What if Jesus didn't die for you?

I tend to want things that I can't have, perhaps it's human nature, or perhaps I was just created with this attitude of "I want what I what when I want it," or as most people say, I have a sense of entitlement. That doesn't necessarily mean that I have no good characteristics or that I refuse to roll up my sleeves and work hard, it just means that I have a little bit of privilege engrained into my DNA. 

I'm not above admitting it. 

When it has come to most things in my life, like sports and school and relationships and money, I have never truly had to work for any of it. I was naturally athletic and the passion I had for the game was innate. School didn't come easy, I was never as great as my siblings who were all much more intellectually gifted than myself, but I never once wondered if I would actually graduate or if I would ever make it to college. I just had this sense of entitlement and through everything, I just assumed that it was my right to attend higher education, regardless of how well I performed. When it has come to relationships, people have always just liked me (or tolerated me) because of who my parents were or what my last name was... in school growing up, I don't even remember making friends (or carrying the ability to), I just remember having friends and for many of the people I am close with, they're close with my family so they like me by default. My people came naturally. As far as money, I have never needed anything and to that I thank my parents, who worked tirelessly to give me the best of everything and there's no doubt in my mind, that they would hand me the world if I asked. 

My life has been privileged. 

So when the idea of religion surfaces, I carry the same attitude. I was raised in a Christian home, where we might not have prayed before every meal or sacrificed goats every night, but there was an expectation that whenever the church doors were open, I was also there, sitting in the pews. I knew hymns before I could read, could recite bible stories without ever opening the bible, and understood the expectation that Jesus Christ would be my savior. 

I remember during a mission trip overseas a couple years back when I visited the country of Belize, a small country in Central America, when an older woman approached me and a group from my team and started asking questions that seemed absolutely ludicrous to me saying things like, "Do Christians really drink blood?" and "Do you really think Jesus goes into your heart?" and my personal favorite, "I head they sometimes put poison in your juice and make everyone drink it."

As an American who has always grown up around Christianity, these thoughts were something that I never took literally and it was the first time I understood the sense of entitlement that Americans have, especially myself. In my world, I know that if I ever have a serious question where I truly don't understand something, I can use a fancy thing called Google or can use my fingers to send a message within seconds to anyone wherever I choose... or heaven forbid, I could just open my mouth and ask a number of preachers or spiritual mentors in my life. Daily, I take these luxuries for granted and I always expect that when I close my eyes at night, that I will still wake up in the morning and have them at my finger tips. 

Fast forward from then to now. 

I have some really great friends in my life, who never shy away from asking tough questions or from putting me in my place when I start to let my ego get bigger than it should be. This past week, I woke up to a text from a friend who all she asked said, "What if Jesus didn't die for you?" Normally I would have taken this rather defensively, but knowing my friend is a strong woman of faith, I started to imagine what she was actually asking before replying back, "He died for everyone else except me? or are there's other He didn't die for too?"

She replied back quickly saying, "Does it matter either way? What would you do if He chose to die for everyone else, but specifically said, "Not you, Ted." 

I thought for a minute and all I could respond with was, "Well... that would be lonely. I would definitely have a really big case of FOMO."

[For the older generation, FOMO means the fear of missing out].

What if Jesus died for everyone, but specifically said, "Not you." 

In all honestly, I would feel left out... like that feeling of getting picked last to play dodgeball but on like an eternity scale. I was typically picked quickly because I was always pretty aggressive at dodgeball, in fact, my PE teacher in 7th grade said I was the reason we had to stop playing, since I broke a kid's glasses and heads were always my target... so I can't always relate to that line. However, I do have a large family and I know that feeling where you just don't always know if you belong... while I love my family and I never question their love for me, my brothers and sisters, when were all together, have always had their wives and husbands and kids around. By the time they were the age that I am now, they had already settled down and were married and making me an aunt, so sometimes when I'm sitting on the floor coloring with my niece or chasing my nephews around, this sense of jealousy rises inside of me and I get lost because a lot of the time, I am just another kid to them. I remember a couple years back during the holidays, my family was having a conversation that I was not privy to at the time, so when I walked into the room, I asked what they were talking about only to have my dad say, "This is an adult conversation." I remember feeling so hurt, even though I know in my heart of hearts he was kidding... I still felt small, as if I didn't matter, as if I didn't belong.... so I say all of that to say, I understand wanting to be part of something that you're not. 

As I thought about it more over the last couple days, I started to internalize that question, wondering if I would live my life differently or if I would just simply try to fit in and hope that no one noticed. 

Would it change who I was as a person, would I think differently, act differently, live differently? 

Would I care less about how others saw me? Would I sin publicly, having no shame, as I would already be damned to Hell? Would I sin differently? Would I lie more? Would I be self-serving, being more self-involved than I am now? Would I shy away from even more Christians, justifying my anger and hate towards them? 

Thank you Jesus, that I truly don't need to wonder about such questions as I know the truth, but yesterday, I responded back with, "Honestly, I would just try to fit in and be something I wasn't, as I think in that case, accepting the truth would be much harder than just living that lie." 

Boom. 

After I hit send, I realized the point of that question. I'm not entirely sure she ever meant for that question to be about imagining what life would be like had Jesus not died for me, because we all know (or I hope that everyone knows) that He has died for everyone, but rather to reflect on the differences between knowing the truth and living it. 

What if Jesus did die for you? What if you can accept that Jesus Christ really did come to this Earth, took all of the sins of this world, the painful, ugly, terrible sins, and died on the cross anyways? Then He did exactly what He said He would, and He rose from the dead, destroying the power of death, forever. 

That question was made for me to self-reflect, to remember the ABSOLUTE privilege it is to know the truth, and to be someone who just stops trying to fit in to this world that was not made for me and to be who I was created to be. Sometimes, I think I forget that Jesus made a sacrifice and I get all caught up in my messy chaos, that I actually sometimes get entitled, as if believing in Christ and being a Christian is my right. 

Jesus Christ is a gift, not a right.

If you know all that, would it change who you were as a person, would you think differently, act differently, live differently? 

Would you care less about how others saw you? 

Would you sin differently? 

If you actually took the time to think through the question, "What would life be like if Jesus didn't die for you," would you care more, live differently, lose your sense of entitlement, appreciate the gospel more, if the thought of having it was actually not there? 

 

The day I realized I treated Donald Trump nicer than I did my own friends...

What if I asked a question, one that is rather taboo, that provoked anger rather than thought? What if we stopped caring so much about who is running for the damn election and stopped quoting the ignorance that has flown out of the mouths of the candidates? 

No one is listening. 
No one is even paying attention. 

I ran into an old friend a few weeks ago, one who is a main character in most of the memories I have of high school, who did life with me from third grade to graduation... but for no real reason, a friend that I sadly just stopped making a priority once I moved onto MU. We talked for a minute but to be honest, I don't know a word either one of us said... 

Why?

The whole time we talked, the only thing running through my mind was a Facebook post I had seen before Thanksgiving of last year of an adorable pregnancy announcement with an "... a little turkey coming soon," written as the caption. 

Standing there, next to my old friend who should be close to 7 months pregnant based off something I scrolled across and "liked" on Facebook, I realized how unattached I am from the people around me. Confused as to why she wasn't yet showing and taken back by the fact that she didn't mention it, I went scrolling back through her page, trying to see if I remembered wrong. 

I hadn't. It was there. 

But three weeks later, while I was probably preoccupied with my own chaos and Christmas excitement, I missed a post where she announced that her and her husband had miscarried. 

They lost their child and I didn't know. 

How can I even claim to be her friend when I am too self-absorbed to even know that one of the most exciting times in her life ended shortly after it began? How did six months pass after the tragic situation before I even took a moment to care? 

I have become so unattached from the world around me, from the real people behind those accounts and profile pictures that I don't even know their stories and lives anymore. 

Last week, I read a terrible update about a classmate of mine from high school who passed away. While I have known since I was young that this guy had a lot of demons to fight, I never cared in the six years post high school to even acknowledge his existence until I heard of his death. 

What does that say of me? my character? my values, my beliefs, my life? me? 

Why didn't I care before his death? Why didn't I send a text to my friend who just lost her mother? Why did I ignore the post about the friend with her sick little boy? Why didn't I do more than just comment, "Praying," on an update when someone asked for prayers? 

Can't we do more for the people around us, those people on our friend's lists, than just simply liking a photo or commenting on an update? Can't we do more, as people, to show that we care, that we're here, that we see, that we're invested?

I shouldn't know more about a damn primary or about a candidate's family than I do about the one's I have friended who allow me into their lives that they choose to share. I read more articles and interact more with Siri than with real people... but yet, I claim to have a thousand friends. 

I follow a thousand people... but yet, I have no idea what even a fraction of those are facing... what trials they're enduring or heartbreak they're feeling. However, I could tell you exactly how angry Donald Trump is based off his tweets about a rally that didn't happen... or I could tell you exactly how Hillary feels regarding NASA's habit of discrimination. 

Why is this a problem?

It's a problem because I never claimed to be either one of their friends.

... but I have cared more about their lives than I have about the ones in front of my computer screen. But yet, I keep asking, "What's wrong with these candidates?" when really, I should be asking myself, "What's wrong with you?" 

Driven by hate, fueled by anger. Meet the real, Tedi Ellis.

She looked at me, square in the face, with this look of curiosity in her eyes, not judgement or anything of that sort, but pure curiosity... as if she would pull the truth straight from my heart with her eyes. As she asked me the question that I always feared the most, I stared down at my fingers, as I typically did when things got tougher than I dared to face...

"Tedi, can I ask you something?"

I nodded my head, afraid to even acknowledge her, as if my heart would break right open... right there in the middle of the room. I have never been one to reach deep down and willingly allow vulnerability to flow without abandon. "Ask," I said.

"Tedi," Her words were kind, firm but straight, "Be honest with me and yourself, otherwise you'll walk out this door more confused than when you walked in."

I nodded again.

"At what cost, will you pursue this?"

Defensively, my head snapped up, my tongue angrily searching for the words in my mind to convince her that I was driven... that I was passionate enough to make my dreams come true. "You're just like everyone else now; You're going to try to talk me out of it. I don't care what you think. I know, in my heart, that I am capable of making this successful. I know I can do it." The same words I have spoken over and over and over again throughout the last couple months, trying my hardest to convince the world that I am capable of creating a future that I am proud of.

She looked at me with those eyes again, full of curiosity and wonder, as if she was trying to decide what secret I was holding onto. Pleading with her, I simply whispered, "I know I could do it," hoping with everything inside of me that she would just drop the subject.

"Tedi, the question I want to ask is the last one I would ever want to ask you... but I cannot let you walk away and not ask. BUT, I am terrified that you will walk away from me..." I lifted my head to stare back at her as a little smirk stretched across her face, "or punch me in the face..." she whispered.

"Just say what you want. I'm not going to hit you."

"I love you, I adore you, Tedi... you know that. I would do anything for you and I will still support any choice you make."

I knew that... and I trusted her thoughts, knowing she truly did believe in me and want what was best for me. This woman has fearlessly taken me by the hand, dragging me along on most days than not, encouraging me, teaching me, leading me closer and closer... deeper and deeper into a relationship with Christ. She has loved me when I haven't been very lovable... showed me grace as I have clumsily learned to walk with Christ... investing in me and leading me... However, she did have a habit of asking the questions I didn't want to answer.

"Just ask."

As if she didn't even hesitate, she stared back, locking eyes with me as she fearlessly asked, 

"Who do you love more? [This... ] or Jesus?"

I've never been in a stranger position. It was as if my mind couldn't keep up with my heart, as if the two were in some great battle against the other... while I searched for the answer, the words I knew were right crept up my throat, but died on my tongue. As if in that moment, I finally saw the difference between the things I was always taught and the things I believed.

Do I love Jesus? Obviously. 
... but in this moment, I finally came face to face with my heart.

I have spent hours planning, thinking, considering... I have convinced family and friends to support my dreams... Questions rolled through my mind as I furiously searched for an answer, some kind of meaning, some kind of thought to throw back at her as if that would convince her of my drive to be successful,

Does God even see me? 

Does He hear me? 

Why would He let them do that to me? 

Why won't He let me have what I want most?

Why won't He give [This] to me?

But while I wanted [This] so badly to prove my worth... to create this fancy future... to somehow prove everyone wrong... I realized a simple problem. 

I wanted this for me. I was putting God into a situation, begging for mercy and grace, pleading with him for the answer I so desperately wanted... asking for something I thought I was entitled to, but yet, through the words of my dear friend,  I have come to understand that I did not deserve. I was willing to put [This] before Jesus... and as ashamed as I am to admit, I was more willing to say, "Yes," to [This] than I was to Christ.

I allowed myself to love something more than Him...
What does that say of me... my character... my choices... me? 

Ashamed. Worthless. Greedy. Sinful. Reckless. Hopeless. 
How could he even love me after all this?

I remember the day I was "terminated" as if it was yesterday... that fancy word for fired. I remember the feeling of hopelessness... as if this job that I loved somehow measured my worth and potential. I remember the things they said about me, all of the lies came flooding back and hit me, sitting in the middle of the room.

"It isn't fair," I whispered, choking back tears, "I didn't deserve that." She reached for my hand, but I pulled it back...

"How could they do that to me?"

It's a question I have asked myself on a daily basis, begging for answers, desperately seeking the truth.

Who do I love most? The hesitation told my answer for me... which also gave me the answer I had so long been searching for.

I pulled my boots up and I walked out of the room... with a heavy heart and broken dreams and plans destroyed... my future uncertain.

This is me choosing to walk away from the one thing I thought would give me all the answers... with my eyes focused completely on the one who gave me life. I love Jesus and in the end, it is HIS name I choose... not some fancy future with big houses and big dreams or a business I could only dream of.

I'll take Jesus over any of that any day of the week.
But truthfully, my purpose in this pursuit was not only to fulfill my future and secure it with whatever means necessary... but it was driven by hate for the people who sent my entire world crumbling and fueled by the anger I held inside.

This isn't me giving up on my dreams... or walking away... or throwing in the towel... it is me, simply saying that the timing is wrong and that my faith needs more work right now than my future does. As soon as my heart is in the right place and I have a certain "Yes," then I will pursue [This] again. As painful as this may be, I am confident that this answer is the right one.

With tears streaming down my face, a thousand questions running through my mind, I ended my prayer for guidance with a simple phrase that gave me a completely different meaning this time,

"It isn't fair," I whispered, choking back tears, "I didn't deserve you." 

I am so undeserving of His great love. 

Hello, Life Crisis... We meet again.

I called my sister crying yesterday... and honestly, you could ask us both and even my sister would tell you that I don't think either one of us knew exactly the reason for those tears.

Yesterday was hard. Today was worse. Hello, Life Crisis #1793.

I've decided that since I've consistently had a significant life crisis moment every year since I started college that I needed to start numbering them. This year alone (and it's only February), I think I've had five. Maybe I'll start naming them like the hurricanes, so we know more about the life crisis and the devastation it leaves behind like, "Oh that one... that was a big one, that was Life Crisis Joseph." or "No, no... that was a smaller one, that was when we thought it was going to be Life Crisis Sally but really, it just turned out to be Tropical Storm Fred instead." 

I gave myself a pep talk for over 5 hours today... just to get out of bed to walk to the kitchen to get food. I settled on ice cream and walked back to my bed, watched Netflix, and cried. I crawled out from under the covers two hours later and walked back to the kitchen to eat crackers which I cried over because they weren't salty enough and walked back to bed. I think I am starting to realize the similarities between me and the common five year old, if they were left unattended to raise themselves. 

Sleep. Ice cream. Movies. Cry. 
I don't want anyone to be jealous, but I'm living the life... and I am completely unhappy. 

I have never been --and will never be-- suicidal. I know the pain and cost associated with such a choice... but there are days (like today) when I have to question the purpose and meaning to life. Somewhere, somehow, at sometime... I just want to know that this life, that this thing, that this is worth it. 

Who am I?
What do I want out of life?
What do I believe in?
Where did "Tedi" go?

I used to have this spark-- this zest for life. I was passionate and wild and free... I had a voice and I used it to say anything and everything I wanted... I was so sure of myself and confident and I loved with everything I had. I was weird and crazy and I didn't care what anyone thought. I existed in my own world, where I genuinely believed I could be anything and everything and I had dreams and plans and goals... and then life happened and I stopped believing, I stopped fully living and I just started being and becoming what I thought everyone wanted and then I just started trying to survive and get through... and then somewhere, somehow I just stopped. My world stopped. I just let it pass me by and consume me and overwhelm me and then I got here, where I am now. 

I am burnt out... unbelievably burnt out with the heartache of life. 

Right before I graduated from high school, one of my teachers wrote me a post-it that said, "You are the "tediest" of all the Ellis students I have taught. Please stay that way and conquer the world, Theodore." When did I stop being the "tediest?" Take me back. I still want to conquer the world. I still want to be that person... I still want to find her and be her and live her life. I still have that note... but I can't find that "Tedi" and it is killing me. 

Is this adulthood? Is this what growing up looks like?
... because if it is, I didn't sign up for this. 

It's strange what they teach you in college... ways to cope and relieve stress and function and all about self-care to prevent burn out in your careers, but they don't teach you anything about what to do when it's life that you're burned out with, tired of, stressed out with, overwhelmed. When you're burned out with a job, you quit or you transfer or you change professions, but what do you do when you're burnt out with life?

How do I get back to believing that life will be everything I thought it could be?

Que the dramatics, but life is much harder than I thought it would be. 

I want to go back to being five years old and coloring books and juice boxes and peanut- free signs... and that time, back a long time ago, when I was actually, completely and utterly happy.