This is more of a public journal entry, less of a message to any readers, though I do invite you to take a peek if you’d like
Earlier this summer my whole world changed. I took off the weight of a sin that secretly and severely broke me in every way for years. That freedom was more than anything I could have imagined, and still is. I thought the hard part was over in confession, time for the healing to begin. I didn’t expect the healing to be the hard part.
I had no idea how deep the wounds of my continuous sin went and in my walk with God through it, I was so hurt and shocked that I had no idea how I’d completely rotted my thinking. For a few months I stuck with it, but eventually it wore me down and I gave up. I was tired of feeling like the crazy person who was always trying to figure herself out. I didn’t return to sin completely, but I didn’t keep fighting for the freedom promised to me on the other side either. I decided that I’d rather stay at this level and do what I can with what I have. That in and of itself isn’t such a bad thing, except that I knew for a fact I was built for much more. That’s not an inflated ego, it’s an understanding and a responsibility.
God still brought people, opportunities, and experiences my way. Every single one of them a symbol of his outstretched hand asking me to take another step; to try one more time. But I was too scared to look inside that hole again; to start examining the things I’d filled it with. I refused to continue with the process of pointing out things that were broken without knowing how to fix them. Everyday I learned more about myself but still, at the end I’d come up with a longer to do list.
Although I’m confident there’s much more to it, I was once told that Hell is like spending everyday looking at the treasure of what could have been and seeing the trash you traded for it instead. In that sense, I was living in Hell. Everyday I’d feel the pull of “There’s something so much better for you, but you have to fight for it”, and the promise of a fight is what I focused on.
Where I am now situationally is is more than I every asked for, but if I don’t let the Doctor perform some painful and lifesaving surgery on me, I won’t be able to keep up. And I want to run with them. I want to ride the waves too; the ebbs and flows. But I can’t do that with gaping wounds and that’s why I’m here now. Because I’m trying to get my priorities straight… I don’t want to miss out. I’ve willingly done that enough.
I woke up in the middle of the night and in that weird area between sleeping and consciousness I finally confessed to myself (what I think to be) the root of it all: Who I am now is sickeningly envious of who I know I’m supposed to be, what I know God has called me to do. I’m mad and disappointed because in that time of trying to heal, I think it finally clicked how monstrous the chasm is between the two. I’m jealous of her not because she’s perfect, but because she knows the freedom of seeking Christ and not perfection.
It’s been months, months of being offered a warm meal everyday, but refusing to eat because I know I can’t enjoy the food without enjoying the cook. It’s been months… and I am so hungry.