I’m writing letters this week: to people who will never read them, to my younger self, to you. Because we all have things we wish we could say to someone.

I keep trying to narrow down this audience: my daughters? myself at 18? young girls learning how to navigate romantic relationships? my old youth group kids?

There are so many people I want to talk to that I don’t know where to focus, so I’ll start with a story and maybe you can find your place in it:

I met Scott a couple months shy of my 18th birthday. He was a few years older, in college, had freedoms I wasn’t yet familiar with as a high school senior.

We fell in love hard and fast. I’m not sure if it was his personality of all-or-nothing or mine, but that young, eager, everything-is-a-rush, lust for life and each other? We were that multiplied by 100.

Even now I smile at how fun and exciting it was. I wrote at the beginning of this week about how much I love young love, how much I love love, and I’m still a big fan here at the end of the week.

Scott and I were–of course–going to be together forever.

So I lost my virginity to him after about six months of dating. We had been pushing some limits and boundaries and when you do that enough, the next leap isn’t too far.

I grew up in church. I’d attended more than a few church camps where I pledged to save myself for my wedding night. I was friends with all the girls who got purity rings from their dads. I never got one. Maybe that’s why, one cold January afternoon in my boyfriend’s bedroom, I made the choice to not wait any longer.

(It wasn’t really the ring, just in case you didn’t get the sarcasm. Also, those rings are weird, let’s stop doing that.)

Anyway, it happened.

And because it happened and I had grown up loving Jesus and reading a Bible that told me this wasn’t good, I did lots of rationalizing: We’re going to get married eventually so it’s fine. We really love each other. No one else could possibly feel or understand what we feel. This is what real love does. We’re committed to each other. He’s my future husband so it’s not that big of a deal.

The sad reality was I was doing something a lot of my Christian friends were doing. We just weren’t talking about it. We were being sneaky about the sex and then showing up at church on Sunday giving a really good show about how holy and God-honoring our relationships were.

I’m sure you’re familiar with that story in some way.

Here’s the part I want my daughters to know, the part I wish I could have told my friends at the time, the thing I wish I had understood about God’s love and grace and forgiveness and punishment:

You can stop.

You haven’t ruined God’s plan for your life, you haven’t ruined future relationships and your future marriage and your whole being because you are no longer a virgin.

You and your vagina are not that powerful.

Our culture worships virginity. Our culture likes us to think that we lose value and importance once it is gone. We have been led to believe that everything hinges on what’s in between our legs and if we mess that up, we mess everything up.

But God doesn’t believe that.

I understand why it’s important to wait for marriage. Not because it’s your ticket to a wonderful, happy marriage. Not because your chastity earns you a free pass to relational bliss once you say I do. Not because God flips the sex switch once you have a ring on your finger and everything becomes glorious and romantic and enjoyable and easy. But because He wants our obedience.

We wait because He tells us His ways are best.
We wait because He knows what He created our hearts to do.
We wait because He wants to keep us from unnecessary pain.
We wait because He knows things we don’t know, things we might never know.

We wait because He asked. That’s it.

Sometimes people with good intentions tell us bad things. You are not saving yourself because God will pay you back later with sexual fulfillment and a stress-free marriage. We’ve allowed the Prosperity Gospel (if I do this, I will earn this material or dream thing later) into our bedrooms, and we’ve been told saving our virginity will unleash blessings later.

Again: You and your vagina are not that powerful. I appreciate the sentiment, but seriously, calm down.

God is not keeping score and only giving us good things when we do good things. He gives us good things because He’s a good Father. Then we respond to those good things with obedience. But we don’t have to earn His goodness with virginity. We can’t earn any of this, that’s the point. (Burn Ephesians 2:8-9 into your memory for when your brain wants to argue about this.)

I’ve been reading the Bible for years. I have yet to come across the part where it says my sex is more powerful than my God.

I have also been married for years. I know marriage is hard. Marriage is hard because two sinful, selfish people are trying to do life together. Marriage is not hard because I had sex with someone before marriage. Marriage is hard because MARRIAGE IS HARD.

(Could I have added a layer of unnecessary hard based on my choice twenty years ago? Maybe. But I’m not completely convinced.)

Here’s where we can mess things up though: if we allow people to tell us that we can’t come back from a mistake, that we can’t be forgiven, that we have to marry the person we had sex with outside of marriage.

I’m writing this on the internet so you know it’s true: YOU DO NOT HAVE TO PAY PENANCE FOR YOUR MISTAKE BY MARRYING THIS PERSON. Where did this lesson come from? A misguided youth minister? A 90’s purity culture book? Our grandmas?

I’m worried about all the girls who started having sex before marriage, got too wrapped up in the guilt and shame of it, and decided the only way to reconcile the situation is to marry the person. Like a marriage certificate pays for the sin.

Jesus paid for that sin on the cross. You don’t have to sacrifice the rest of your life to a person you otherwise wouldn’t marry because of the pressure to absolve yourself.

I can hear the uproar about this right now. I’m well acquainted with the people who think you should absolutely marry the guy since you had sex with him. But as Christians, we either agree that Jesus paid for all our sins on the cross and forgiveness is an equal opportunity employer or His death was in vain because it doesn’t cover all of us.

We don’t get to split hairs if someone is asking for forgiveness of something you don’t think they should have done in the first place. Stay in your lane, Carol. And your lane would be your own sin, not someone else’s.

Maybe that’s why Christian divorce rates are just as high as non-Christians. We make mistakes before we’re married and somewhere along the line, we’ve picked up the idea that the only way to make it right is to marry the person and then we’re stuck in a marriage we probably wouldn’t have agreed to otherwise.

We disobeyed and instead of stopping the disobedience, asking for forgiveness, and changing our actions, we just double down with the bad choices to…what? Make ourselves feel better? Earn our way back into God’s good graces?

I can’t tell you the number of conversations I’ve had with woman who have said they just wish someone had told them they didn’t have to marry the guy they lost their virginity to. Yes, they wish they had made a different choice when it came to sex (that’s the first step in making this whole essay null and void), but they did. Then they took their guilt and shame and kept the relationship going as a way to pay for their sins.

Ladies, we don’t have to do that.
Jesus was the Sacrificial Lamb for this very reason. Not just for some of the sins–the ones that don’t have to do with sex–but all of them. You don’t have to punish yourself with continuing a relationship, entering into a marriage, or even having kids with someone because you made a bad choice and you don’t know how to recover from it.

I’m not sure how I avoided this trap with Scott. Maybe because I was the Christian in the relationship and he wasn’t, so the pressure to absolve our sins was only coming from me. (Side note: that unequally yoked thing is legit, but we’ll save that lesson for another time.) Maybe it is because I’m an Enneagram Eight who doesn’t feel shame or guilt even when I should (see: I used “vagina” with no reservation in a blog post about Jesus.).

I’ve run into Scott a few times in the past year. We live near each other and shop at the same stores. He’s married with a few kids. We chat for a few minutes in the aisle of Home Depot or Wal-Mart as our kids fidget around us. We talk about work or family stuff, there is no awkwardness or embarrassment when we run into each other. We wrap up our conversation after a few minutes, and we move on with our days.

When I was growing up, I was led to believe I’d carry the weight of that sin, the weight of my choice to have sex before I was married forever. That it would haunt all future relationships, that I would bring Scott to bed with me wherever I was for the rest of my life.

It seems crazy to tell you I was taught that, that I was taught that God couldn’t forgive my sin or redeem my choice.

Somewhere things got off-track when we started teaching girls about their bodies and choices. We want our kids to know grace and compassion and forgiveness, but when it comes to their bodies, those are powerful and sinful and you might not be able to recover from the choices you make with them. I was taught to feel such shame for being a girl and told how dangerous my body was for myself and others.

Yes, there are consequences for sex before marriage. You can learn about those in health class or from the pregnant girl sitting next to you at McDonald’s. There are many, many reasons it’s best to not have sex outside of marriage, both from a worldly point of view and a Biblical one. But the extra level of shame and guilt we’ve assigned this choice while also trying to make girls understand grace and forgiveness confuses more than helps.

A bad choice doesn’t mean a bad life.
A bad choice doesn’t mean endless punishment and shame.
God’s forgiveness of sin is the same no matter what.
God is more powerful than our mistakes and weaknesses, He can redeem us and our bad choices and our lives without exception.

I understand enough about writing on the internet that this will be misunderstood by some people. That probably means this letter and story wasn’t for you, but just in case it was and you just need a little more help, let me repeat:

Sex inside of marriage is best because it’s what God tells us.
Sex outside of marriage doesn’t sentence you to a life of punishment and shame.
The world (and in some ways, the church) worships virginity in an unhealthy, un-Godly way.
You can stop having sex outside of marriage. Just because you started doesn’t mean you have to continue.
You do not have to marry the person who took your virginity as a way to pay for your sin. That’s not your job.

Scott and I dated on and off for five years. Our relationship probably carried on longer than it should have because I was operating under the lie that I had to make it work because of my choice to have sex with him. We were not good for each other. He was made for someone else and so was I. Also, he had twins later and dodging that bullet just feels good.

I learned a lot from trying to have a sexual relationship outside of marriage. I took what I learned (ironically, things God had written in the Bible…who knew?) with me to future relationships. I took those lessons into a new relationship a few years later with Chris Graham whom I’d eventually marry.

We had sex for the first time on our wedding night.
And spoiler alert: I didn’t ruin anything. It was pretty awesome. Thanks God.

God thinks about you, Ellie said as we hiked through the woods.

She was talking to her dad; I was up ahead with Harper and one of our dogs.

God thinks about you so you’re important so the end, she said with the confidence and finality of a ten year old.

I turned back to look at Chris. Who is this child, my face said. How did she get to be ours?

Her words echoed in my mind all weekend and have come back in whispered reminders almost every day since.

God thinks about you.

I don’t know if I just needed the reminder or the words lined up just the right way, but “God thinks about you” has changed my posture.

Tonight I’m going to a showing for a friend. A friend who died too soon, who left her kids too soon, who fought really hard the past fifteen years to survive things too hard for her young body.

God thinks about you.
God thinks about you as you mourn and grieve and ask why.

June and July were hard on Chris and I. I don’t know where to start or how to begin a decades-long story about how growing up in a house full of secrets and shame changes every single fiber of your being. I don’t know what stories are ready for public consumption and which ones aren’t. But we struggled through this summer, more and more old wounds coming up and demanding attention.

The truth is the longer Chris is clear-headed, the more broken parts are exposed. The more he views his childhood through the lens of his own children’s experiences, the harder and more painful it becomes. You know the saying, “You don’t know what you don’t know”? Seeing what a safe, healthy childhood looks like shines a light on all the things he didn’t get from his parents. The more he tries to heal, the harder it is to stomach what he and his siblings were made to endure.

I keep thinking it will get easier soon.
I’m not sure when that will be.
God thinks about you.

I’ve sat with friends recently who’ve shared hard realities and struggles about children and spouses. About sin that keeps hunting down new victims and families so trapped by addiction it would break your heart to hear.

God thinks about you.
When nothing makes sense and you cannot see a way out of the pain or hurt or mess, God thinks about you.

I don’t know if that brings you comfort like it does me, but I hope it does.

On Wednesday our small group sat around our family room bellies full of chocolate zucchini bread and fresh salsa from the garden. We talked about kids in cages and unwanted babies and what the Bible says about the way we treat people. We wrestled with our witness and our memories, the way we have been and the way we’re trying to be now.

God thinks about you.
When the news overwhelms and everything seems so dark, He thinks about you.

I don’t know if Ellie picked up this truth at Sunday school or church camp or in a book she read. I don’t know if she heard it in a song or in a devotion.

I take no credit for her wisdom, because a lot of the time, she teaches me as opposed to the other way around.

God thinks about you.
God thinks about you.

As you walk into the meeting you are dreading; as you make the move into the new city or house. God thinks about you as you laugh and dance, ask for help and hurt. God thinks about you when things don’t go as planned and things go better than planned.

God thinks about you.

Remembering that truth changes my attitude, my spirit, my goals. It alters where I go and how I behave, when I speak up and when I am quiet.

“God thinks about you” warms my belly, makes my feet feel solid beneath me, and keeps my shoulders light.

Not because everything becomes easy and carefree, but because I am not alone, I am remembered, I am cared for.

God thinks about you.

I don’t know if that sentence shifts something in your soul the way it does mine. Maybe you already knew. Maybe you remember that every day already. Somehow I missed it. Somehow I forgot that God is with me. How did I lose focus of this part?

God thinks about you.
Right now, last night, tomorrow.
God thinks about you.

O Lord, you have searched me and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O Lord.
You hem me in–behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.
Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.
For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.
How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand.
When I awake, I am still with you.
-Psalm 139: 1-18, NIV version

I don’t know what you’re dealing with right now; what you’re walking into today or what you’ll have to survive this weekend. It might be hard or wonderful, destructive or joyful, but remember always: God thinks about you.

It’s just more layers, I said as I stood against the wall watching the kids play. The more I learn and heal, the more things I see to address.

Yep, my friend agreed. We just keep finding more junk the longer we pay attention.

At some point, I stopped thinking one day I’d just get to healthy; I’ve resigned myself to the fact there is always more work to do. What’s good about this realization is God is patient and kind about it.

A few months ago, I was driving my car and out of nowhere, two things that had been floating in my head forever came crashing together and made total sense. A shockingly easy connection I had never had until that moment.

Before I would have told myself I was dumb and naïve to not see the answer to something really obvious, but I’ve been blindsided and shocked enough to learn God doesn’t always let us know everything at the same time out of mercy and love, not control and pain.

He is gracious even in our suffering.

When Chris told me he had been secretly drinking for years, it took months to process and see the extent of what was happening, what I needed to do in response, and how to survive. If I had known the full story sitting in that counselor’s office on a rainy Wednesday evening in the spring of 2017, I would have called my divorce attorney that night and not looked back. God knew what I could handle in that moment, what He wanted to wait on, and what I would do with the knowledge when the time was right.

He allowed things to happen at a slower pace than I would have liked, but I can see now, from my view in the spring of 2019, He was doling out only what I could survive, only what was necessary for that moment, and nothing more.

He is gracious even in our suffering.

I don’t think any wife has emergency plans ready for when her husband surprises her with a hidden addiction. I know I didn’t. So God gave me the summer of 2017, new eyes, and a healthy dose of counseling and learning, to understand when I needed to take action. He gave me tools and people and told me when I needed to move.

He is gracious even in our suffering.

God was gracious in my suffering, but He was also gracious in Chris’. I think it is easy to see how God is good afterwards for ourselves, but less easy to see how He cared for those who were hurting us too. I don’t have time to get into that thought completely right now, but let’s just say, God timed my realizations well enough so I didn’t murder my husband. God kept Chris just safe enough to not be murdered in his sleep by his enraged wife.

God is good, friends.

It’s the same way with healing and relationships and growth—God doesn’t sit us down and make a list of all the ways we’re messing up. He gives us a little guidance, leads us to some truth and healing, and then reveals another area we can pay attention to.

The fight to get healthy always causes ripples. But He doesn’t let the ripples drown us, He lets us pay attention to one at a time so we don’t give up. (This is not the same as saying “He never gives us more than we can handle.” That is complete BS. He gives us more than we can handle all the time. That’s the point. None of us feel like we can handle what we’re going through; it’s why He wants us to rely on Him first. Then He’ll lead us home.)

When my marriage fell apart, God placed people and situations and places in my path to aid in the healing of my heart and my relationship. Once it was on a steadier ground, He said let’s use these lessons in other areas too. So He started changing my friendships, got rid of the ones that were hurting me more than helping me, and realigned the ones He kept for me.

When those things settled, He brought my attention to some other family dynamics that were needing attention. Then He gave me the patience and energy to see some things clearer.

Growing is just ripples; you take care of one small wave and then it gives you the endurance and wisdom to tackle the next one. As someone who wants to get as much done as quickly as possible (efficiency is my love language), this is a hard lesson I like to learn again and again.

His time, not mine.

His time, not mine.

His time, not mine.

Sometimes we need the healing and the wisdom from one healed area of our lives to be able to turn our attention to another. Sometimes we need the endurance and peace we gathered in one relationship struggle to move away from something else.

It’s not possible to work on better boundaries in your marriage without it spilling out into other relationships. It’s not possible to work toward healthy reactions without it impacting all the people you react to.

A somewhat vague story: My ultimate fear is betrayal. I trust people just enough to be in relationship with them, but not enough to feel safe. I was burned often and early so my defense mechanism is to keep my cards close to my heart and only give you what won’t hurt me. The reality is, I married someone who has betrayed me many, many times. Weeding through those wounds and scars, some of them present long before I met Chris Graham has been a large part of the last few years of my counseling. When I became aware—when I could truly see with fresh eyes—the way most of my close relationships were with people who often lied to me, it changed everything. At first it changed my marriage. Then in changed my family relationships. And then it came for my friendships.

I said no more lying in my marriage, and Chris said he needs help to be better.

I said no more lying in my family and lots of conversations stopped because people didn’t know what to talk about.

I said no more lying to my best friend and she said you’re not worth telling the truth to and she left.

He is gracious even in our suffering.

I’ve lost a lot in the past two years. Things that hurt. Things I didn’t expect. Things that felt like more betrayal and lies.

But when I say He is gracious even in our suffering, I am adamant He is still kind and loving and merciful. Pain doesn’t last forever. He can heal your broken heart. He can make new relationships and conversations and marriages. I only write about things I know and this, this I know in my bones.

If right now, it feels like too much.

If right now, you can see no end.

If right now, you’ve forgotten His promises.

If right now, you feel like you’re drowning.

Keep going.

Keep going.

Keep going.

He is gracious even in our suffering.

I’m tired of talking about the Enneagram.

In 2017, I read The Road Back to You and suddenly I had language to communicate with my husband and understanding to see why so often we missed each other even though we were living in the same house.

The Enneagram began a lot of healing and growing for me and my marriage.

Full disclosure: Chris did not and still does not care about the Enneagram at all. We didn’t suddenly get on the same page and everything was fine. I learned, I changed, I questioned, I listened, I used the Enneagram to fill some holes. Chris Graham decided it was not for him.

That’s what is so great about the Enneagram: no one else has to know anything about it, it’s for you and only you. You can grow and heal and be better toward people without them being involved at all.

The Enneagram has been around for hundreds of years. Originally when people started learning and studying it, they worked hard to keep it out of the general public’s hands, because they knew it would turn into a parlor game, just another fun social quiz taken at surface level.

Now here we are in 2019 living in the reality so many Enneagram teachers feared. We share Enneagram quizzes on Facebook and talk about our numbers with only some basic knowledge. We use our numbers to excuse behavior and explain why we’re just not good at some things. We’ve decided the Enneagram number summary is who we are, who we will always be, and we get to live proudly out of that summary because the Enneagram says so.

And that, friends, is why I hate talking to people about the Enneagram.

We took this powerful tool, condensed the knowledge to a tweet-length blip, and decided we just get to sit in that summary for the rest of our lives.

It’s who God made us to be!

There’s nothing wrong with me!

I can’t learn or grow or change, because the Enneagram says this is who I am!

Why did you do that hurtful thing to someone you love? Because I’m a One.

Why didn’t you follow through with your commitment? Because I’m a Seven.

Why didn’t you stand up for yourself when someone was taking advantage of you? Because I’m a Nine.

We are living out all the worst fears of the original Enneagram scholars and it makes me so embarrassed and grouchy.

In education, we teach kids how powerful their mindset is to their learning. Learners (of all ages) come to learning one of two ways: with a fixed mindset or a growth mindset. A fixed mindset means you believe your talents and intelligence are fixed traits.

I’m bad at math.

I can’t be patient.

I’ve never been good at relationships.

Talent is something you’re born with and you cannot learn new skills or knowledge, success is a trait you have or a trait you do not have and effort is not required.

Students who come into our classrooms with this mindset (something they often learn from their home and parents) struggle more in school, often say they can’t learn something when a challenge arises, and take on a victim mentality when they interact with the world.

The opposite of this is the growth mindset. A growth mindset, according to Stanford University researcher Carol Dweck who coined the terms, is when a learner accepts that knowledge and intelligence is not fixed, that we can always learn new things, and to grow in our skill set we just need time and experience. People (kids and adults) who believe they can get smarter or better at things, invest the time and energy into doing them.

I don’t have the attention span to read a book so I’m going to try to read 20 minutes a day to change that.

I’ve never been a good cook, but I’m going to make dinner from scratch once a week to start learning new recipes and how to not burn things.

I’m not a good friend, but I want to be so I’m going to be intentional about checking in with people I love.

This carries over to the Enneagram well. The point of the Enneagram is to give you a glimpse into your strengths and weaknesses so you can be more aware of them. Learning about your number should be uncomfortable because it points out your tender spots, but then it gives you the guidance to make them assets instead of wounds. It helps you show up better in the world, it allows you to become a healthier version of yourself so you can love people better, and it lets you address the parts in your heart that are hurting you instead of helping you.

But what many of us have done is we came at the Enneagram with a fixed mindset, learned new language to describe why we are what we are, and then just used it as a weapon or an excuse to keep being the exact same person.

And that, friends, is why I hate talking to people about the Enneagram.

We found the Enneagram to be a fun personality quiz, and we put it in our back pocket to pull out when we needed to justify shitty behavior, victim mentality, and refusals to grow or change.

We also decided that God wasn’t in control.

Instead we decided that the Enneagram was.

In the Bible we read that Jesus healed the blind, made the lame walk, and raised people from the dead, but the Enneagram says we can’t change and many people have come to believe that more than Jesus.

Somewhere along the line, we’ve started worshiping and believing fully in a creation of God instead of the Creator.

Somewhere along the line, we accepted what an online quiz or a few books told us we were instead of what the Good Book says we are.

 And that, friends, is why I hate talking to people about the Enneagram.

Our cult following of the Enneagram has stripped God of His healing, His transforming power, His redeeming, and His mercy. God can’t change minds, soften hearts, or heal pain because of our Enneagram number profiles. Because if the Enneagram says we can’t change, what can God do about that?

Here’s an important detail though: the Enneagram doesn’t say we can’t change. The Enneagram is all about growth and change and reflecting more of God’s characteristics and less of ours. The Enneagram, if we study it and use it the way it was intended, will draw us closer to God, His heart, His mission, and His people.

But that sounds like too much work and too much energy and too much dying to self, so the majority of us will stay stuck in our fixed mindset knowledge of the Enneagram:

This is who I am.

This is why I do what I do.

This is why I’m a victim of my life.

This is why I can’t learn new things.

This is why I am stuck.

This is why everyone is always out to get me.

This is why I’m not good at this or that.

This is why jealousy rules my life.

This is why I’m constantly unsatisfied.

This is why what I have will never be good enough.

The Enneagram will always have a sweet spot in my heart. God used it to begin some really powerful shifts in my marriage and in my relationships at just the right time. He used it to point out some sin and strongholds that were trapping me and making me miserable. He gave me some really wise friends who helped me learn and grow with the Enneagram.

But I’m done talking about the Enneagram with people who only use it as a weapon against themselves and against me.

Start a conversation about why you can’t do something because your Enneagram number says you can’t? We’re done here.

Tell me something about myself you know because you know my Enneagram number but not one single thing God is currently doing in my life? We’re done here.

Excuse bad behavior or sin with a reminder about your Enneagram number? We’re done here.

Pretend to know why I’m doing something solely based on my Enneagram number without a conversation with me? We’re done here.

Enneagram teacher Ian Morgan Cron said once that we should learn about the Enneagram and our number and then stop talking about it. True growth and healing is done inside ourselves with God, not in making sure everyone knows our number and we know everyone else’s. We don’t need to know anyone else’s Enneagram number to be better to them. We don’t need to know anyone else’s number to make sure we’re showing them our healthiest and safest self.

If we’re growth mindset-ing the Enneagram, we’ll be talking about how God is using the knowledge to make us better in relationship; we’ll be talking about how He’s healing our wounds and scars to use it for His glory. We’ll be talking about how He’s teaching us new ways to see the world, His people, and His creation. If we’re coming at the Enneagram with a growth mindset and Jesus, we see ourselves as constant works-in-progress, children of a King who can make us into anything He wants, and people who are better when we ask for help.

And if you’re not ready to talk about how God is using knowledge of the Enneagram to make you more like Him, I’m out.

For all the sharing I do about addiction, you think I’d be more accepting about the story God has given me.

But I am not.

It is well with my soul.

For all the talking I do about alcoholism and drug abuse, you think I’d be resigned to my life taking so many unexpected turns in relationship to them.

But I am not.

It is well with my soul.

Writing about our marriage struggles and the addiction that almost ruined everything, it would seem like I have made peace with it, with the struggle, with the journey.

I have not.

It is well with my soul.

The more time I have to reflect on how we got here, what lead to the breakdown, what pointed Chris to alcohol and avoidance, what set me up for a relationship with so many warning signs, the more I know this story was not on accident. The more I understand I was prepared for this fight well before I even laid eyes on Chris Graham. The more I know our stories were meant to crash into each other, were made for convergence.

It is well with my soul.

I wrestle with this realization often. Sometimes it makes me mad I was given this challenge, this mountain to climb. Other times, I’m grateful God gave me what I needed, when I needed it, and that His provision has sustained me for every single moment.

It is well with my soul.

I don’t have enough time or words or space on the internet to begin to explain the bits and pieces God has used to bring Chris and I this far. Searching for the beginning and the middle and the place we’re at right now feels overwhelming in both good and not-so-good ways.

I don’t believe God wishes suffering on us, but I do believe He can use all our suffering for His good.

I don’t believe God brought me to ruin for His pleasure, but I do believe He can show me the mercy in it all falling down.

It is well with my soul.

Does time bring more peace to the painful parts of our stories? I can see the beauty and healing in the last few years of my life, but would I do it all over again if I had the choice?

I don’t know yet. I need more time.

It is well with my soul.

Sometimes I’m thankful for the mess, because it brought beauty.
Sometimes I’m angry about the destruction, because it’s still tender and healing.

It is well with my soul.

One moment, I can be full of gratitude for the correction and loving attention my God gave me. The very next moment, I can be annoyed and questioning: Really, that was how it had to happen? You couldn’t have done it differently?

It is well with my soul.

When I talk or write about addiction, it often gets lost that this isn’t what I would have chosen. Yes, I’ve always loved writing. Yes, I’ve been telling stories and crafting prose for decades, both on the internet and off, but this is not the way I would have wanted people to know me, find me, or be drawn to me.

I would have picked a different story to tell you.

It is well with my soul.

I can find gratefulness and be unappreciative all at the same time.

My attitude isn’t unique or special. We humans often want other people’s stories, other people’s lives, other people’s outcomes. The grass is always greener.

It is well with my soul.

I don’t need your reminders about how gracious our God is. I don’t need your comments about how full of love and kindness He is.

I know it.
I see it.
I live it.

But I also need to tell you, I’m sometimes grumpy about my lot, my journey, my reality. I’m not telling you because I think you’re jealous, but because the internet always makes things seem shinier and prettier than they are.

My identity is not solely someone-married-to-an-alcoholic like it’s the only story I have or the only thorn. Also, I sometimes get mad at God for giving me this platform then asking me to write about such hard, ugly parts of myself and my marriage.

It is well with my soul.

I still wrestle with God–still question His plan–when I’m pushed to share what He’s teaching me, what He’s building in me, and what’s He’s ruining. Will I ever feel completely comfortable in this path He’s laid out for me?

It is well with my soul.

Sometimes it’s a praise.
Sometimes it’s a plea.

It is well with my soul when it feels hard, and it is well with my soul when it feels joyful. If I trust my God to keep His promises, I have to obediently walk in the way He’s leading me even if it feels scary or dangerous. Even when it doesn’t match up with my plans.

It is well with my soul.

There will always be a part of me that wishes I could never again write about addiction or alcohol or drug abuse or betrayal on the internet. There will always be a part of me that fights this purpose He’s given me. There will always be a part that wants this to all go away.

I know ignoring God, ignoring His prompts, ignoring His leading will never end well for me. So I write out of obedience. So I share out of trust that He’s going to take my weak words and actions and turn them to power and beauty for Him.

But I need you to know I don’t always do this willingly.
Maybe one day?

It is well with my soul even when I doubt.

It is well with my soul even when I forget what He’s done.

It is well with my soul even when it feels scary.

It is well with my soul even though I can’t see very far ahead.

It is well with my soul even if this isn’t the attention I want.

It is well with my soul even when I wish it were different.

It is well with my soul even if.

It is well with my soul.

It is well with my soul.