I did one of those “word of the year” things last year. It came up on its own and I just rolled with it, like most good things in my life. The word last year was “refuge”. What a word! I was convicted again and again how easily I turn to worldly comforts when I’m not feeling well. In fact, in the last year I uncovered the ugliest cycle: Life is hard, so I need a refuge; I turn to TV or junk food for refuge; I feel like a lazy person for watching so much TV and/or eating so much junk food; I feel guilty for being lazy; I need a refuge . . .  And on it goes, until I wake up one day glued to the couch with chocolate stains on my jeans and laundry coming out of my ears and I am impressed with the insanity of thinking the responsibilities would disappear if I ignored them long enough.

In high school, a fascinating person told me that I “eschew responsibility”. People that use words like “eschew” tend to be fascinating people. This person was undeniably more of a go-getter than me. Marching band, student government, AP classes, college-bound-and-determined. Freakin genius. Maybe not smarter than me, but definitely worked harder and accomplished more. By the time I got to high school I realized the game of education and despised it. I was so incredibly tired of life, actually. While my Fascination told me of my tendency of avoid responsibility, my day-in-day-out life felt like drudgery. I felt like I was hanging on white-knuckled to any sense of stability. I was uncomfortable in my own skin; I didn’t know who I was but I knew I hated it. I knew I was not worth anything. I didn’t feel unworthy; it went deeper than that. I knew I was worthless like I knew the sun would rise in the morning.

So when I was told at 18 that I eschew responsibility, it was just another proof of my worthlessness. This person who fascinated me, who seemed to know something I did not about how to be intelligent (not simply possesses this ‘potential’ so many raved about since I was small), wrote me off. Not the first person, not the last, but probably the only person I respected deeply, and probably the only person who gave me a real chance before giving up on me.

Six years ago, I met someone who challenged what I “knew” about myself. Because of those counseling sessions and the grace of God, I know better now; I know I am not worthless. I know that to call myself that is a slap in the face to the One who loving knit me together in my mother’s womb, and called me out of darkness, who is making me part of His body and temple.

But it’s going to take more than six years to un-learn what I spent twenty plus years walking in. I was not born “knowing” that the dirt on my shoe mattered more than me. And Lord willing, I will not die believing the grave is more deserving of my body than the family that loves me, whom I love. Meanwhile, I’ve got these little baby steps I need to take which feel more like huge leaps of faith. And the first baby step was last year, focusing on one concept: refuge.

I could spend the next five years working on Refuge. I have not learned nearly enough about how to turn to God when I feel inadequate. It seems a little bit like rushing to move onto the next word, but like most good things in my life this word just keeps coming up on its own and I feel I must roll with it.

JOY

I was not raised in a Christian tradition so I was thirty years old before I ever heard of the Westminster Shorter Catechism, more specifically this question:

Q. What is the chief end of man?
A. Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever.

I need God to be my refuge; but after running and hiding under the shadow of His wings, I must have the faith to then go out in joy. Joyful obedience, serving Him, glorifying Him, doing the good works He has prepared beforehand that I should walk in them. But it starts with joy.

That’s all I wanted to say.