I See You, "Molly McCully"

To the “Molly McCully” in class. I see you. I know it’s hard. I know the numbers don’t make sense and others don’t seem to understand why you haven’t caught on. I know the steps don’t add up, but your fingers do, even though you don’t want people to see that you still count with them. I know the times tables are hard to memorize, and division takes forever.

I know how uncool it feels to raise your hand again and again, asking the same question you asked the day before. I know the feeling of wandering eyes, hoping your neighbor knows what they’re doing. I know the pressure to feel smart like your friends, hoping they don’t notice your low-test grade. I know what it’s like to take those tests home, feeling the uneasiness as it sets in your bookbag.  I know school isn’t always much fun. It’s hard. Sometimes, it makes you feel like your falling hard in the dirt, over and over again.

But, you know what? You’ve got the strength to get back up. Know how I know? Because I hit the ground hard many times, and I got back up. Thankfully for me, I had friends and teachers that helped dust me off after I was on my feet. And you do too. And you have me, because I know a little bit about what it’s like to be you.

So, take heart, “Molly McCully”, it gets better. I know you want it to get easier, but that’s not a promise I can make you. What I can tell you is that you’ll make it. And, hey, maybe someday you’ll sit across from a younger you, pencil in hand, math book open, hoping they understand that it can get better.

It Was All A Lie.

This morning I uprooted a ridiculous lie- my life should be good.

Nope.

Now, let me back that “nope” by saying that my life is so good, much better than I could have orchestrated on my own. Sometimes Will and I look around our apartment and wonder how we acquired all that we own. Whenever we came to the realization that we needed something else, an affordable option would wiggle its way in front of us. Super blessed, and very grateful for the way God used our friends and connections to help us fill, and find our first home. And that’s just our home and possessions. We both have jobs, loving families and our wants, not just needs.

Okay, enough about what we do have, because that’s not what I started this post about. I started by talking about a lie, a dirty, conniving lie that told me, “Psst... Molly. Your life. It should be better than this! Your missing out on something. God must be withholding it from you, because girl, you don’t got it.” Now, I’m very well aware who told me this lie. And I’ve had a little education on how to detect when I’m believing his lies.

If you look at what’s in quotations, you’ll find the word “something”.  All I knew was that I was missing out on something. Something, oh gosh I can feel it in my chest when I type now. Something is missing… but what? Nothing. Nothing is missing, but this lie made me accuse God that he was holding something back, something I needed, something to make my life… easier. Not better, easier. Easier so my life could feel good. And then this feeling of entitlement creeps up, and I’m laying in bed, with bitter tears rolling down my face, wondering why God isn’t loving and blessing me like I deserve.

Are you annoyed with me yet? I sure am. This non-specific lie I was being fed caused my heart to hurt and point the blame to the man on the cross. It’s his fault, he’s supposed to make my life better once I choose him! I’m supposed to be blessed, protected, loved! But that’s not what I signed up for. I asked for an anchor for my soul. An anchor that keeps me still through the storm, through the storm, not an easy pass out of it.

My life is so good, because I asked Jesus to lead it. And I don’t always like where he leads, but then he reminds me of a specific prayer I prayed, “Jesus, I’ll go anywhere you want to send me.” And right now, he wants me here. In a small school, in a small town, going to a small college to teach small children. But these small things I’m experiencing now are gearing me up for something big. This is a different something than the one I was believing before. This something makes tears come to my eyes, and dreams flash through my mind. This something has hope. And hope is the anchor to my soul.