To Whom it May Concern

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I had a very close friend for a season in my life who battled deep clinical depression. The kind there I would have to go over to her house and get her to simply take a shower. I would coax her for about 40 minutes to get up by starting with simply sitting up. It was something I didn’t understand, but I could see this weight on her and wanted to help lift its gravity off her if just through a clean PJ set. I learned a lot in that time, and it made me far more compassionate to those who battle different forms of depression. 

In 2009, I opted for a double lumbar fusion surgery in my lower back to have a chance at a less painful life. Thankfully, it brought great healing to my body at the cost of great illness to my brain. The anesthesia and drugs changed my brain chemistry sending me into an overwhelming depression. I thought I was under spiritual attack (I know it was and continues to be but there also is a definite chemical illness happening) if I’m transparent; I asked a pastor at church about it and she advised that she thought I was depressed. I had no frame of reference for identification it. 

Life continues to happen. As I pen this I am reflecting on the journey…that bout had me deeply anxious and paranoid where I only felt safe in my car. I spent weeks parking in large parking lots like Home Depot or Lowe’s, reading a book in my car all day long. I didn’t feel safe anywhere outside of that car. It was a strange time. 

In 2011 my spiritual father passed from cancer and I had an excruciatingly challenging job at the time. I found myself in the parking lot of work more than once hyperventilating and crying. I was barely sleeping and felt like I was coming undone. This time I went to a doctor and they advised I was depressed but it presented itself as anxiety. I was prescribed Xanax; that was a God send in that time and I finally started sleeping again. 

In 2019 after years of learning to manage anxiety, feeling that my bouts of melancholy were because I was a writer and it’s how artists are; I found myself getting through each day thinking that surely tomorrow would have to be better. The thing is, my tomorrows were not getting better. Then we have a global pandemic which changed all of us, maybe fundamentally.  Then, I graduate from graduate school and feel like I should move to Guatemala to serve for a year as a full time missionary. Couple that with a deep spiritual crisis over church, pastor behavior and treatment, and something stirring deeply within me calling me to bring change without specifics.

I packed all that together in three suitcase full of hope that I would arrive at the end of whatever this was I felt inside once I got to Guatemala. Let me tell ya, my whole world unraveled further. Three and a half years later, I feel like I’m still walking up sand dunes that give way regressing my progress to upward movement. I am still trodding along. Next is learning not to “muscle through” my long-suffering with the Lord. Cause honestly, I just bulk up and keep on trudging, but I’m getting tired on these dunes, y’all. Anyone else now what I mean?

To Whom it May Concern

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To whom it May Concern:

Just because it doesn’t look like what you think it’s supposed to look like doesn’t mean it’s not exactly what it is supposed to be like. We align our lives to scripture and in doing that we offer our best yes and let it take us where it goes. The full Bible is truth or it is not, and if it is our steps are ordered, His plans are perfect, we will suffer for this gospel life we lead, and regardless of our opinion of presupposition it will also look like Glory that is to God, not to us. His glory is our glory and that is enough when we bend our knee. 

Street Foods and the Process of the Making

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As I walk down La Calzada de Santa Lucia, the main street of hustle and bustle in Antigua, I smell tortillas being made on the street. It’s a distinct smell, one that makes me start to salivate. Tortillas in the states are nothing compared to here, how they make them, the sound of the hands slapping them flat and then dropping them onto the hot stove is a true cultural experience of street foods in Guatemala. There are beautiful views at every turn, the weather is ideal, and I am learning a new language! If I’m honest, I really don’t think I believed I could do that. 

There is a different pace of life here, I walk to the market and buy fresh flowers that overtake my house for pennies on the dollar, I pick out fresh vegetables every few days because they won’t make it longer, and I take a coffee break by walking two blocks from my house and grabbing the best iced dirty chai latte in town. There are also some things that slow the pace of life down because they aren’t the same conveniences I had in the States, for example, filling ice trays is a longer process. I have to keep my eco-filter filled with water so I have clean drinking water to fill the trays with. My filter is a literal five gallon bucket with a spout on the side that I use to open and close in 3 second bursts as I fill each cube with water. It’s not inconvenient or annoying, it’s just more time consuming than using the faucet. It’s micro-changes to my life that change the pace and rhythm of how things are done. 

I like it, but I have a hard time adjusting to it. I’m used to the busy paced hustle of American life and when I was there I longed for a simpler lifestyle that allowed me to explore the areas of life I felt were needing to be explored, but now that I’m in it, I have to make myself be ok with it. Trying to compare who I was when I was in America, to who I am and how I live my life here is a hard comparison. Transitioning to a new culture was a lot harder than a two week trip somewhere. I felt like I was in a fog for the first four months of being here. Now, nearly seven months in, at times I feel like I’m disappearing. Not sure what that means, but I don’t know who this Ginny is right now. She’s still the same at the core, I’m not running amuck and acting a fool, but the questions I’m asking in my heart, the laziness in my heart, it’s not who I’m used to being. I’m not sure if I’m in an undoing or just in a new thing, but this life I’ve taken on is weird and one hell of an adjustment. 

I’ve been walking this Way for a long time. In November, I will celebrate 20 years of intimate relationship with Jesus. In all this time, I have had seasons of “proofing” and they have always strengthened my faith in His goodness and faithfulness. That being said, I find it so beautiful that in my internal heart wanders right now, in the moments when I feel like I’m disappearing, I remember I am in the middle of the making. He is making me and though it may not always be tidy and attractive, it’s honest and in progress. I read something by Oswald Chambers the other day where it talked about how the destination is the process. I guess that means I’m here, I got to the destination because clearly I’m in process. 

I think even when we know the strippings and unlearnings are coming, we feel lost within them when they hit until the truths fill back into those places. Most of my lessons are an unlearning of something I thought was but, come to find out, was not. Being committed to the unlearning and the process of the making is as important as our “yes” when we first encounter Jesus. It’s what sustains us to the finish line of this great race we took up the baton in.

So, fellow friends who are in process as well, I hope you embrace it and let it truly mold and shape you. I am and though sometimes I don’t know why I keep going, I know it’s all worth it and Jesus is worth every lost feeling, every frustration of wanting my way and my own glory in the surrenders, and I know I can trust that He is busy in the making.