Madeleine Grace Scholefield, Author at YMI

5 Things to Remember When You’re Faced With Decision Paralysis

Madeleine Grace Scholefield — Wed, 17 May 2023 02:00:49 +0000

There’s a queue behind me all the way out the door. People are frowning, shuffling on the spot, trying to peer around me. I know I’m keeping them waiting, but I just can’t decide.

Lemon sorbet? Or chocolate crunch? Will I regret getting the tiramisu? How am I supposed to decide?!

Now outside, I put the tiny wooden spoon in my mouth and try to ignore the dry sensation on my tongue. Another wrong decision, I sigh. I feel like once again I’ve missed out on a “better option”, which is always disappointing.

You might be thinking, So what? It’s just gelato. But some of you might relate to that overwhelmed, panicky feeling when trying to make decisions in other contexts.

I’ve experienced many bouts of decision paralysis in my life—that feeling of being so stuck in between options that you feel genuinely paralysed. Whether this stems from a fear of missing out on the best option or of being told off for making a poor choice, I don’t know. Often, they’ve been quite inconsequential decisions, like which movie to see at the cinema, or who to pass the ball to during a game of soccer.

Then other times, I’ve found my inability to make a decision much more detrimental—like what to study, which job to take, and who to marry—which are all important decisions that would be wise for us to deliberate on.

But what do we do when we’ve prayed about it, written the pros and cons list, and we still can’t choose?

I’ve felt the indecisive horrors of decision paralysis in those big life decisions, but through each of them, I’ve learned strategies to help me face and overcome them in the future. Here are five lessons that have helped me:

1. Often, there is no “best” choice

I spent my final year of high school being peppered with questions about my future. What did I want to do with my life? What degree would I study? Blessed with endless options, I felt paralysed by the weight of that decision. I felt pressured to figure out God’s “will” for my life, and I worried that if I didn’t know what that was, I would be disobedient to His calling and “wasting my life”.

I journalled throughout the year asking God to make it clear what He wanted me to do. Verses like Jeremiah 29:11 circled round my head: “For I know the plans I have for you…” Great, I thought. So, can You please tell me what those plans are?

It wasn’t until my mum sat me down one day and said between my overwhelmed sobs: “Maddy, it’s okay. There is no wrong decision. You can honour God in whatever you do, whether that’s working in childcare, as a defence lawyer, a beauty therapist, or a surgeon. It’s not so much what you’ll be doing, but more about how you’re going about it.”

There are good and bad choices we’ll face in life, but there are often plenty of possibilities between equally good choices. And that’s the catch-22 of having free will—it’s up to us to decide.

I thought about what my mum said, and while it felt frustrating at first, I realised that this took the pressure off making the “right” decision. I found comfort in remembering that “in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose” (Romans 8:28). He knows our hearts and is more than able to use our circumstances to make us more like Jesus—which is the goal of His working for our good.

And if I believe that God will work for my good, then I can trust that even if I do make a poor choice, my life doesn’t have to be defined by that one choice.

2. You can’t steer until you’re moving

As a captain of a missionary ship, my dad would often preach in different places. I loved hearing his stories, especially when he used his maritime knowledge as metaphors for faith.

“You can’t steer a ship while it’s stationary,” he’d say. “It has to be moving.”

I’ve found this principle to be true throughout my life. Often, making a decision is better than making no decision.

I started my university life studying for a double degree in law and arts. But, three years into the degree, I decided to drop the law degree and focus on the arts. Instead of worrying that I had “wasted” those years, I realised that they gave me the opportunity to work out what I was really passionate about—which I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t taken that first step of trying.

When I’m facing a decision where my columns of “pros” and “cons” are at a stalemate, I think of Proverbs 3:5-6: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and He will make your paths straight.”

I take comfort in knowing God will direct my steps as long as I’m submitting to Him and inviting Him into my decision-making process.

But He can’t direct me until I take that faith-step and start walking. So, instead of agonising over the right decision, I find peace in knowing that as I take a step in faith, He will “make my paths straight”.

3. Trust the people who know you

I almost got engaged to the wrong man. We’d been together for two years and were planning the natural next step of our relationship, but I felt paralysed by that decision.

So I went to my parents, my trusted mentor, and my closest friends for their honest opinions, and to my surprise, they all said the same thing: We actually don’t think he’s right for you.

I was fortunate to have people around me who were wise, prayerful followers of Jesus and who boldly spoke the truth, even when it hurt me to hear it. Where I’d been too close to the situation to make an unbiased decision, they’d helped me see things more clearly.

We see King Solomon reminding us of the importance of wise counsel in his proverbs. He writes, “Plans fail for lack of counsel, but with many advisers they succeed” (Proverbs 15:22) and “For lack of guidance a nation falls, but victory is won through many advisers” (Proverbs 11:14).

Inviting others into our decision-making process is more than posting a poll on our Instagram stories asking people to vote. We should seek advice from those who demonstrate godly wisdom in the way they live, from those who know and love us, and from those we trust and look up to.

Years later, I made one of the best decisions of my life: to marry my now husband, Matt, with the blessing and enthusiastic encouragement of those same people. My life would look very different today had I not asked for–and listened to–their advice.

4. Don’t “follow your heart”; follow the Spirit

It’s in hashtags, on mugs, and plastered all over campaigns: Follow your heart. It can be easy to get swept up in how nice that sounds.

But according to Jeremiah 17:9, “The heart is deceitful above all things”. How then can we trust our heart enough to follow it?

We follow the Spirit who is with us always. God gave us His Spirit because He knew that we’d need His guidance and discernment. To me, this means purposefully asking Him for wisdom, especially in light of decisions.

In 1 Kings 3:9-12, we see a God who is eager to give Solomon what he asks for. Solomon says to the Lord: “So give your servant a discerning heart to govern your people and to distinguish between right and wrong.” And guess what? “The Lord was pleased that Solomon had asked for this.”

As simple as it sounds, I often forget that I can ask God for His wisdom and discernment. Do you ask Him for that, too?

When it came time to make the decision about accepting my current job, I took it to God and asked for His wisdom. Once I had submitted the decision to Him, I felt prompted to take this job, and had peace knowing that was the Holy Spirit within me answering my prayer.

5. Lastly, look at past choices with grace

Last year, I left a comfortable job to try something new. The job I was leaving was great and I didn’t know much about the new one, but I knew I didn’t want to spend my time wondering what might have been, so I took the leap.

Several months into the new job, I started noticing unhealthy aspects of the team and work culture. My stress levels grew, and I regretted taking the job. That regret quickly spiralled into negative feelings about the choice I’d made. It took conversations with my counsellor and friends for me to stop feeling angry at myself, and to see the situation for what it was—yes, the new job wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be, but I couldn’t have known back then how it would turn out.

It’s so important to look back on past choices we’ve made with grace. This means I can look back on times when I feel like I’ve made the “wrong” decision and recognise that firstly, the outcome wasn’t as bad as I’d feared it might be; secondly, what I know now with hindsight isn’t what I knew when I made the decision.

After reflecting on my decision, I started looking for a new job and found a workplace that was a better fit for my values and skills. Rather than dwelling on regrets, I’ve learned that we can instead be thankful that the choices we regret now enable us to make better decisions.

Instead of going into all the “what could have been”, we can take heart in knowing that, as Paul says, our new selves are “being renewed in knowledge in the image of [our] Creator” (Colossians 3:10). The more we trust in Him and allow ourselves to be renewed in His image, the more we’ll be in tune with His will and His ways, making it easier to make decisions that glorify Him.

Like it or not, we will be faced with difficult decisions in life, but I’ve found peace in knowing that God doesn’t want me to be paralysed by choices. He gives me the free will to make my decisions, and His Spirit is in me to give me the wisdom and discernment I need.

I can trust that as I submit my decisions to Him and take the first step, He will guide me. And, if I’m stuck, I know He’s placed people in my life who can also help point me in the right direction. At the end of the day, so long as I remain in Jesus, there is no decision I can make that God can’t redeem and work for my good. Isn’t that a comforting thought?

The post 5 Things to Remember When You’re Faced With Decision Paralysis appeared first on YMI.

What You Won’t See in Our Wedding Photos

Madeleine Grace Scholefield — Tue, 22 Feb 2022 06:00:23 +0000

It’s day four of our 10-day honeymoon, and I’m sitting by a little gas fire, alone.

My fiancé—no, husband, I remind myself—is fast asleep in the middle of the afternoon. He came down sick right after our wedding a few days ago, and though I want to somehow make him better, my excited chatter and restless limbs won’t do him much good. So, I tuck him into bed with a kiss on the forehead and go pour myself a glass of wine.

Matt and I have been looking forward to our honeymoon for weeks. A chance for us to get away together, have a break from the crazy pace of the last few months, get to know each other in a *cough* new way, and have an adventure of a lifetime. But this trip is not quite what I hoped it would be.

The sun is setting, and I’m left wondering what we’ll do for dinner; we’d planned to go out somewhere special, but with Matt sick in bed, we’re bound for a night in. With no phone reception and the nearest grocery store at least a 40-minute drive away through dark country roads, we’ll have to make do with our leftovers from breakfast—a half-eaten sourdough and a packet of spinach.

I didn’t think it would be like this

I don’t mean that anything is wrong. I just mean that the mirage of a perfect start to a perfect life together has been, well… almost laughable.

In the week before our wedding, I cried more than I had done in months. With one blow after another, our perfect plans were quickly pulled apart. We learned that 28 interstate family members wouldn’t be able to come, Matt needed to find three new groomsmen, my dress didn’t fit me, I hadn’t been sleeping, and we were both battling colds.

The day before our wedding, Matt and I sat on the couch and stared at each other. With tears threatening to leak out, we cancelled every one of our honeymoon bookings—the flights, the cool hotel, the mountain hike and fancy restaurant booking; everything. I was devastated. Border restrictions had tightened, and the trip we’d planned for months lay unravelled at our feet. Too drained and disappointed to organise a whole new honeymoon, we settled for booking two nights at a remote Airbnb and decided we’d figure out the rest as we went.

When Matt proposed five months ago, I was determined we would be the “chill” couple who wouldn’t be fazed by anything, who would agree on most things, and who would have a whole bunch of fun planning our wedding.

Spoiler alert: that was not the case.

It’s not that I’ve become cynical or jaded just days after skipping down the aisle. But I do wish that somewhere between the glamour and excitement, someone had told me that preparing for a wedding—and a marriage—would be hard. It would be stressful and draining and often far from magical.

Our wedding day was spectacularly fun, and I wouldn’t take it back. But I would go back and tell the newly engaged me what she was in for.

I would tell the newly engaged me the truth

Marrying Matt would be the best thing she’d ever done, but it wouldn’t come easily.

I would tell her the truth: that she wouldn’t have time to read the pre-marriage books she set out to; that they’d spend more time poring over the guest list than looking each other in the eye over dinner; that “waiting” for marriage would get harder; that she would feel lonely and isolated because her friends wouldn’t understand what she was going through; that moving into a new home would often feel more sad than fun.

I would tell newly engaged me that she didn’t have to have a teary moment of elation to prove she’d found “the dress”. Maybe then she wouldn’t have run out of the bridal boutique with sobs in her chest because the dresses were itchy and the ladies were bossy and her mum was overseas and the price-tags had too many zeros and she could barely breathe.

I would tell newly engaged me that despite being ridiculously in love, she and Matt would argue more than they ever had while dating. I would tell her that it was okay to disagree on the wedding songs and whether the canapés needed to start at 3:30 or 4:00, because through it all, they’d learn to communicate and compromise and say, “I’m sorry”.

The wedding is just one day. Marriage is a lifetime

I knew that our marriage wasn’t about the wedding day. But I still couldn’t shake the overwhelming pressure I felt to plan a magical day that would symbolise our “perfect match”.

After all, the wedding was the only thing anyone wanted to talk to me about for months—what colours I’d picked for my bridesmaids’ dresses, who our photographer would be, which traditions we were following, the food options we’d chosen. I was surrounded by unsolicited advice and endless emails from wedding vendors asking about details I didn’t even care about.

The underlying message was subtle, but clear: you’re a failure if your wedding isn’t perfect. Unwittingly, I’d started to believe the lie.

And now, in the middle of the honeymoon that I thought would be the most incredible ten days, I find myself disappointed that it isn’t perfect.

But amidst the frustration of readjusting to a trip we didn’t plan for, I take comfort in this: We didn’t get married because being together feels good all the time or “just makes sense”. We got married because we love each other. We choose to love each other, even on the days—or weeks—when that’s hard.

During pre-marriage counselling, we talked a lot about what “loving each other” truly meant. Of course, it’s hard to talk about love without visiting 1 Corinthians 13:4-7. Since I knew the passage by heart, I’d assumed there wouldn’t be much more to learn from it.

I was wrong. When we reflected on the passage with our marriage in mind, it hit me in a whole new way. “Wow, that’s going to be hard,” I thought. “To love Matt even when he’s upset me? To put him first even when I don’t feel like it? To seek what’s best for him, even when that means putting his needs before my own?” The more I dwelt on the passage, the more I understood that marriage wasn’t about putting myself and my needs first. It was about learning to humble myself and love with patience, grace, and intentionality, in the same self-sacrificial way that Jesus loves us. And by loving each other despite our flaws and imperfections, we’ll learn more about the way Jesus loves us unconditionally.

So yes—I will post pictures of our first dance under twinkle lights and our happy tears during wedding speeches. I will share film photos from our honeymoon, and videos of Matt and me saying our vows, because those moments were real and beautiful and worth documenting.

But just know (because I didn’t), that you do not have to have a wonderful lead-up to your wedding for it to be right. That your honeymoon does not have to be wild and adventurous and extravagant to be special.

And that, if you’re lucky enough to find yourself on the other side of it all, kneeling on the tiles by a little gas heater while your husband sleeps beside you . . . you’ll be so, so happy.

Even if all that’s left for dinner is spinach and leftover bread.

Editor’s Note: This article was originally published on the writer’s blog here. This version has been edited by YMI.

The post What You Won’t See in Our Wedding Photos appeared first on YMI.

Can I Have Anxiety . . . and Still Trust God?

Madeleine Grace Scholefield — Wed, 13 Oct 2021 16:00:40 +0000

Written by Madeleine Grace Scholefield, Australia

I feel it sitting heavily on my chest like one of my weighted blankets. I wheeze it into my lungs, and cough out the burning taste. It is sweat; slick and salty on my skin, and a dizziness; the kind that rushes to your head and screams in your ears. It is here, I can feel it.

I was an anxious child. At four I paced around with a little frown, asking serious questions, and trying to prepare myself for the big wide world.

At 12, I would lie awake with a churning stomach and restless thoughts. I wouldn’t have been able to tell you what I was worried about, but I could have described the feeling of overwhelming dread that clouded my mind and followed me into each day.

In high school, I became the queen of schedules and to-do lists and colour-coded calendars. I thought that if I could control something, I’d be able to ignore the terrifying grip that anxiety had on me. Sadly, it didn’t work. Whenever I didn’t do well on a test, or fell behind in class or had an argument with my friends, the anxiety came crashing back.

Uni held its own challenges, and the lack of structure and routine in my classes quickly toppled any sense of control. I was anxious about getting good grades, making new friends, getting around campus and even how to email my professors. Instead of confronting the anxieties and working through them, I chose to withdraw and procrastinate and pretend I didn’t care about Uni at all.

I didn’t use the word “anxious” to describe what I felt for years, until the psychologist I was seeing explained it to me. “Anxiety isn’t like stress,” she told me. “Stress is based on external things, like working to a deadline or being really busy. What you’re describing is anxiety: it’s always there, whether your plate is full or not. It’s internal, because it doesn’t need to be triggered by things going on around you. It’s just there.”

I’m 23 now, and the anxiety hasn’t disappeared.

It doesn’t always look like fidgety hands and tight lips and panic attacks, though. Sometimes, it looks like indecision between red or green apples at the supermarket—like feeling so paralysed by choices that you end up leaving the supermarket in a daze and walking to your car empty-handed. Other times, it looks like heavy eyes and an oversized hoodie and crying in a bathroom cubicle. There are days when my anxiety looks like the loudest and silliest person in the room, and other days, it’s a long pause on the phone or weeks without responding to a text.

Let’s make something clear; anxiety isn’t simply stress, and it’s not “being a negative person”. It’s not something we carry around as an accessory that we can put down whenever we feel like it. I believe that, much like other mental illnesses, we all have different genetic and environmental factors that can make us more susceptible to anxiety. Some of us will struggle with it more than others, and that’s okay.

We’re growing up in an age where feelings are to be listened to, and emotions are to be worshipped. We’re told to be in tune with our inner selves, and to let that guide our decisions. But what do we do when there are more emotions under our throbbing scalp than any human can possibly interpret? What do we do when it’s not as simple as praying about it, or controlling anxious thoughts?

Making sense of anxiety and faith

I was scrolling through Instagram recently when I came across this quote on a Christian account: “Anxiety is the antithesis of trust. You simply cannot trust in God and be anxious. The two are mutually exclusive.” Pretty background or not, the quote stung. I’m all for being open to hearing hard-hitting truths that challenge us in our faith, but to me, sentiments like that one aren’t helpful. In fact, they’re kind of damaging.

What does it say about my faith if I’m someone who battles with anxiety? Why would I want to tell someone at church that I’m struggling if they’ll just say I need to put more trust in God? Why isn’t it that simple?

When I told my church group that I was seeing a psychologist for my struggles with anxiety, they were confused. “But you know God,” they said. “Just lean on Him.”

For years, I felt like a failure in my faith. I did trust in God. I talked to Him daily. So why was I still struggling?

Countless Christian friends and pastors have given me counsel over the years, some more helpful than others. One person told me that my faith must be weak. A guest speaker said I simply had to decide not to be anxious. Though well-meaning, these pieces of advice did not help. What did help was when I finally had a conversation with fellow Christians who understood the battle. They didn’t invalidate my anxieties or question my faith. Instead, they told me that I didn’t need to be ashamed of my struggle, and that it was something God could use to draw me closer to Him. Hearing that gave me hope.

The verse I’ve heard most commonly popping up in reference to Christians battling with anxiety is Philippians 4:6: “Don’t be anxious about anything, instead, pray about everything.” Many Christians take this to mean that if you’re wrestling with anxiety, you’re directly disobeying God’s command not to be anxious. But is this really what the verse is saying?

Through my personal battle with anxiety as a Christian, I have come to understand that anxiety is a lot like a form of temptation. Temptation itself is not a sin, and it’s something that even Jesus—who was blameless—experienced. It’s what we do with that temptation that matters. In the same way, I believe there is nothing sinful with having an anxious thought, or being caught in the tumble-drying-horror of a panic attack. It’s what we do with those anxious thoughts that matters. In this way, I read Philippians 4:6 as an invitation to prayer and intimacy with God. I believe the verse is saying that when we feel anxious—which we all will at times—we pray about it. We let God in on how we’re feeling. We don’t hide or ignore it and pretend we’re not anxious, but we acknowledge those thoughts and pray for His peace.

Romans 12:2 says that we are to be transformed by the renewing of our minds. I find hope in this verse. Transformation doesn’t always happen overnight. We are not promised a one-size-fits-all solution to mental illness. But the word renewing is a verb, and it isn’t passive. It means we can work on our minds little by little as we take every thought captive and make it obedient to God (2 Corinthians 10:5).

Making the distinction between having and being

A few years ago I attended a language school to learn Spanish. One of the things I immediately noticed about Spanish was that there is a clear difference between describing passing feelings, and describing characteristics of someone’s identity. For example, instead of saying “I am hungry” in Spanish, you’d say “I have hunger” (tengo hambre). Rather than saying “I am anxious”, you’d say “I have anxiety” (tengo ansiedad).

It sounds small, but learning to make the distinction between being anxious and having anxiety helped me change the way I saw my identity as someone who struggles with mental illness. You see, I am not an anxious person; it is not who I am. It is something I struggle with.

We might not always control the thoughts that come to us in the stillness, or the ones that slip in when we’re too busy to notice. But when those anxious thoughts make their presence known, as we know they will—we do have control over how we decide to act.

And so I encourage you, dear reader, to turn to Him, because our God is so, so good. He is our fierce protector, and He fights our battles for us when we hand them to Him. We can trust Him, because He’s already won.

So on the days when it’s all a bit much and we feel the anxiety clawing at our heels, we can turn to Him. Tell him what’s on your mind, and ask Him to fill you with His peace.

It’s the kind of peace that defies all reason.

And gosh, it’s good.

The post Can I Have Anxiety . . . and Still Trust God? appeared first on YMI.

It Sucks to Not Be Invited

Madeleine Grace Scholefield — Wed, 26 Aug 2020 02:00:40 +0000

It’s 1am, and I can’t sleep. My heart is heavy and my mind is full of unpleasantness.

I shouldn’t be feeling like this. I’ve spent the past few days having a great time with people I love. But still, seeing the Instagram stories from dozens of friends who are hanging out at something I wasn’t invited to—it hurts. A lot.

Exclusion hits a raw nerve for me, and I know that I’m not alone in this. The more I speak openly to people around me, the more I discover others who feel the same way: rejected, excluded, forgotten, and isolated.

I hear these fears from all sides of our community. Even from the people I look at and think: ‘They’re a cool person, they’re in the thick of the group, there’s no way they’d ever feel left out’.

The reality is that when we’re part of a large community, we can’t always invite everyone to everything. And I get that. Space can be limited. Budgets can be tight. We may not know everyone.

I know I’m guilty of making others feel excluded. Sometimes I post things on my Instagram story because I want people to feel a twinge of jealousy when they see what I’m doing. I want them to know that I’m happy on my own and that I’m not (always) an introverted, anxious mess sitting at home in my pyjamas. And if I’m really honest, sometimes I want the people who haven’t invited me to know that ‘I’m fine without them’ and that ‘I had more fun not being at their event anyway’.

For many of us, the last few months have amplified that sense of loneliness and exclusion. When limited by social distancing restrictions, we’ve had to make tricky decisions about which friends to invite for dinner, and how to gather in small groups without offending or excluding anyone. It’s been tough, and I haven’t always gotten it right.

Recently, I poured out my sadness and frustration over coffee with a close friend. “Why can’t we be a community that includes everyone?” I asked her. “How do we change this culture of cliques and exclusivity?” We talked for hours, about what we’d love things to be like and how we can bring change.

I’m here to say that I don’t have the answers. I’m on a journey of learning what real community looks like, and how to bring Heaven here to earth. But I‘m starting to believe it’s possible to create a culture of inclusivity and healthy community. To ask God what that looks like for each of us. To make sure our heart is to pursue things that will build each other up, and not tear each other down.

As I read God’s Word, I see more and more that Jesus showed us how to do community well. He wasn’t close friends with everyone, and (probably) wasn’t organizing weekly one-on-one coffee catch-ups with all His followers. He had his 12 disciples, and a handful of other followers, and they were His go-to people. His group. The ones He shared meals with and prayed amongst.

But beyond His close circle, Jesus didn’t turn people away because they were outcasts, or because they came at an inconvenient time. He didn’t exclude anyone because he found them draining or annoying. Whether it was a leper, a prostitute, a Roman centurion or even a group of little children, Jesus didn’t reject those who came to Him. Instead, as the story of Zacchaeus the tax collector in Luke 19:1-10 shows us, He sought them out, ate, and fellowshipped with them.

Through His example, Jesus also taught His disciples how to do community well, and we get a glimpse of what that looked like in Acts 2:46-47. In this passage, we read that the early believers met together regularly, and that their group grew daily:

Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.

How can we live out the Acts 2 model of community in our lives today? We all know that inclusion is a nice idea, but what does that look like on a practical level? These are some ways I’m learning to be conscious of my own part in building community. Together we can:

1. Think beyond our inner circles (Romans 12:16). None of us think we’re the issue or that we’re part of a clique until we’re on the outside of one. Most of us would never intend to leave others out. It’s great to have a small group of close friends, but let’s aim to look outside of our circle for others who may be on the fringe. Who can we reach out to? Is there someone who would love to be invited to spend time with our group of friends?

2. Examine our motives before posting photos from a gathering or talking about the weekend’s social events with people who weren’t invited (Philippians 2:3-4). That doesn’t mean we have to be secretive, but it’s good to be aware of the times when we’re sharing for the sake of promoting our own sense of ‘social status’.

3. Always be ready to say yes (Romans 12:13). Yes, our friend can bring someone. Yes, their sister can join too. Yes, partners are welcome. If someone asks and we have the capacity (or physical space) to include more, we can say yes.

4. Be the connectors (Ephesians 4:2-3). It’s unrealistic to try and be best friends with every new person in our community. But what we can do is make an effort to connect them in with other like-minded people.

5. Call out exclusion when we see it, in gentleness and humility (Hebrews 10:24). We can ask our friends why a certain person isn’t invited, or gently suggest including that people in. Whether the exclusion was intentional or not, we can help our friends be mindful of fostering inclusivity in our communities.

6. Show grace to others when we’re not invited (Romans 12:17-18). I find this last one really hard to do, but I’m learning that it’s so important. If we can give people the benefit of the doubt when they haven’t invited us, we’ll not only avoid bitterness and insecurity, but we’ll build a community that understands that not everyone can be invited to everything, and that’s okay.

I want to be conscious of the niggling thoughts and hidden agendas in the dark places of my heart; the ones that care more about promoting my self-image than fostering integrity and love.

I want to do everything I can to make our community a place where fear of rejection or isolation has no hold over us. A community built on trust and hospitality and generosity, and not fraught with division or comparison or bitterness or insecurity.

Let’s be the kind of people who are so busy welcoming and including and giving generously, that we barely take note of what people are doing without us.

The kind of people who are secure enough in who and whose we are, that not being invited doesn’t feel like a personal blow.

Who’s with me?

The post It Sucks to Not Be Invited appeared first on YMI.