Thursday, October 21, 2010

Getting Over It

Ok, so I’m a pouter. And from what I’ve observed in my own children, that probably means I’m spoiled too. I can’t say that I can always remember being a pouter, but I guess that matters little much now.

So what am I pouting about? See, there’s the thing about it: I can’t tell you. If I told you what I was pouting about, then it would be complaining. At that point I would at best be a complainer, but most likely I would be a complainer and a pouter, which is totally worse than just the pouting itself. So I’ll just keep my mouth shut and preserve the one label, if you don’t mind.

But I will say I’m working on it. It may not seem like it if you live with me or spend much time around me, but I am trying my best to “get over it” as I’ve been advised to do so many times in so many ways lately.

“Getting over it” is a funny thing for a pouter like me. The people who say it – and genuinely mean it without ill intent – seem to think that there’s a switch you can flip that makes all the hurt and confusion that are fueling your attitude just *POOF* disappear. Well, if you happen to be a pouter too and you’ve actually found the location of said switch, please, please, PLEASE send me a detailed diagram mapping out its location, would ya? ‘Cause I’ve been looking and I can’t for the life of me find it.

That said, in the present absence of such an allusive instant cure to my bratty heartache, all I can offer is a plea for patience. I am working on it. And one day I’m sure I’ll look back and laugh at the fact that I had this emotional tantrum at all. Ok, well, maybe not laugh, but ….

Anyway, enough with all of it. Tonight is, after all, one of those healing kinds that make me not want to be a pouter anymore. We’re all sitting out on our new deck, surrounded by the golden fall sunlight and a hearty breeze. The kids are busy climbing the tree and throwing “dirt bombs” (you might not want to ask), and my husband is serenading me with the guitar. In a few short minutes we’ll retire inside to dinner and a movie because it’s Family Night, the one night when no one goes anywhere and we all do something together. Later I’ll tuck my beautiful boys into their warm, paid for beds, and my husband and I will snuggle on the couch while I make him watch a new episode of Grey’s. Honestly, who could really want more than this anyway?

I mean, after all, not every woman has a man who will watch Grey’s, right?

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Trying Something New

Just playing around with a new design. Change is good, right? Not sure I'll stay with this one, but it's a start!

Monday, October 11, 2010

Living Water Restoration

When we moved here more than four years ago, the Lord let me in on a little secret: This place is like living water for you – My Living Water. I was taking a walk the morning He spoke that truth to me, and I remember standing by a creek in the park and crying out of the sheer joy of knowing that restoration was coming.

I thought then that maybe I was getting a break of sorts. I had come from a very lonely and disconnected place in life, and I was hoping that this living water would mean I was getting plugged back in – that new growth was about to spring forth on the dry, brittle branches of my heart and I was going to be a part of the living, breathing, walking body of Christ once again.
And it did mean that. There was growth, and new things did spring up on my heart and in my life. But I had no way of knowing that morning in the park, standing by the creek, that the living water the Lord had so graciously given me was in my life more for the sake of things to come than to repair the things that had already been.

I’ve been through quite a bit in the past four years. Some of it I talk about, some of it I don’t. There are parts that have made me a better, stronger person, and other parts that have indelibly marked who I am in ways I can’t even comprehend yet – ways that have made me a stranger to myself. It sounds backwards to say, but in the midst of this swirling, vibrant living water, something inside of me has died.

I don’t come to that conclusion lightly – it’s an ugly reality that I struggle with recognizing, but it is real. Somewhere, at some point, I stuffed a dirty bandage of bitterness and indifference over an open wound on my heart, and it grew into an unhealthy, inappropriate callous. It felt good at the time to have some protection – to catch a break from things incessantly rubbing against the open, painful blister of fresh disappointments and traumas. But without proper care and the air it needed to heal, that nasty gash in my spirit was allowed to fester and become necrotic, and now I find myself with a numb spot where there used to be such great feeling.

I’m saddened that this has happened, but I know two things that keep me going: 1. Nothing (not even this) is permanent except God’s love, and 2. He allowed this to happen in the midst of living water so He could sustain the rest of me and nurse me back to health when I finally ask for help.

So yes, something has died in me. There is unmistakably a numb spot on my heart covered over by layers of filthy, reeking homemade patches that were never meant to heal – only suppress and protect. But it’s time to let the Maker of my heart – the One who raises the rotting from the dead – cut me open and excise this lesion from my soul. It’s time to let Him restore me through His Living Water and make me more the person He intended me to be than I ever was even before the wound occurred. Only He can do that, you know – “restore” something to a place that is far better than it’s original, mint condition could have ever been. It’s time to let Him do that. It’s past time.

So here I am. I’m trying to live my life on purpose for the next little while, and this is part of a
first step. I’m blogging AND I’m being vulnerable. To a degree I had quit both because I figured people were tired of listening to what I had to say in either arena. But I can’t just sit here all wrapped up in my numb spot any more – I’ve got to try and be real and alive for a moment so His healing doesn’t kill me. It’s kind of like spiritual chemo, I guess. I’ve got to decide to fight and live my life even if it hurts for a bit, so what He’s doing can take root and grow.

So here it is: step one. It sounds dark, but it’s really not a bad place to be, because I know He has great things coming. It’s because of that end that I’m almost looking forward to the hard times to come. The pain of tearing those wounds open – yet deeper this time – is worth letting His water flow over them to make them stronger. I am grateful for this place, and thankful that He has allowed me to be here for such a time as this.

Come, Lord Jesus, and let the restoration begin!