My car’s name is Dolly Parton. Yes, it is, she told me. Alright before you call someone on me, let me explain. 

Last summer when she came into my life, my older car, Delilah, went to car heaven. It was hard to say goodbye to Delilah since we were together for 14 yrs. She held precious memories of my late best friend, my late father, and the memories of my kids growing up. Lots of fun, hard times and deep lessons on trusting God lived in that car.

As I drove my new car home, I wondered what her name would be. In the fifty-minute drive, with all my music on shuffle, I heard a Dolly song and soon after the first one I heard a second one. I was confused because shuffle genuinely shuffles but I told myself that if I heard another song, it would be a sign that her name was Dolly Parton. Arriving home, I had heard seven Dolly songs. I was certain she was making herself clear. She is white and cute and compact and reminds me so much of the one and only Dolly Parton herself, who I love so very much and who has held a special place in my heart for years. It seemed fitting. 

I love my car. I’m thankful and super blessed to be entrusted by the Lord with her. But if you were to enter my car in the last few weeks, you’d think I hated her. I’ve said it for years and I’ll say it again. You can always tell the state of my heart by the state of my car. If my car is clean and orderly inside, then I’m in a good mental space as well. But if my car is a mess, and there are food wrappers and trash everywhere then it lets you know that I. Am. Not. Well. 

See, being overweight is a double edge sword. If you read these blogs, you’ve heard me mention the “invisibility cloak.” That’s that conundrum that I (we) experience where I am invisible to people because they dismiss me for being fat. I’ve hidden myself so well that I am invisible to society, invisible to being cared for or considered, and invisible by potential suitors (stalkers and predators excluded). Yet, the curse also has a flip side which is that being fat also makes you super visible. You’re visible but ignored, judged but never understood, noticed but never seen. It is the invisibility cloak. 

I’ve already shared that physical space is a thing for me, I’ve had no real place of respite in my world. The gym was a safe space, until a creeper ruined that. So, all that remains is my car. Dolly Parton is the only space and solace that I have in this world. I’m not complaining, just explaining. The Lord has met me in that space and with Delilah. My car is the place where my writing ideas, my concerts, my secret meltdowns, my tears show up, and thanks to some of the greatest and most lovely friendships, my stress relieving laughter happens. Dolly Parton, much like her namesake, is a blessing and joy in my life. A safe space. 

No matter how wise or intuitive folks think I am, I usually am the last to know how I’m really doing. People ask the question all the time, “how are you?” The immediate answers are usually, “well, okay, fine, hanging in there.” I try my best to be authentic and honest. But I don’t always want to know how I am, so I am really good at pretending I am these things, since I don’t really want to check in and know. “Fake it till you make it” I suppose. But those who know me best, know when stress or my own thoughts are starting to take a toll. I sit in my car longer than usual or my car is a wild mess. My own internal junk starts to show up externally strewn about in my car. Every item of trash is usually some burden I’ve yet to open up about or process. My car tattletales on me and exposes what I’ve yet to think of. Much like good friendships point us to the Lord when our blind spots are good at deceiving us.

I met with a wonderful friend yesterday. A beautiful woman I’ve known for a very short time. Have you ever met someone who just truly gets you? I don’t just mean you like the same songs. I mean someone who looks into your heart and soul, and they just truly get you? She gets me. We met over tough circumstances for her, but she has quickly become a soul sister friend. This woman is resilient, strong, and literally what I want to be when I grow up. She’s endured hardship and trauma yet remains dependent on Jesus, she is a genuine joy to those who have the privilege of knowing her. She gets me. We had lunch yesterday and I confessed (as is our way over lunch) some dark and twisty thoughts I had and she responded beautifully and provided the necessary safety required for me to even think of being vulnerable, and she responded with the wisest insight. She called out the special brand of exhaustion that I am experiencing and put words to something so ugly within me that I couldn’t even face it. She gets me. I pray you have a friend like her. Someone who puts words to your experience. Even when words are far from you. I felt seen. Like there was a hole in the invisibility cloak and the Lord allowed just enough light to shine in to check my fears and doubts. I left our lunch with joy and inspiration.

I felt ready to tackle the loudness of my mind and ready to confront the trash in my car. It’s a compact car with very little leg room in the back. It was such a mess yesterday that the trash was up to the back seat. I’ve been processing and feeling so much lately that I am certain I had trash that was older than a week in there. Empty water bottles, tons of empty water bottles, always water bottles, wrappers and random trash were purging my heart of the secret things I’d yet to truly feel. I drove home and pulled up to the trash can and piece by piece, I cleaned out my car. It was a rejuvenating purge. It made me confront the lack of purpose and inspiration I had been secretly feeling for weeks now. It made me confront the secret caregiver fatigue I’d been shamefully concealing for months too. It made me look at my own sinful habits and patterns and made me see how far I had fallen from my relationship with Jesus, in the last several weeks. Almost instantly, my mind and my heart felt lighter. 

I’m an escape artist, you see. I’m surprisingly good at hiding from people and I try super hard to do it with Jesus too. I don’t know why I try it; I don’t think I consciously do it. I know that there is no escaping or hiding from his presence. I guess it’s hard to kill the sin within you that was once such a deep comfort, a defense mechanism if you will. It’s hard to turn from the old way of living, thinking, and processing. I think when it comes down to it, I’ve been trying to convince the Lord that I am not who He says I am. I think my whole life I have been trying to convince Him that I am unlovable. I am unworthy of the love He so richly lavishes. Now I know theologically speaking that I am a wretch (Romans 3:10-18), and it is a miracle that He would want me (any of us) because His divine and unique holiness cannot even be near my diseased heart that only craves what leads to death. I fully recognize that I will never be worthy of His love. Yet I also, joyfully realize how good and amazing He is that he gives it to me (Ephesians 1). Still, my heart craves all that is bad for it (Gen 6:5, Jer 17:9). My coping mechanisms, my ways of handling things, my lack of processing stuff all point back to a desire to self soothe in the only ways I know how. Running away. Escaping. I think disordered eating and struggling with food all my life, from anorexia to binge eating, to restricting to my battle with self-harm have all been my methods of escapism. Some choose TV, Films, video games, sex, drugs, sports, exercise, etc. We all have our junk. But in the end, the goal is to escape and not feel what we’re feeling. Perhaps it’s the effects of early rejection and abandonment, perhaps it’s just the human condition.

What bothers me about this is that I thought I was healed, and that healing meant I would never have to deal with it again. Lord, I thought I was healed of the wicked and self-sufficient, arrogant ways of coping with sin that I was so attached to as a younger believer. Yet, I am realizing now that even when we are healed, regardless of maturity, there are still nooks and crannies, deep recesses of our hearts that can be hiding from the light of the Lord, if we’re honest with ourselves. I guess 1 Corinthians 10:13 really is true. (Duh!) I suppose in one way or another, as adults, we’re all escape artists. We’ve just learned how to hide it well. A luxury not allotted to those who wear the invisibility cloak.

I don’t have the answers. Regardless of degrees, experience, and intelligence. There is no easier or better counsel I can give to you and to my own heart, than to sit at the feet of the Lord. Abide. Abide. Abide. It’s time to process and feel.

The escape artist is present.

Surrendering, Lord.

Here am I. Ready to stop swimming in the shallow pool of the world and ready to dive into the depth of you, Lord.

Let me abide in your safety.

More on that later…