I seek counsel a lot. Especially from people I look up to. I like hearing other people's opinions because it helps me see with a new set of eyes. I genuinely enjoy receiving feedback and criticism. I often ask people to reflect on their own experiences because there's something in hearing how different people solve problems. I guess the bottom line is: For me, getting advice is mighty affirming. But lately I've realized the danger in seeking affirmation, and it stems from my tendency to be a selective listener. 

Growing up, I was a stubborn independent lil' nug. This fierce desire to do everything on my own eventually led to the delusion of thinking I knew more than my parents. Our differing communication styles didn't help either. My mom has a funny way of giving great advice that usually makes you wish you hadn't said anything in the first place. She skips the anesthesia and goes straight for the scalpel, and by the end of her counseling session, you feel exposed, in pain, and defeated. I, on the other hand, am a huge fan of the sandwich method: validation, followed by advice, followed by lots more validation and encouragement. I love hugs and back rubs and gold stars and I'm-so-sorry-you-have-to-go-through-this-right-now's. If I didn't like the way that she phrased something or didn't agree with what she was saying, my selective listening would kick in. I would seek advice elsewhere until I found someone who would validate what I wanted to do all along. My relationship with God mirrors something very similar.

I remember one evening, when I was still in middle school, my mom and I got into a pretty heated debate. I don't remember what it was specifically about - probably something to do with me trying to tell her how to parent. Whatever it was, we both (and by "we both" I mean "I") needed some time to cool down. Eventually, my mom decided I'd had enough sulking time, and came upstairs to make amends. I remember hearing her tentatively opening the door as I was lying face down on my twin bed refusing to acknowledge her. Looking back, I'm impressed at how well she kept a straight face. It must have taken everything in her to not burst out laughing. But that's my mom for you. She's good at keeping her cool. Despite my pitiful silent treatment, my mom sat at the edge of my bed, put a hand on my back, and watched as my stern resolve began to melt away. I don't care what anyone says, mom hands will soften even the most macho of men. Seriously. Need a secret war weapon? Try mom hands.

Then she said to me, "You may not like the way I say it, but I'm one of the only people who will tell you the truth. And it's because I love you and always want the best for you." Funny how easy that is to shove aside when you have tunnel vision. I wish I could say that was the day I learned that lesson, but unfortunately, tunnel vision and selective listening stuck around for years - even when I left for college. It's a lesson that I continue to relearn. When I first moved to Seattle, I was a wide-eyed, driven 18 year old who was hungry to take on the world. I had a head full of ideas, a heart full of confidence, and a bit too much pride on my shoulders. Then life happened. These days, I am a sleepy-eyed (almost) 20 year old who is experiencing excruciating growing pains and lots of trial and error. My head is often full of racing thoughts, my heart full of impatience, and I carry WAY too much tension in my shoulders and neck. As you can see, I've been making progress, but not too much has changed. Though the tunnel's widened, I still have a long way to go.

Validation is great. Words of affirmation are my love language, and when you feel like the world's beaten you down, chewed you up, and spat you back out, its always nice to feel like your pain is valid. But you need pain to grow. You need trials and tribulations to test your faith and teach you perseverance (1 James, yo). I've found that, most of the time, the thing that I think I need most, is usually NOT what what I end up needing. On Friday, I wanted affirmation. I wanted comfort and a hug and to lie in bed and watch a funny movie and cry. But instead I was told to "Stop." and suddenly, all the power over the dreaded day was in the palm of my hand. I had a choice to quit sulking and realize that life wasn't happening to me, it was just happening. I was given the power to stop building a gloomy trap in my head, and instead, focus on the fact that I was still breathing. I am breathing, I am making progress, and the sun will come up tomorrow. Sometimes, that's all I need to know.

So, in conclusion: Parents are cool. They always know what you need, even when you don't. Kind of like God. And I only hope that the older I get, the more attuned I become to their wisdom. Sometimes God speaks in crazy miracles and signs, and everything feels warm and affirming. But most of the time he just kind of tells you to "stop looking." Because nothing cool ever happens when you're expecting it.