Our Eighth Year

The woman at the well, better known as the Samaritan woman has become a close friend of mine this year. In January, Jesus began tapping on my shoulder to begin paying attention to her. I can be pretty annoying toward Jesus in my responses to Him, so our conversation looked a little like this:

Jesus: “watch this clip Janae…read her story…listen to my words to her…let’s read it again, Janae”

Me: “I know this story, Jesus. I get it. I don’t have five husbands or get my water from a well. You forgave her and changed the narrative. What’s something else I can read instead?”

I can be so peachy to our Creator sometimes. Yet of course, in His grace, He kept pursuing my heart with this passage and I’m truly grateful that He did.

I had a panic attack the other night after walking into a crowded restaurant. Completely unexpected, I didn’t realize I was holding onto fear about new mandates and public places. I had just finished a year of teaching behind a mask days earlier. I was ready to be free and social and normal. 

My body responded before my brain. I take medication daily to help my brain beat my body to the punch, but this time my body won and I was stuck shoulder to shoulder with unmasked crowds and a pit in my stomach alongside the growing baby in there. We left the restaurant and I cried as we walked down to a new one, feeling alone and like a failure for having anxiety. 

Lies are the worst part about anxiety. Sometimes you can call them out as lies and other times you have to get the courage to say them out loud to someone else so they can tell you they are lies. The reality of that situation was that I was safe, I was with my husband who loved me and the anxiety would be short-lived like it usually was. Was he annoyed that we left a fun restaurant? Yes. Was he annoyed with me personally that anxiety was to blame for our night? Not a chance. 

This year was a daily dance of this scenario in different forms. 

Our world’s brokenness has shone brighter and in turn our personal brokenness has shone brighter in our homes.

But, Sharon Hodde Miller reminds us that, “We were never meant to treat everything in our lives like a measuring stick pointing back at us. We were never meant to carry that burden. That’s why God doesn’t simply invite us to throw the burden down; He commands it. In essence, He commands us to be free.” 

As we simultaneously entered lockdown and our eighth year of marriage, we were confronted with endless opportunities to fight to see one another while trusting that by seeing the other person, we were not unseen or less than them. 

We learned how to better lean on one another’s energy each night as our toddlers became another level in a global pandemic. 

We walked through the grief of a miscarriage and the balancing act of fear and hope that occurs when getting pregnant again after a miscarriage. 

So, as the Samaritan Woman and her Jesus kept asking to be my friend, I watched a theme blanket over this year of my life and our marriage. This woman gives us the most beautiful example of how we are invited every single day to come to the altar with all of our brokenness, drop our water jugs, and drink from Jesus’ living water. And even though our physical circumstances don’t necessarily align, our hearts both seek fulfillment, satisfaction, significance, worth and value in the ways of the world. And for two achievement addicted perfectionists like Kyle and myself who need to feel seen and affirmed, Jesus saw our deepest need. He watched us attempt to quench our thirsts with Amazon packages, media, working hard, food and drink, and numbing out. And instead of shaming us like we shame ourselves, He asked us to come to His well. To set down our water jars we kept trying to fill and drink of His living water that requires nothing to attain. He has been daily reminding us that we were never meant to carry the burden.

God has been faithful through this year of a global pandemic. 

He has seen us in our pain. 

He has seen us in our joy. 

He has seen the small moments of defeat and the internal moments of fear. 

He has seen us in our isolation and loneliness. 

He has seen us in our coping mechanisms and shame.

He sees it all and we’re the thing He’s most focused on.

He hasn’t left us. He refuses to give up on us.

This year provided space for us to not be our best selves. It wasn’t the most romantic year, but it was a year for grace. For dart games in the laundry room, Maverick City Music lyrics blasting through the house, and hugs in between the chaos to keep us grounded. But mostly, a lot of grace. 

I love you more, Kyle Collins. Here’s to another year with you by my side.