My life sucks. It’s a phrase I’ve been repeating in my head since January.

My life sucks. It sounds like I’m complaining to those around me. And, perhaps, in January I was griping and moping about my life being far from perfect. Let me explain: I’m a perfectionist. In high school, working hard (and by working hard I mean literal sweat and tears over grades, talent shows, and general academia) meant getting exactly what I set out to attain. Maintaining a class rank in the top 0.5 percent was something I expected of myself. Getting the roles I auditioned for as a result of study and rehearsal and preparation as a given.

When I got to college, that all changed. Hard work no longer meant that I would attain even half of the goals I strive towards; hard work only meant that I could pat myself on the back when disappointed and say, “It’s not because I didn’t try.”

The downward spiral of events began in January, although I was not unacquainted with rejection before that time. I was not cast in a production that I desperately wanted to be a part of. On the night of my audition, I ended up in the hospital with a digestive blockage, one that would have caused my colon to rupture had I not been treated promptly. I remember laying on the hospital bed begging the nurse to give me discharge forms so that I could make the audition. I was all too willing to rip the IV needle and monitors off myself. Even though I had an opportunity, it fell through, and my confidence was shattered.

Two weeks later, I got the flu and missed two weeks of school. On Valentines Day, my brother fell asleep at the wheel and totaled his car. I struggled as I watched my classmates garner awards for various accomplishments; I felt utter unaccomplished. I was already acutely aware that the present semester wasn’t going to be the best, but that was okay. There would be other opportunities and semesters in which I could thrive. I had home; I had my family; I had Christ: What else could I need? I regret to this day thinking, “It can’t get any worse.”

I remember the weekend very well. I had asked my choir to pray for me as I traveled home to see my parents. I planned to surprise my mom. My dad was having surgery the next Monday, and I wanted to see him since I would not be present in the recovery room. The weekend was perfect. Having my parents, my brother, to come home to it made me truly appreciative of what God had given me. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that things weren’t panning out in other areas.

Five days later, everything changed. I got a phone call that completely wrecked my life. Two weeks later, I was giving the eulogy at my dad’s funeral.

I felt like a selfish brat believing that my life before these moments was really that disappointing. I truly believed that I was cursed. I was resigned to believe that I, like Job, was going to continues to lose over and over again, in an endless cycle of pain. Among many dizzying emotions, I experienced one that confused me greatly. I wasn’t angry at God. At least, I didn’t think or feel like I was.

…until doors kept slamming in my face. Opportunity after opportunity, goal after goal…all passing before my eyes.

I’ve reached a point in my life when everyone I know is either engaged, married or having babies. Recently, I’ve attended a few weddings (and by that, I mean like, 27). I’ve listened to stories about the wedding day being exactly as the bride pictured as a young girl. I’ve watched countless numbers of my friends go on and on about their beautiful venue, gorgeous dress, picturesque ceremony and Pinterest pinned pictures. The realization hit me; I hadn't accepted that my dad was home with the Lord. I couldn’t watch the daddy-daughter dances, I refused to get on Facebook on Father’s Day. I was heartbroken; I watched everyone around me getting things that I knew I would never have; experiences, job opportunities, awards…I was at my breaking point. I was no longer okay with the path that God had set me on. So, like a toddler, I threw a spiritual tantrum.

More confusion entered as rejection and closed doors wrecked my life. Was God trying to make me angry with him? I found that every rejection came with me asking, “Why, God? Why won’t you let me have anything? Can I have one thing that I want?!” Bitterness was coursing through me as I bit back tears. I was exhausted. I was tired of pretending to be okay so that everyone around me could feel comfortable. It made me sick to my stomach every time I had to fight the tears as I smiled and laughed with those experiencing joy around me. That was the selfless thing to do, right? Pray to experience joy with those who were happy and excited about their endeavors, accomplishments, and celebrations….or pretend to be happy at the very least? Let me be transparent: this didn’t work. I was genuinely miserable. The happier the lives of those around me, the more miserable I became. Miserable not out of spite or malice, but because those around me were getting exactly what I had been working so hard for, seemingly without lifting a finger. Their families were intact.

Before my transparency turns you off, let me explain to you what God has taught me. This personal anecdote has a purpose. I knew that life wasn’t fair. I knew that pain wasn’t abnormal in the Christian walk. I didn’t know how intense it could be. Verses and song lyrics carry new meaning:

“Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, even so it is well with my soul.”

To the Christian who feels like God is not being gracious to you

To the Christian who feels forgotten

To the Christian who feels cursed

God has not abandoned you.

God’s generosity can be misconstrued by our tiny minds as undeserved cruelty.

When your earthly treasure is depleted, remember who your true treasure is.

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised.” Job 1:21

Are you angry at God for “taking” things from you? Ask yourself, is your affection for the gifts or for the gift Giver?

I’ve told many people that I was loved more in twenty years than most girls are loved in a lifetime. This is how I choose to view my suffering now. I am not a victim; I am a vessel of grace, broken and pieced together to be a witness to the goodness of the Lord. And the is good!

Job 23:10 “But he knows the way that I take; when he has tested me, I will come forth as gold.”

I choose joy!