“It’s okay. It’s okay.”
She repeated that word 29 times over the duration of that meal. She sat across from me in that booth, and just stated it so plainly– so assuredly– like it was all part of God’s plan for me to hear her say that.
I hadn’t heard anyone tell me it’s okay since my friend passed away. Well, not in that sense. I’d heard it used to describe things and objects… but never me. Never that reassurance. Never that confident.
“it’s okay. it’s okay.”
I’m going to be honest and say I haven’t been feeling okay lately. I’ve been depressed, severely, and most days I don’t know where I get the strength to get out of bed and interact with people like nothing is phasing me. But I do. And I’m good at putting up the front. I’m good at fooling my friends, who are really good at reading people, and I’m not proud of that.
But she saw straight into my heart before my eyes even started to gloss over. And she spoke those two words like they were my life’s mantra: “it’s okay.”
I heard many truth’s in that hour and a half of fellowship, but this is the one that I needed to hear most and that I needed to hear now: It is okay. It’s always been okay. And it’s going to be okay.
“it’s okay. It’s okay.”
She reached her hand across the table and just held mine for a bit, muttering that statement over and over. The constant reminder being drilled into my head. I may not feel it, but it. is. okay. It’s okay to cry, it’s okay to be vulnerable, it’s okay to be broken. It’s okay to be all those things because you are made up of more than all those things combined.
She reminded me of bible stories of God being victorious over all the sin and she told me stories of her own that showed evident of God’s faithfulness to us, if we just gave Him a chance. Why can’t I just give Him a chance??
Maybe it’s because I’m afraid of what that means, what having a faithful God loving me entails. I’ve always ran from commitment. I’ve always seen love crumbling around me. How could I ever erect an image of a Father and Beloved and Savior and Lord and Maker that could love me in a never stopping, never changing, not moving, to infinity and beyond kind of way?
it’s okay that I can’t yet. But it’s not okay if I don’t start working on it.
In the past I’ve hated the word okay. I used to cringe when people would tell me things are going to be okay… what good is that? Why can’t things be great? But they can’t promise great or fantastic or wonderful. We are humans, not God’s, not cosmic beings. We can only promise the things we hold within our grasps and okay is one of them.
So we’re promised okay and then once we have gotten to that point, we have to take it upon ourselves to work for the good, great, wonderful, fantastic. It won’t just fall in our laps. But we should be glad we’re okay. We are here and we are seen.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.”
And I promise that you will be okay: when dancing in the snow, when worshiping with arms held high, when crying in the shower, when sitting in the brokenness with your friends. You. Will. Be. Okay.
I can promise you that. You may not get there over night. It might be a bloody and grueling battle of your life. You probably will have to lean on others some days, drink in God most mornings, cherish the warmth of a mug a lot of nights. But you will get there, I will get there. you are not alone in this battle. You never were.
And I needed to read that as much as you do: you are not alone in this.
There are people who care about you, and if you think that you have no one, well I care about you.
You’re not alone. And it’s okay. It’s okay.