I don't share what keeps me up at night, or the subtle changes I'm recognizing in my psyche as I process through the twists and turns of my life. Those things are precious, those things are painful, and still so unknown to me that I wouldn't know HOW to broadcast it, much less feel like it is appropriate.
I have wanted to write again for some time. But all I can write about is what is seeping from my skin, my deep self. It normally releases into the atmosphere in the form of tears, or yelling, or a weird giggle that I wish would go away. It sounds like silliness but it's not, it's uncertainty. To write it down is so vulnerable, but to keep it in is detrimental. Is it weird that I hope few actually read this?...what am I saying only a few do anyways!
What would I write but the truth...and the truth is I'm scared, I'm terrified of life right now. It has been wonderful, it has been excruciating, and I just feel like I'm sitting in the middle of a dark room with my head spinning. Is that gruesome? Yeah, I guess a little.
How do you deal with your downfalls? How do you embrace your weakness? How many times can one person say they're sorry? Welcome to my world...have you been there too? Weakness is ugly, and only those who don't feel weak at the moment would instruct you to embrace it. I know because I've done it...right in the middle of my stronger moments. But when you feel weak, yeah that's not advice you easily adhere to.
So here I am feeling wonderful, feeling terrible...and I'm looking for God. What is He like? I know that He's real, I've been too convinced in times past to doubt that. I'm not asking of His existence, I'm asking for His consistence. What is He composed of, what is His nature? I've met people that have told me He's cruel. But that's not what I've ever found. And even now when I feel like I deserve to be turned away instead I'm met with mercy. Lord help me, I can barely stand it!
I found myself bawling in my car two days ago, overwhelmed that I'm nothing like Him. I cried because the ones that love me most are the ones I can be the most terrible to (you know who you are!), especially when it comes to THE ONE that loves me most. Love Himself- He's so relentless, and I'm here with an empty flask of perfume once poured out looking at Him like: Oops! It's all gone now! I've got nothing left. I feel like I should be the last to talk, the last to pray, the last to sing, then all of His stories come crashing over me, all of His parables that He told the crowds wash my wounds. And in my undeserving state I try to push it away, not because I don't want it, but because it's so hard to accept.
That's why I know He's real, I know He's real because the world condemns, they even condemn Him. The world shames, the church shames (though in my case most have not), and I shame myself. But not Jesus, not this One that won't leave. He's different- if my mind made Him up, He wouldn't be so nice right now. He tells me His ancient stories again and again, reminding me that he is 'The Lord God Gracious, The Lord God Merciful, Slow to Anger, Abounding in Steadfast Love...' (Exodus 34) He tells me again that He has my ring and my robe, and sandals for my newly swollen pregnant-lady feet (Luke 15). He reminds me that He is indeed the God of Abraham, Issac, and Jacob (Exodus 3), men with stories, men drenched in humanity and failure, and the one's God has decided to make His name known through. He's the God that chose a prostitute as the lineage for His perfect Son (Matthew 1). He says to me in stillness, "Let's talk, I never leave, I never forsake...(Duet. 31)" He knocks on the door I'm so hesitant to open, scared that I will find arms calked back ready to cast stones, but still He whispers to me through it, 'Open to Me, My love, My dove, My perfect one...' (Song of Solomon 5). And I know that slowly I will, after all, it's lonely in this dark little room.
