from: notting hill, london

I come to you from a quiet cafe outside Notting Hill in London, England. London is surprisingly calm today despite the recent news of Meghan and Harry’s leaving the Royal Family. I’ve always been more of a Kate fan myself—apparently Notting Hill is too, seeing as their unfazed demeanor. I attempted writing this post last week but it quickly became too polished and not quite honest enough. You see, I wrote about bravery. Similar to a post I wrote five years ago, I wrote about courage taking different forms for different people. However, brave is far from the word I’d use to describe the last week of my life. 

Five nights into my ‘dream trip’ with my friends, I had a slight meltdown that quickly turned my weeping to anger at anyone who came near me. The combination of little sleep, a sudden change in plans and new group dynamics ended in me yelling from the searing shower for my friends to stay the you-know-what away from me. Not my finest moment to say the least. 

Sadly, a quick temper is not too unlike me, especially with those I’m closest to. When I was a little girl I used to stomp, slam doors and push the line until I’d gone too far to go back. About an hour after said episodes, I usually recoiled in shame for my outrage and begged for a second chance—not too unlike how I responded Saturday night. Ashamed of my anger yet stifled by my pride, I solemnly apologized to my friends and retreated to bed. My sin felt insurmountable. It felt as if the ideal conditions keeping this especially vicious demon of mine caged had evaporated and left me to wrestle with my anger alone—and only five days in, I was losing.

The day after my meltdown, I relished in self-loathing until on the train to Amsterdam the Lord brought me these verses:

 15 For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. 16 Now if I do what I do not want, I agree with the law, that it is good. 17 So now it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me. 18 For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. 19 For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing. 20 Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me.”

Romans 7:15-20

Stick with me through the ‘did nots’, ‘should nots’, and ‘could nots’ because the core of the truth is this: alone, I don’t have the ability to be good; it’s through Christ I do any good, but in this body there will always be a battle between this world and heaven. Just as I was beginning to forget this, I walked into Hillsong Church, London this morning. As the pastor took the stage, he began speaking about bitterness, anger and resentment—all emotions I’d dealt with in droves the last week! He explained how Satan takes our frustrations and twists them to make us bitter and resentful. As he spoke, images of the week before spiraled in my head. But then he reminded me of the hope— God doesn’t leave us to wrestle with our sin alone. My anger is of my flesh and I am a new creation. I can’t find this spiritual battle with emotional weapons, I need the Lord to help me. That’s the bottom line. That’s the point of it all. The only answer to my anger, to my negative feelings, to my hurt is the holy spirit.

Even if I came all the way to Europe just for the Lord to expose my sin, it’d be worth it. He’s shown me the problem and given me the antidote—his son, his holy spirit. Beyond this, he’s shown me his grace in a million other ways this weekend: the older english lady at the museum who led me to her favorite art exhibit, her arm linked through mine. The friend I made at my hostel who went on a walking tour with me, who I then got to explain the simple, beautiful gospel to. The people at Hillsong who invited me to lunch with them and made London feel like home. His presence has shown in all these unexpected places and kindnesses—his loving shining most brilliantly through people. The people who love, the people who forgive, the people who need the gospel—just like the rest of us.

Ann Catherine Lee