A Knock at the Door

A festering wound developed in my heart as a child. This wound was my normal until I heard a bold knock at my door. The boldness of the knock made my stomach turn in knots. I quickly ran and hide. The knocking persisted. I was in my safe place, yet I felt a sudden discomfort. My heart longed to open the door to see what was on the other side.

As I sat in darkness a gentle voice resonated in my spirit, "Just show up." Then shame started talking, "What if you answer the door and find disappointment  is standing on your doorstep? The sudden discomfort continued. I knew I had to make a choice.  Do I continue to hide or do I show up? I didn't even think I could lift my body  up. I  was so use to living in darkness.

Suddenly, light broke into the room. I followed the light to the door. Strong arms broke through the door and lifted me up. Before I could even try to fight back, I found myself dusting sand off my knees. Moments passed before my eyes could adjust to the light. My lungs were filled with moisture as I took in each breath.  My ears were ringing with other people's voices. I wanted to run. I wanted the voices to stop. Immediately dread started to take me down.  Then, I felt something different being in this new place. There was no darkness. I wanted desperately to run to my safe place, yet there was no place to hide.

 Even though my body trembled, I realized that day that courage knocked at my door, and was now asking me to show up  as we sojourned together as writers.  I didn't know how I was going to live this new normal, but for the first time I felt alive. I took a deep breath of contentment knowing that courage would see me through this journey.

Living

The whole in my heart, the ache, the longing, the elephant that often sits upon my chest. Unraveled, undone, my knees have hit the sand. I look down at my bare toes, rub my eyes and look back. Frightened, scared...I don't want to be here. How did I get here? Oh not here...Anguished flooded my soul. Vast, uncharted, no boundaries. This all spoke to me, unsafe. I wanted to run and hide. I wanted to give up. I don't want to live here. Please don't make me live here...The air was thick filled with moisture. As I stood still, a gentle breeze blew across my neck and whispered in my ear,  "I want you to live."

Perfectionism - My Shield

I've lived the past 33 years of my life believing many lies about myself and others. I believed that my self-worth was directly related to my productivity, what I said, and how others viewed me. Such a belief caused me to carry the weight of anxiety, stress, and perfectionism upon my shoulders. The lie took away from my inability to experience joy and hindered true connection with others. I carried a very critical spirit towards others inwardly. At times the weight was so pressing that I was literally brought to me knees. Although I looked to God for directions in my life, my bigger god was perfectionism.
I was blind to see my idol worship, because it came packaged in the form of "good works."  I was blind to see that my desire to work hard, preform, please others, and live an exhausted life was wrong. Those desires were all cultural and inflated my self-worth.  I was lost, yet believed I was saved.  I believed I was living an obedient life that was pleasing to God, because of the way that it was package. I hit a point in life where I could no longer hold the shield of perfectionism. The shield was so heavy that the weight was crushing me.

Courage

In a book I am reading, The Gifts of Imperfection, by academic researcher Brene Brown, she shares about what the originally definition of courage meant, "To speak ones mind by telling all one's heart."
How many of us openly share what is truly on our heart?  I have always found it easier to deny myself for the sake of others. A lie my childhood taught me was that my thoughts, ideas, and emotions were intertwined with my worth. As a result, I grew up with a constant fear that if I said or acted the wrong way,  my worth would be jeopardize.  Hence, I gave birth to a spirit of perfectionism that constantly produced daily doses of anxiety and fear. Making others happy became my god, which resulted in a loss of identify. I tossed my worth into the mud to be trampled upon. I threw my pearls to the swine where my identify found a new home. I said "Yes" to circumstances that I longed to have the courage to say "No" to, and as the years passed my inner voice lost all courage to speak. The well-spring of my heart became barren.
However, the story doesn't end here...this is only the beginning of the redeemed childhood. Of a girl, who found courage to share her story, that was set free to discover that her worthiness is not connected to what others think, feel, or say about her, because she serves a God who is worthy. A God that demonstrated worthiness to all mankind by sending His son Jesus, who experienced our darkness in order that we might share in His light and be found worthy of His great affection. May you have the courage to share your story today!

The Unfamiliar Road

My last blog post was identifying myself in the third person. There are parts of me that want to leave the wounded girl behind on the road of slavery, and pretend that she is not apart of this new journey. In fact, ignoring the wounded girl would be easier. Ignorance is bliss, right? However, ignoring that she is not apart of me would be determental to the healing process, because my scars have a story to tell. The road to health is never easy. In fact, the hardest part about the healing process is being able to see that there is another road. Then, having the courage to travel on the road of unfamiliarity.

For many years I  didn't have the ability to see another road. The road I walked was familiar and comfortable.  That road was all I knew. What I am learning is that just because a habit is routine or comfortable doesn't signify signs of health. At times our routine habitats can breed a false sense of  security. The road I traveled for many years may have been familiar and comfortable, but was not a road of health.

The truth on this new road is that scars do not mean I have to live a life of bondage.  Scars tell a story. Scars are visible reminders of a wound, but are a sign of healing from the inside. My Savior, Jesus Christ, allowed his scars to tell the greatest story every told. His wounds tell that He bore our transgressions, that a ransom was paid in order that we may live a life of freedom in Him.

I encourage others to let your scars tell a story. Often times the experiences we face in life are not so much about us, but for those who we will meet as we sojourn through this life.

The Road

She held on to anxiety, fear, rejection, the fear of failure, shame, hurt, and lies. That road was familiar to her and was her home for many years. That road she traveled brought a form of comfort and security to her...that road was slavery.

That road had left her heavy laden, broken, and in a constant state of despair. Even though that was all she ever knew, there was a sweet voice that echoed in the wind..."There is another road."

She tried for many years to chase after that voice. However, that voice could not be tamed by a chase. The voice only seemed to be tamed as she sat still. Stillness though was not her comfort. She wrestled against stillness as she danced with perfectionism and busyness.

She became quite the performer as she grew up. She played the parts well, honor roll student, a friend to all, captain of the cheerleading squad, sorority sister, Bible study leader, daughter, teacher, and wife. She had everyone fooled, even herself.

She thought she could live on that road as long as she sojourned, after all that road was her home. What about the voice that told her differently? The voice that told her that there was another road.

She grew up only seeing one road. How can there be another road? Logic and comfort kept her from seeing the other road. She kept running thinking that at some point on the road there would be a crossroad.

After over three decades of running, the crossroad appeared after she had caused her beloved to weep and feel dejected over the years by her hurling insults.

She never meant to hurt him. He was a gift from God that she earnestly prayed for and dreamed of her whole life.

Being a wife took her by surprise. She did not expect how hard it would be to act. The other roles did not require her to be vulnerable or intimate. The other roles she knew would only be for a season.

This role was different. She had made a covenant.

When the crossroad appeared, there were signs on this road that were not on her other road. The first sign her eyes grazed was yield. She didn't know how to yield, or even what that required.

She immediately wanted to ignore the sign and keep on running. What about the voice?

She was tormented. The other road now stood before her, but was unfamiliar. The other road was not her home.