God Only Knows (But Kell Didn’t!)

[image error]

Now, since it’s Christmas Eve (and the main celebrating day for Kell’s family), you might find it odd that first, I’m posting … and second, I don’t seem to be posting about Christmas.

But … I am posting about Christianity! And Christianity is the most Christmasy thing out there, bub. In fact, Christmas is kind of the origin of Christianity (or, anyway, the origin of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ).

So settle down on this Christmas Eve, or whenever you are reading this post, and let me tell you about some personal problems I’ve been having and how God has been knocking me over the head with the solution until I finally realized my head was ringing from the knocks!

[image error]

One of my favorite songs recently has been God Only Knows by For King & Country, a Christian pop or rock or I-don’t-understand-genres-it’s-not-a-hymn-though … anyway, it’s a song, and you can listen to it on YouTube.

I find this song highly inspiring—and it made a huge change in my life—and I wanted to write a blog post about it.

You see, I’m a teenager—an older one, anyway. A teenager’s big deal is, “No one understands me.” *insert whiny tone* *insert me rolling my eyes even though the point of this post is that I felt like that*

Now, I don’t know if I’ve ever hurled this at my dear parents (who don’t deserve it in the least, by the way, since I know they try to “hug” their “porcupine” daughter), but I’m reasonably sure I’ve used a version of it. Or thought it. Though I can’t remember specifics.

If I Change, How Will People Still Know Me?

Basically, as teens, we’re going through a lot of physical, mental, emotional, hormonal—basically, we’re going through loads of changes. As you change, what was familiar becomes different (⇐ definition of change, y’all), which means we feel like we don’t know ourselves … and how can anyone else, either?

I remember feeling like this a couple times, specifically when it was *coughcough* thattimeofthemonth *coughcough*, but not in general until the last couple years.

And it wasn’t an aggressive kind of “nobody understands me.” I wasn’t mad. I was just quietly sad. I felt strongly, and more and more as time passed, that I wasn’t understood … or rather that no one knew me.

That no one really cared enough about me to love me anyway.

That if they knew the true me, the nasty me buried underneath, that they’d hate me.

That whenever people complimented me—on qualities other than my looks and certain other things I considered superficial because they were just products of me (writing, playing instruments, etc.)—they were only doing it because they didn’t know me.

Nobody, nobody, nobody sees you,

Nobody, nobody would believe you.

They Were Loving a “Lie.”

I remember feeling strongly that if my grandparents really knew me, they wouldn’t love me at all—and I remember hating that they thought I was good because I was evil. I remember the enormous pressure of their unfailing love and their belief that I was perfect.

I remember wanting to get my act together before Grandpa died and hating that I wasn’t able to, hating that I was unworthy to be his granddaughter, hating that everyone else was such a fantastic child, grandchild, etc., to him. While I just plain sucked at it.

I was unloyal. And I hate unloyalty.

I wasn’t being truthful because it was a lie that I was a good granddaughter. And I had untruthfulness.

I wasn’t being myself because the real me sucked. And I hate people who pretend to be something they aren’t.

If people knew me, they would NEVER say I was a good friend, was kind, cared about others, was a good Christian, was smart, was capable, a good worker …

You keep a cover over every single secret,

So afraid if someone saw them they would leave.

Ashamed … Even Though I Knew Better.

I was ashamed to bring myself before God.

In my head, I knew that God loved me no matter what, but I was still ashamed.

In my head, I knew I had only to go to God and be forgiven, but I was still unwilling.

In my head, I knew it didn’t matter that I was sinning for no reason … I didn’t need an excuse for my sins in order to receive forgiveness … I could still request grace even though I was being bad just for badness’s sake. But I was still unable to accept it.

Unrepentant. Stupid. Stubborn. Ignoring the issues as best I could, pretending I didn’t care (until I almost believed it), but agonizing over it still.

Every day you try to pick up all the pieces,

All the memories, they somehow never leave you.

I wasn’t doing well, but neither was I a mess.

I’m very controlling of my emotions. I only despaired once or twice; most of the time, I barely thought about it.

So don’t go thinking I was a constant bag of misery who needed a hug, someone was to be pitied or tragedized. (Remember, we’re not excusing grinches anymore! Even if that grinch is your neighborhood quirky redhead writer!)

I had a problem—but even my understanding of the problem was blurred, and most of the time I shouldered my way through life carelessly.

I didn’t care. I’d have an occasional breakdown, but otherwise, I wasn’t really disturbed, and I was functioning at pretty much 110% as always*.

*I wasn’t able to write broken characters, though, which is a … weird psychological thing. I mean, seriously, look at Before a Fall’s first draft! I have failed at Gibsoning! And Violet wasn’t as intense as she could’ve been, though that’s probably … good.