weird; it just is. I spend too many fear-filled nights too paralyzed by stress to be able to sleep. What is life going to be like now? So much is about to change.
You are being replaced, the devil whispers. You are worthless. You are not good at anything, he hisses. The combination of a new family and the addition of more responsibility at work is too much for you.
I toss and turn and think about why life is so hard. I foolishly let the devil’s promptings become my truths.
No one could possibly understand how I am feeling.
I will never have a “normal” life.
I am unwanted.
I am all alone.
It is during these sleepless nights that God cups my face and calms my heart. He breathes His precious promises into my inner most being. “For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Eternal, “plans for peace, not evil, to give you a future and hope—never forget that” .
He gently reminds me that I am not perfect, but He is. I can rest comforted by the fact that in my imperfection, in my loneliness, in my brokenness, He is good.
Japanese pottery has a centuries old reparation tradition called kintsukuroi, which translates to “golden repair.” When an object is broken, the shattered pieces are mended back together with a lacquer containing flecks of gold or silver. Instead of tossing out the mess, the Japanese delicately piece it back together and practice the philosophy of wabi-sabi, understanding that the object is more beautiful for having been broken. It is said that the tradition originally stems from the concept of mushin, meaning the acceptance of change.
Change is so hard. It is easy to crave and give in to routine. Days would be so much easier if we only needed to wake up each morning and show up to school or work where we could slowly snake around exerting as little effort as possible and avoiding confrontation before
escaping back to the comfort of our homes. Technology has aided this process, enabling us to skip even the short conversations of ordering food at restaurants and calling customer service agents for assistance. Now we can download “Skip the Line” apps and ask Siri for help.
But as attractive as that lifestyle may seem, it is as equally as dangerous of a trap to fall into. It may be a comfortable way of living for you; but for me, when I allow that to become my routine for too long, then I begin to crave purpose. I miss relationships. I lose sight of why I am here.
Because I am not alive merely to live comfortably. I cannot be surprised that my life is not “normal.” I live to learn more about my Creator and to tell others about His unending goodness and grace that He continually floods into my life.
It is not easy, and I am not good at it. Along the way, I have fumbled. I have publicly dropped the ball and then stormed off the field to throw pity parties for myself. It happens over and over and over again and it is not pretty. But God uses every fumble, every fall, and every misfortune to lead me to become resilient; He helps me recover from and adjust to change, to thrive amid adversity.
Ziad K. Abdelnour said that “there’s no need to be perfect to inspire others. Let people get inspired by how you deal with your imperfections.” But I have to constantly remind myself that I am not designed to dwell in others’ inspiration. It is not my goal to collect the attention, to rack up followers and likes, to earn power and respect. Instead of being driven by inspiration, it is my proud duty to reflect it. I am like the moon, gracefully reflecting the light of the Son to those who are lost and wandering through the dark.
This book is my story.
I do not write to impress you.
I do not write to entertain you.
I am here to tell you about my God who turned my brokenness into His beauty.
Amen?
Amen.
I welcome you to enjoy the journey. Learn from my mistakes, glean from the lessons, and celebrate God’s blessings. Jon Acuff said that “the scars you share become lighthouses for other people who are headed down the same rocks you hit.” Just like Tyler Durden in Fight Club, “I don’t wanna die without any scars.” I pray that my story will be able to help you and inspire you to share your story with someone else. Let us learn and grow together.
Cheers!
Jessica Sage