From Where We Sit

Ever feel like the loudest voice in your day is the internal one, inaudible, but simultaneously deafening?  The internal storyteller that narrates our lives, defines our perceptions, and anticipates the road ahead. Self-doubt, and fear can permeate my story, my shortcomings and the anticipated ways they may affect the lives of the loved ones around me, leaving me with this sense of impending doom and guilt. Why do I allow myself to live there, held captive by fear? My success feels like it’s mine to facilitate, mine to carry, if only I could master a perfect rhythm of intetionality. What if the narration surrounding my hardships and less thans could shift, becoming an opportunity to sit at a different seat? What if Jesus pulled up the chair next to me, what quiet truth would he wisper, "I'm so glad we are here together. I want to tell you something...I'm crazy about you and I'm SO proud of you. I want you to know, I've got it. I see it ALL and I'm fighting for you...ALL the time. I just wanted to remind you where I was."  

Living in this reality shifts my perception of the same room. Such a powerful truth, the room doesn’t change, nor the table or even the plate set before me, but my beliefs about the room, my sense of peace can change entirely based on where I choose to sit and the gratitude I choose to look for.  Hard can be devastating, disappointment can leave us sick with grief, and sometimes the silver lining feels impossible to perceive.

A wise woman once shared with me a similar version of some unforgettable advice. We can do nothing to change the circumstances we’re handed, the challenges we face, the hard that happens to us, the “plate” we’re given, but we can control entirely how we perceive it, what we believe about it, how we see God making us stronger, pulling us toward Him. What we believe determines how we are affected; adversity lost its power. I choose how I am going to look at the room and I can always take the chair next to Jesus, the one who promises to be sitting in my corner.