Last night I was reading, as I often do after work. I had gotten off work, made dinner, and sat down to watch a couple episodes of a TV show and when my meal was done I turned off the tv and opened my book.
The book I’m reading is a feel-good romance, not too different from your typical hallmark movie. It’s very surface level and sweet, and a nice way to escape reality for a little bit.
As I was reading, there was a scene where the main love interest was having a nightmare and the main character goes to wake him up and comfort him, and as he comes back to reality he holds onto her for dear life until he’s calmed down.
A scene like this does not typically make me emotional. Sure, I find it cute and I think about how I’m excited for a future where I’m married and have someone to hold me when I wake from a terrifying dream, but I never cry reading a scene like that. But last night as I was reading, I realized that it had been over a month since I received so much as a hug from someone who really knew and understood me, and suddenly I was in tears.
It just hit me like a ton of bricks why I could be surrounded by good people who are eager to welcome me into their community and into their homes and yet feel so utterly alone. It’s not because these people are awful or boring or rude, but it’s the fact that they don’t know me. They haven’t seen me at my worst, nor have they seen all of the experiences who make me who I am. They know surface-level EmmaLee who grew up in Michigan and likes to read and graduated from Franciscan University. But they don’t really know me.
They don’t know what I went through to be here. They don’t know why I’m catholic or what my relationship with my family looks like. They don’t know the hard things I went through as a kid or what things really make me happy. They don’t know my weird quirks, or that usually I don’t love physical touch. They don’t know the many nicknames I’ve accumulated over the years or why I have a painting in my office with the name “Greg” on it. They don’t know why I love lambs or why the name Nicodemus is significant to me. They don’t know that I hate peanut butter unless it’s in a reese’s cup. They don’t know that my comfort food is zebra cakes, and they don’t know why (of all things) it’s zebra cakes. They don’t know that my favorite tv show is Gilmore Girls and that I am constantly watching it even though I’ve probably seen it more than 10 times.
I could go on and on.
I feel alone because when they look at me, I don’t feel like they see me.
So, after I put my book down and let myself cry for a little while, I calmed down and drove across town to adoration and sat down and wrote down everything in a little letter to Jesus. I told him how alone I felt and how much I hated having to start making friends from square one. It had come so naturally in high school and college, but it’s been a whole different experience here.
Most of the people I hang out with are much older than me and have completely different lives. I’m here trying to navigate adult life for the first time and all of these people have established their place in the community and have families. It’s hard to feel like I fit in, to say the least.
As soon as I finished dumping all my feelings out in front of Jesus, I just sat there and stared at him. I didn’t know what else to say so I just let myself be there with Him.
Eventually, He showed me that in that moment I was seen and known by Him far better than any human could see and know me. Because He sees me. He sees everything: all of my happiest moments, all of my hardest experiences. He sees the moments I’ve forgotten and the moments I wish I could forget. He knows it all.
He knows me better than I do.
Suddenly, I felt a profound peace. My homesickness and sadness wasn’t completely taken away, I’m crying writing this because I still miss my old life. But I felt peace in the sadness because the Lord made it clear that I am not alone. He is with me and he knows every little thing about me, and He loves me so much more than any human can even imagine.
I ended the night by thanking God for the struggle. This is something I have been doing for years now because it allows me to be open to a whole new perspective. At the end of a sad journal entry, I thank Jesus for the experience of suffering because I know it makes me a better person.
Sometimes this is the hardest thing to do because it’s so hard to see how good can come out of something that hurts so much. But when we suffer we are so intimately united to Jesus in His Crucifixion.
We are called to die to ourselves and follow Christ just as He died for us. This means we must be willing to experience pain and suffering. The Lord does some of the deepest work in our hearts when we are hurting. The greatest saints suffered and allowed that to draw them closer to Christ. Take St. Thérèse of Lisieux, she lost her mother when she was four and then her second mother (her sister Pauline) abandoned her to go become a nun and she suffered with anxiety and depression her whole life. But she allowed the Lord to come into her suffering and to broaden her perspective and to draw her closer to Himself. Death, by it’s nature, is painful. It’s not supposed to be easy. But in my experience, suffering in order to die to oneself has always been worth it.
I am so thankful for the ways that I have suffered. I have not suffered as much as some, but the small sufferings I have experienced in my life have made me who I am. I have often felt closest to the Lord in my suffering because I know that He is with me in it. I know that it has a purpose, even when I don’t see that in the moment. I am a better person because I have suffered. I don’t mean that in a prideful way like, “I deserve more because I’ve suffered and therefore I am better.” But I mean it in the sense that the Lord has broken me down the same way a seed is broken down before it can grow. A seed is buried in the ground and slowly it breaks open and the plant must push its way to the surface. And eventually, after the struggle through the darkness and dirtiness of being underground, it emerges from the soil and becomes a beautiful flower. We can remain a little seed, or we can allow ourselves to be buried and put into darkness in order to grow into who the Lord has created us to be.
He has created us for greatness. But greatness takes work, and we must be willing to work for it. That means taking on hard things. But He is here with us for the journey. He suffers with us, he cares for us when we are too weak to go on. He loves us through every moment.
He sees you. He knows you. And He loves you.
And He is always with you.
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