Wow, thank you for the incredibly kind response to Monday’s post.
I’ve got to be honest….I was not planning on publishing that post. I had a different one (that I actually shared on Patreon) all tee’d up and ready to go, but I made a game time decision to switch it up. Don’t know why…it just felt…right.
And to be completely transparent, that post was never meant for anyone else’s eyes other than my own. It was a sort of…processing exercise for my eyes only. Something that could perhaps prompt me down the line for a different post.
Many of you commented that it didn’t really sound “like me” or that it didn’t seem finished…and that’s because, well…it wasn’t! It was a moment of critical introspection. A kick in the pants. A third quarter evaluation.
And let’s be honest here for a minute…taking an inventory of all one’s weaknesses and shortcomings….that is not a particularly pleasant past time….especially when sharing it on the internet.
But I think I know why I was supposed to publish that post on Monday.
I was cleaning up my apartment tonight, and I came upon a journal I kept when I first started this blog back in 2015.
It was tucked away in my bookshelf, shoved to the back after nights of fun when I’d carelessly strewn various items on the shelves, only to be forgotten as I no longer needed that little writing companion.
But I opened it tonight. It’s leather bound cover, familiar in my hands, and I began reading the words I wrote, nearly two years ago.
It was filled with poem after poem. They were actually quite beautiful, but all very…sad. Pensive. I’ve actually thought about publishing them on here, but…I won’t put you through that…
But this little book was filled with words of a girl who had so much bottled up emotion and shame inside that needed healing. They were the words of a girl whose spirit was very much wounded and broken. A girl who, thankfully, I do not know anymore.
Rereading those poems…I mean, it was only two years ago. It doesn’t really feel like much has changed, and yet…worlds apart.
This blog has been a journey. Truly. A process of breaking down my brokenness, piece by piece. And honestly…giving it to the Lord.
And, I very well may be clinically insane for doing said processing publicly, but whatever. I regret nothing.
Back when I first started writing this blog, I was listening to my all time favorite podcast by Fr. Mike Schmitz. And my favorite “tag line” of his is, ‘Your brokenness is really an access point for grace.’
And to be honest, I never really understood what that meant until now. Now, after I’ve unearthed every broken and wounded part of my spirit, so long hidden behind soul cobwebs, or concealed behind a smile. I brought them to light. Named them. Put them on blast.
And that brokenness was where God came in and healed those parts. In ways that I didn’t even know were happening. To a degree that I never thought possible until tonight, when I went back and reread the words of the dry-souled girl that started out this journey.
That truly is amazing grace.
That transformation gives me a whole new level of gratitude and appreciation for His mercy.
So that post on Monday, perhaps it was a nudge to keep bringing all my “new brokenness” to the surface. Keep surrendering my fears and weaknesses. Because they never go away. As soon as we “heal” or “mend” from one, another grows up in its place. Kinda like whack-a-mole. That’s not meant to be negative or dooms-day-ish, it’s just a fact of life. We live, we grow, we develop new “issues.”
I’ve now officially put them on blast. Now, it’s God’s move. It’s His time to shower them with grace. And I have total faith that He will.
It will be a process…much like the journey thus far – I fully appreciate that. But I trust that, just like the healing process that has occurred since I wrote those poems so many moons ago, so too will Jesus heal my heart this time around.
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