Bloom Where You Are Planted

“We take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.”
— 2 Corinthians 10:5 (NIV)

I have a marching band in my head.

Unfortunately, they are not particularly encouraging.

They don’t play worship music.

They don’t show up with pom-poms chanting, “You’ve got this, Jenni!”

Nope.

Apparently, my marching band has had one favorite song for most of my life:

You’re not enough.

Catchy, isn’t it?

And if I’m being completely honest, they’ve been playing some version of that song for as long as I can remember.

The lyrics have changed over the years.

But the message?

Pretty much the same.

When I was a little girl, it sounded like:

You’re not smart enough.

I have dyslexia. In first grade, my parents were told it was so severe that I would never graduate from high school.

First grade.

I don’t know how much a six-year-old understands about what adults are saying about her future, but somewhere along the way, not smart enough became part of the soundtrack.

Except I did graduate.

And eventually that little girl who supposedly might not graduate from high school became a general education and special education teacher.

God has a sense of humor sometimes. Writing is STILL one of my biggest areas of insecurity.

And apparently, I’ve now decided to publish my writing on the internet.

Make that make sense. 😂

Throughout my school career, I was ALWAYS behind in reading and writing. I remember in sixth grade, I had to attend a private Catholic school because it was the only school that would accept me as a sixth grader. Staying in sixth grade was important to my parents because I have a twin brother. While we didn’t attend the same private school, I’m grateful my parents did everything they could not to reinforce the “I am not enough” thinking that having dyslexia had already created during my elementary school years.

Side note: I’m not Catholic either, so it was a challenge in ALL areas of my 12-year-old life.

As I got older, the marching band learned a new song.

You’re not pretty enough.

Oh, that one.

If I could permanently remove one song from their playlist…

And apparently, at 55, they still occasionally pull that old classic out. 🙄

There have been plenty of others over the years.

You’re not a good enough wife.

You’re not a good enough mom.

You’re not doing enough.

You should have handled that differently.

Everyone else seems to have this figured out. Why don’t you?

Then life got harder.

Autism entered our world.

Marriage became difficult.

The future I had imagined for my family began looking very different from the one I was actually living.

Eventually, my marriage ended.

And the marching band didn’t need sheet music for that one.

You failed.

Actually, you failed might have been accompanied by the entire band, color guard, drumline, and one of those ridiculously large tubas.

Utter and complete failure echoed in my mind like a marching band at the State Playoffs.

Loud.

Relentless.

And incredibly convincing.

Here’s the crazy part.

The marching band didn’t disappear when I began following Jesus more closely.

I wish I could tell you it did.

Wouldn’t that make a nice testimony?

I found Jesus, my insecurities disappeared, I never questioned my worth again, and I have lived confidently ever since.

Yeah.

Ummm….NO! 🙄

I love Jesus.

I know what Scripture says.

I have watched God be faithful in my life over and over again.

And I can still have days when my mind is VERY LOUD.

Some days the battle is fairly easy.

Other days are lay-on-the-floor-in-my-closet-and-cry kind of hard.

And somewhere over the last fourteen years, God has been teaching me something I desperately needed to understand:

How I feel is not always the same as what God says is true.

Feelings are real.

But feelings aren’t always reliable narrators.

That’s a lesson I didn’t learn overnight.

Fourteen years ago, when I started Journey to Ordinary, I was beginning to learn who God was.

But I was also beginning to learn who I was because of Him.

And Ephesians became incredibly important to me.

Because when the marching band in my head said:

You’re not enough.

God’s Word gave me something else to listen to.

In Christ…

I am chosen.

I am blessed.

I am adopted.

I am redeemed.

I am forgiven.

I am lavished with grace.

I am made alive in Christ.

I am raised up with Him.

I am God’s workmanship.

I am deeply loved.

My favorite? I am chosen.

“For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight.”
— Ephesians 1:4 (NIV)

I cling to this one the most because, for most of my life, I think I’ve chased the idea of being chosen.

Think Meredith Grey’s “Pick me. Choose me.” Sigh. I get it.

When my marriage ended, it reinforced that feeling of not being chosen in a really big way. And if I’m being completely honest and vulnerable, it’s still something I have to remind myself about frequently.

I think what I’ve really wanted all these years was for being chosen to somehow prove that I am enough.

That I can be a hot mess express sometimes and still be loved.

That I can be A LOT and still be loved through my million questions, my insecurities, my fears, and my sometimes-annoying ability to see the glass half full 95% of the time.

That someone can know all of that about me and still say, “Yep. You. I choose you.”

And maybe underneath all of it, I’ve just wanted to know that I’m not alone.

But here’s what I’m beginning to understand about Ephesians 1:4:

God didn’t choose some cleaned-up, less complicated, less insecure, less-question-asking version of me.

He chose me.

And He did it before the creation of the world.

Before I could accomplish anything.

Before I could fail at anything.

Before anyone else could choose me—or not choose me.

I was already chosen.

For a long time, I think I knew some of those things intellectually.

There’s a difference between knowing something because you’ve read it and knowing it so deeply that when everything around you says otherwise, you still know it’s true.

I had to bury those truths somewhere deeper.

Because the marching band wasn’t going anywhere quietly.

And then I started noticing something Jesus did.

Matthew 4 tells us about Jesus being tempted in the wilderness.

Satan speaks.

And Jesus answers:

“It is written…”

Again.

“It is written…”

Again.

“It is written…”

Jesus answered lies with Truth.

Not feelings.

Not positive thinking.

Not a motivational speech.

Truth.

That changed something for me.

Because maybe the goal isn’t to somehow make sure the marching band never plays again.

Maybe the goal is learning what to do when they start warming up.

And Scripture tells us:

“We take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.”
— 2 Corinthians 10:5 (NIV)

Take it captive.

Examine it.

Hold it up against what God says.

Is this true?

That’s become one of the questions I’m learning to ask myself.

I’m not enough.

What does God say?

I’m a failure.

What does God say?

I’m too old.

What does God say?

Who do I think I am to write a blog and put my thoughts on the internet for people to read?

Oh.

Wait.

Apparently, the marching band has some new material. 🤔 🤦‍♀️

And maybe that’s part of why I’m writing this now.

Because fourteen years ago, fear and insecurity looked one way.

Today they sometimes look completely different.

But I recognize the song.

Even starting Bloom Where You Are Planted has required me to confront some of it.

I told you in my last post that I like being unseen.

It’s comfortable there.

And yet here I am.

Writing.

Publishing it.

Sharing pieces of my life.

Allowing people to see things I’d probably be perfectly content keeping between me, Jesus, and my coffee cup.

That’s a little terrifying.

I think that’s one of the biggest differences between then and now.

Today, I know who I am in Christ.

That doesn’t mean I’m suddenly fearless. Clearly. 😂

It means becoming the woman God created me to be matters more to me now than staying comfortable and unseen.

Because MAYBE God will use something I write here to point another woman toward Jesus.

And if that means doing something that scares me?

Well…

I have spent years telling Mable:

“You can do hard things.”

Apparently, it’s time I started taking my own advice.

I can do hard—and scary—things too.

Apparently, God has a long history of using people who don’t feel like they’re enough.

Moses didn’t exactly respond to God’s call with, “Absolutely! I’ve been waiting for this opportunity!”

He questioned himself.

Who am I?

What if they don’t believe me?

I’m not good with words.

Gideon essentially asked how God could possibly use someone like him.

Jeremiah thought he was too young.

Scripture is full of people who looked at what God was asking and immediately saw all the reasons they weren’t enough.

Apparently, “But God, have You considered all the reasons I’m a terrible choice?” isn’t exactly a new argument.

God didn’t accidentally call Moses and then discover the man wasn’t a confident public speaker.

God wasn’t surprised by Gideon’s fear.

He wasn’t unaware of Jeremiah’s age.

And He certainly isn’t discovering my weaknesses as they happen.

He already knows.

Which makes me wonder if I’ve been asking the wrong question.

Maybe the question isn’t:

Am I enough?

Maybe the better question is:

Is God enough?

Because Scripture doesn’t actually tell me that I’ll eventually become so confident, capable, beautiful, intelligent, brave, talented, or put-together that I won’t need Him anymore.

Quite the opposite.

Paul writes:

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”
— 2 Corinthians 12:9 (NIV)

His grace is sufficient.

Not my ability to finally get everything right.

Not my ability to convince myself I’m amazing.

Not my ability to silence every insecurity forever.

His grace.

Maybe I’ve spent too much time trying to prove to myself that I’m enough when God has been inviting me to discover that He is.

And strangely enough, there is freedom in that.

I don’t have to be the prettiest woman in the room.

I don’t have to be the smartest.

I don’t have to have the perfect family.

I don’t have to have all the answers.

I don’t have to know exactly where this blog is going.

I don’t have to know whether anyone will read it.

I don’t even have to feel brave every time I hit Publish.

I can simply be faithful with what God puts in front of me.

There’s that word again.

Faithful.

Maybe blooming doesn’t mean finally becoming some fearless, completely confident version of myself who never hears the marching band again.

Maybe sometimes blooming looks like hearing them…

recognizing the song…

and choosing to listen to a different voice.

The One who says I am chosen.

The One who says I am redeemed.

The One who calls me His workmanship.

The One who has been faithful through every version of me.

The One who already knows everything I’m afraid I’m not…

and calls me anyway.

So, when the marching band starts playing again—and I’m pretty sure they will—I want to get better at answering them.

Not with:

“Yes, I am enough!”

But with something much more powerful:

“It is written…”

And then remind myself what is actually true.

So what does this actually look like for me?

Sometimes it looks like lying on my closet floor.

Literally.

My closet has become my prayer War Room. If you’ve ever seen the movie War Room, you know exactly what I’m talking about. There are Scriptures hanging on the walls, prayers written on note cards and taped up, full sheets of notebook paper covered with specific prayers…

It’s become the place I go when I need everything else to get quiet.

So when the marching band cranks up the volume, there’s a pretty good chance you’ll find me in my closet—sometimes flat on the floor—listening to worship music, praying, and reminding myself:

It is written…

I’m still learning.

Still taking thoughts captive.

Still occasionally arguing with the marching band. 🤦‍♀️😂

Still learning to believe God’s Truth louder than I believe my own thoughts.

Still learning to be faithful where I’m planted.

And trusting God with the growing.

I’m glad you are here.

— Jenni 🌸

Sound Mind | feat. Anna Byrd | Gateway Worship