God Bless This Mess(2)

Why is that?

Maybe it is because I’ve lived so much life so quickly. It feels like I’ve done fifteen years’ worth of living since 2018. I’ve gone from being a private person, living in small-town Alabama, to being known all over the world. And flying all over the world. I had never even left the country before. I’ve gone from single to engaged to single again. I’ve dated more men than some women do in a lifetime. I slept with more men in one week than I’d slept with in my entire life. And I’ve gone from losing touch with my faith to coming back around to find Jesus still loves me, through all of my mistakes, my suffering, my losses, my wins, and everything in between.

Taking the time to try and find answers for myself has been one of those hurts-so-good things. You know what I’m talking about? The first thing that comes to mind when I think of a hurts-so-good experience—okay, well, maybe the second (thank you, John Mellencamp)—is a deep-tissue massage. Like, super painful and torturous in the moment. You think about turning over and punching the masseuse when she puts her entire body weight on the knot you worked really hard to get from all the stress you figuratively, and now literally, put on your shoulders. But after a few days the soreness goes away, the boulder knot of stress dissipates—for a little while, at least—and you feel better.

Well, that’s what I want to do with this book: to give you a hurts-so-good experience that allows your own soreness and pain to go away for a while—and maybe make you feel a little bit better about yourself while we do it.

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Since long before the quarantines started, I’ve been diving into self-help books by all sorts of authors, trying to find solace and answers to all my worries, or at least the feeling that someone out there gets what I’m going through. Here’s what usually happens: I start reading the book in hopes of gaining some insight, I find a place where the author describes my feelings and experiences way better than I ever could, and then I’m like, “Gah, why can’t I express myself so eloquently?” The struggle/experience/feeling resonates with me. But then it seems like the writer always finds a solution, and I realize I’m not quite there yet. I’m not at the solution stage. I’m still in the thick of it. I know from experience that when I try to handle things with the maturity of Brené Brown, Oprah Winfrey, Glennon Doyle, or anyone else who has lived so much more life than me, it doesn’t work. I don’t wind up getting the same results. So I close the book and think, Oh, I wish I could be that wise!

So many of these authors seem like they’ve found answers to life’s questions. They’ve made it through the fire. They’ve tested their faith. They’ve come up with formulas and tricks and habits and routines that get them through anything, to the point where they come out on the other side shining like the powerful women they are.

Not me. Not yet. I feel like no matter how hard I try, life keeps kicking my butt and testing me again and again. Sometimes I wonder, is this ever gonna get any easier?

After months and months of spiritual reflection, spending dozens of hours in the comfort of good teachers and positive friends, shaking off some of the burdens I’ve been carrying since childhood through therapy and some long talks with my mom and dad, it’s finally dawned on me: Maybe I was given this very public platform because I’m the one who needs to write the book. Maybe I need to share the stories I was looking so hard to find in all those books I read. Maybe God’s answer to my question is that I’m supposed to share the hurt and the healing that I’ve been through during this crazy-intense portion of my life with others. Maybe talking about it and connecting with all of you is what will make it easier—not just for me, but for you, too.

I know the Lord didn’t put me through so much public pain for no reason. I need to have a public healing, too. Maybe I’ve gone through all of this so I can be someone in the public eye that people can look to who doesn’t have it all together yet—but who isn’t totally falling apart either.

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My hope is that God Bless This Mess will be the book I wish I’d had: a book that gives other girls just trying to figure out life an honest account of how beautiful messes can actually be. It’s the story of what I’ve gone through, what I’m going through, and how I’m working on it—with the comfort of knowing that, like other young women, I don’t have all the answers. What I do have is experience. I’ve been through some seriously humbling, humiliating moments, both in private and in public. And there’s something beautiful about that, once you’ve been humbled enough to see it from a new point of view. I’ve gotten stuck in so many storms with no umbrella, wearing white shoes, and I’ve grown stronger, more resilient, and better prepared for whatever life throws at me because of them.

Lysa TerKeurst, one of my favorite Christian writers, once wrote, “Wisdom is our silver lining. Wisdom will help us not repeat the mistakes we’ve made but rather grow stronger through them.” Which means that our best worst mistakes are the ones that can teach us the most.

Here’s the good thing about having lived what feels like fifteen years in three: I don’t have to wait until I’m forty to write this book! The hurting and hell I’ve been through was all so I can share the healing with readers like you, right now, when I’m not yet married, I’m not a mom, I’m not living for another person or people. I’m living for me—and trying my best to live for the Lord.