I thought I'd be further along by now...

Wow, it’s been such a long time since I’ve blogged. The past few years have been complicated and challenging, to say the least. As life became harder and more overwhelming, I grew quieter. Writing, something that once came naturally, suddenly felt uncomfortable.

I don’t pretend well, and I wasn’t ready to write about what I was going through. It didn’t feel safe. How could I help anyone else when I wasn’t even sure how I felt or how I was going to make it to the other side?

Tonight, I decided to visit my website for the first time in over a year. As I logged in and looked around, I realized I still love its aesthetic and symbolism. I still believe in the heart behind it.

I clicked on the “About Me” tab to read it—a habit I’ve developed to see if it still feels true when viewed with fresh eyes. As I began reading, I was struck by how sure I sounded, how peaceful and perfect everything seemed.

I read lines like, “Married for 20 years to my love” and “Mom to Ezra and Jaida, my greatest blessings!”

Both statements are true, but neither tells the full story. Neither is always easy or fun. They represent the best parts of my life but also the hardest things I’ve ever done.

But the part that really stopped me in my tracks—the part that confirmed it’s time to speak up—was where I said...

"Well, this is my proposition to you.

Let's journey together and become what God has originally intended.

When we carry Jesus, we bring faith, hope, and Love into the world.

We are called to live great adventures.

So I'll make a deal with you. I'll go first, and I will share my story and experiences along the way with you."

Dang! It’s so easy to be open when life feels clear and sure. Sharing your passions when life is exciting can even be a joy—fulfilling, even. But it gets harder, much harder, to be open when life kicks you in the stomach, and you’re no longer so sure of anything.

Sharing the ugly, hard stuff is scary. I keep pushing forward, but do I keep pushing when I’m unsuccessful—at least by the world’s standards? Do I tell the truth when it’s messy and embarrassing? When I’m still waiting—four years later. When I’m still not done with the thing I started so long ago?

I thought I’d be further along by now.

These painfully honest words came from a dear friend of mine, someone who’s endured a brutally unfair and painful few years. Her golden, kaleidoscope eyes told the whole story.

“Me too,” I told her. I think most of us feel that way.

I am disappointed. Life has been so beautiful and good to me in many ways, and yet I am disappointed.

I think the hard part is how guilty I have felt. As though I am a disappointment because I feel disappointed. I must be ungrateful! I need to be better than I am right now.

If I can just ___________. Then I will feel better about myself. I am unsure of my value when I am not __________.

There. I said it. All the stripped-down naked, ugly, pessimistic, unlovely, discouraging things. This is the moment my Christian programming kicks in, shaming me for being human. It whispers with panicked intensity, “Quick! Add the Jesus Band-Aid before they find out you don’t have it all figured out!”

Hi! I’m Corissa Snyder. Welcome to my Crazy Lovely Mess. I am disappointed. I am angry. But Jesus... (insert false belief that anesthetizes but doesn’t heal).

Well, does that make you want to keep reading? Please bear with me.

It’s funny how programmed we are by life experiences and beliefs—beliefs that might not even be true. We craft our lives and ourselves around what we think will fulfill us, make us happy, and take away the pain.

What pain, you ask? You know—the pain. All of the pain. The disappointment. The rejection. The regret, the broken heart, the abuse, the offenses, the mistakes. The millions of ways we miss the mark—and the ways others miss it, too, causing us pain.

We sin. We sin against ourselves, our loved ones, and our God. We blow it. They blow it. And life blows up.

And then came 2020, the year that disappointed the entire world. I think we’re all still in shock—and the year is already almost over.

All the disappointment. All the pain. We hide from it by whatever means necessary. First, we blame. Then we distract ourselves—we work, sleep, eat, have sex, work out, drink, smoke, take pills, binge-watch Netflix. We talk too much or isolate ourselves. We scroll.

Oh God, why can’t we stop scrolling?!

It’s too much. We do it all in great excess. Don’t believe me? Check your screen time.

We won’t stop. We can’t stop—even though it’s making us sick. Mentally, emotionally, physically, and most definitely spiritually sick.

We want to numb the pain without ever addressing its source.

Anesthetize

~ administer an anesthetic to (a person or animal), especially so as to induce a loss of consciousness.

~ deprive of feeling or awareness.

I love ice cream. I’ve loved it since I was a child. I just love it.

But my body? My body hates it.

Every time I eat ice cream, my stomach rebels. I have a horrible inflammatory response that lasts for days. If I eat it too often, I get migraines. And let’s not forget how quickly I gain weight during an ice cream binge—which can happen monthly if I’m not intentional.

I know all of this. I’ve had seasons where I’ve cut out ice cream completely and felt the benefits—better health, more energy, fewer issues. But even with that knowledge, if there’s ice cream in the house, I can’t control myself. I want it. I crave it.

Why? Because I’m an addict. Ice cream temporarily makes me feel better—it’s an anesthetic.

But it doesn’t actually help me. It fixes nothing.

And while I have other, more sinister addictions, ice cream makes the point perfectly.

We’re addicted to the romantic dream of a pain-free existence. I am.

I like to tell myself that because I’m aware of the sickness, I’m not a slave to the lie that life can be pain-free and comfortable. But the truth? I still get caught up in it. Even better (or worse), there’s the American Dream 2.0—the entitlement to a pain-free, comfortable life. And then there’s the Christian American Dream 3.0: if you believe in Jesus and work hard, you’ll have a pain-free, prosperous, and comfortable life... as long as you do all the right things.

UGH.

As we say in the South, how’s that workin’ out for ya? Painful? Yep. Very. Just keep scrolling until you feel nothing.

We’ve been raised in a culture of anesthetics; we almost don’t know anything else. So what’s yours? What unacknowledged pain are you hiding from? What are you so afraid to admit? Are you disappointed? Angry? Ticked off?

I’ve never been more honest with myself than I am in this season. And let me tell you—it hasn’t been fun. But for the first time, I’m able to see and address some hard truths that needed to come to light. I’ve had to be honest with God and confess: I cannot “self-help” my way out of this. I don’t have what I need. I am not enough.

Phew! Isn’t that a relief? To realize you don’t have to be enough? That’s a critical truth. We are not enough. We were never meant to be. We need help. We’re designed to need others—and especially to need God.

We need Jesus. Immanuel, God with us.

Jesus is not a Band-Aid, and He definitely doesn’t anesthetize. Jesus heals. He delivers. He makes all things new. God, please make me new.

I don’t say that and drop the mic like I’ve just handed you the keys to everything. The truth is, I can’t give you Jesus or make you understand and receive all that He offers. That’s something only He can do.

But here’s what I can offer you: hope and faith. Faith that, as long as you cling to Jesus, you’ll find your way.

How do you cling to Jesus? You start by reading the Bible. By receiving grace—unearned favor—through faith, believing that Jesus died on the cross for all your sin. Every bit of it. He died to bring you spiritual freedom. To heal you. Why? Because He loves you.

Here’s the truth: there is no pain-free life. Jesus Himself said, “I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace. In this world, you will have trouble. But take heart, I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).

We are learning to live in the delicate tension between joy and heartache.

As Stasi Eldredge says, "It’s not either/or—it’s both/and. Joy and sorrow, simultaneously. That’s the reality on this side of heaven."

So, start by being honest with yourself and your mess. Invite Jesus to make you new. He will show up in your life. He will do what you cannot. He is enough.

Give Him your disappointment. He gives beauty for ashes, strength for fear, gladness for mourning, and peace for despair (Isaiah 61, paraphrased).

As always, I'd love to hear from you and would be honored to pray with you. Comment below or send me a DM.