God Bless This Mess(66)

Peter texted me that night and thanked me for being there for him, for being so understanding. I told him I thought what we’d done was pretty reckless. And he agreed. “Yeah,” he said, “maybe we shouldn’t play with that fire again.”

He texted some more, and I told him he seemed awful nonchalant about it, like we’d just high-fived or something.

Then he called me and told me about how he was feeling—about Madison. It was just the weirdest thing.

I didn’t understand why all of this was happening.

I didn’t understand why I had made these horrible decisions.

Once again, I felt embarrassed. I was ashamed of my behavior. And once again, I found myself pulling away from my connection to God—just when I needed Him most.

*

A few nights later, I turned on Peter’s latest episode of The Bachelor, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I sat there bawling in my apartment, with snot running down my face, beating myself up for doing something so stupid, and hating myself for disconnecting from so many of my friends during Dancing with the Stars. I felt like I had no one I could call.

But then I remembered the women’s conference. I remembered all of those women praying over me at Oasis. And I called a pastor from that church, a friend named Elyse.

I was embarrassed. I thought she might be mad at me for disappearing on her, and I said so.

“No, no, no. I completely understand,” she said.

I was so grateful that I started crying.

“Maybe you can come over and watch The Bachelor with me?” I said.

She paused for a second, and then she laughed. It made me laugh, too—right through my tears. I grabbed a tissue and wiped my eyes and my nose.

“I would love that, Hannah,” she said. “Whatever you need.”

Elyse started coming to watch The Bachelor with me every week, and it made it less sad for me and more fun. We talked, and we laughed about what was happening, and one night, right after the show ended, I asked her, “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” she said.

“I feel very distant from the Lord.”

Elyse looked at me and nodded, like she knew this was coming.

She grabbed the remote and turned off the TV.

“I feel Him calling on my heart,” I said, “but I’ve shut Him out so much.”

“Why?”

My eyes welled up with tears.

“Because I know He’s going to break my heart because of all of this stuff that’s been happening. There’s a lot of hurt, and I’m not ready to surrender it,” I said.

Elyse gave me a great big hug and said, “Babe, all you’ve got to do is pray. Just surrender to it. Ask for forgiveness. It’s okay. It’s okay to do that.”

We sat in my apartment, and she helped me let go. She helped me pray, and it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do—because I felt ashamed for not doing it in the first place.

I just couldn’t seem to get started on my own.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Freedom from all of this,” I replied.

I don’t even know where those words came from, but I meant them. I needed freedom—from all of the pressure, the hurt, maybe even from the spotlight I’d been in for the last year.

“Let’s pray for that,” she said. “Freedom. From all of this.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Say, ‘God, I’m back!’”

I took a deep breath and shouted right out loud, “God, I’m back!” and we both started laughing. It just felt good.

“Lord, it’s hard for a Christian girl to admit this,” I prayed, “but in my heart, I feel I have let you down. I’ve been trying to do everything myself, and I haven’t talked to you in so long . . .” The more I spoke, the more I prayed, the more I felt the weight lift off my shoulders.

When you allow the Lord to take everything, there’s a feeling of no shame or guilt. The grace is so overpowering. It feels so good, but it’s also scary to release like that.

I know this doesn’t all make sense to some people. But it made such a difference to me.

Praying allowed me to start to breathe again; to release some of the guilt and shame I felt, and the hurt I felt, and to know that God was there for me, just listening and watching over me—just like when I was a little girl, so sure of my faith without even trying. That prayer immediately made things better. It was just that easy. I almost laughed at myself, like, why had I been letting myself be so miserable?

I knew why: it’s because I felt unworthy.

What I discovered, once again, is that when you’ve lost your connection to God, all you have to do is start again. Say, “Hey. I’m back.”

Wake up in the morning, say a prayer, meditate, do your devotion, read a passage from the Bible—whatever is best for you. Because He never left, and all God wants is for you to spend time with Him. You don’t have to feel that you’re not worthy of that. You never have to feel that you’re not worthy of that. You don’t have to be perfect! You don’t have to be anything but you, exactly as you are.

The reason I told myself I didn’t have time for the Lord was that I was scared of what I would hear if I actually started listening. What would He do if I gave him all control? Can I really handle that right now? I thought. I’m barely holding on as it is.