Let me preface this by saying this is quite possibly the day before my period will start. I hate being that girl. But a decade plus of twelve-mothed years has shown me to beware of me on this day. And already sensitive person becomes what seems to herself a dartboard, with arrows flying at her every which way she looks. That, or the world’s whipping boy. I never realize it until the day’s almost at its end, and I’m a sobbing pile of mush in the car on the way home.
So this is where you catch me, lovely readers. I was the pile in the care, and when I realized it’s too cold to sit outside and write, I cried some more. I cried, despite the obvious fact that it’s the end of February in Colorado. Of course it’s cold. Duh.
I listened to a sermon podcast this morning of my favorite preacher in the middle of a series on Ecclesiastes. I began listening to it a couple weeks ago after talking to a certain borderline depressed Marine friend of mine. The things he was saying sounded very elderly Solomon-esque. So I thought I’d prescreen this sermon series with the intention of burning it on cd and sending it his way. Turns out, maybe this series was meant for me all along, but isn’t that how it always goes with God?
Anyway, somewhere in this morning’s sermon, Matt Chandler says that confession isn’t always laying out a list of the sins we’ve committed or kneeling in a booth with a collared man behind a translucent screen. He said it can be as simple and forthright as “hey m an, this is where I’ve been lately”. So although I could sure divulge an extensive list of the sins I’ve committed as of late, the conversationalist in me chooses the other option.
So here it is. Hey man, this is where I’ve been lately:
Feeling like a failure on all sides. Incredibly lonely, which kind of makes sense because who would want to be around such a mess-up?
I seem to be always saying the wrong thing lately. Sharing too much, judging when the evidence is inconclusive, not caring when something’s a big deal to everyone else in the room, offending & offending & offending, not to mention the clinginess I never can quite mask. And this is a reoccurring thing in my life. I believe the whole “if people are always finding the same fault in you, it’s probably not their fault, it’s yours” thing. I’m no exception. Not the mention I DO believe that the Bible is 100% God-breathed, so when it says “out of the mouth the heart speaks”, I take it to mean that if my words are hurting people, then my heart is simply malformed and selfish at the root and I cannot claim I was simply misunderstood repeatedly. Also, there is the hope in me to one day be a career writer. If this is such a gift, why do I find it so incomprehensible to use my words as healing oil for people and a sweet fragrance to God instead of a searing iron for cutting ties and leaving others singed and blistered?
“I want life in every word to the extent that it’s absurd.” The Postal Service
Then there’s the loneliness. I’ll try to keep this brief because let’s face it, who wants to hear a 24 year old woman going on about her singleness? It’s so self-indulgent and worn out. And the few people who read this bipolar blog of mind are all happily, nearly sickeningly, in love. It’s a buzz kill. I love parades, and I’d hate to become the rain to anyone else’s.
Everyone has someone. Everyone has a best friend. I don’t. I’m so incredibly blessed with agape love friendships that people envy me for it, I’ve heard. But I don’t have that one who’s mine over all others. All the people that I consider best friends have both a spouse and a best friend in line before me. What is that?! I just want that one person who considers me first and would rather be around me than anyone, whose name and plans are interwoven with mine. I feel like I’D want me around. I have so many people who tell me good things about me. I guess maybe it’s easier to believe the bad, plus with the recently resurfaced hurting everyone thing, the negatives are kind of glaring.
So that’s where I am. That’s where I’ve been for the better part of a month now. I’d like to say it has nothing to do with that same Marine deciding he didn’t in fact want me, although all the preceding evidence pointed contrary. But this did start around then. So maybe I’m that girl again, even though I think she’s sad and pitiful and desperate. I almost cut this part out because I think it’s so lame. But I feel like maybe that’d be dishonest of me.
No heart issue for the believer is isolated unto itself, a simple cause and effect. It’s always deeper and darker, unfortunately. I do recognize all this as God’s mercy, His wanting to pull the thorn out that I’ve grown used to just tolerating, most likely.
But all I keep thinking is WHY DOESN’T ANYONE WANT ME?! Oh yeah, MAYBE BECAUSE I’VE GOT MOSTLY ANNOYING THINGS TO OFFER!
So pray accordingly, I guess. I’m sure you guys can see me far more honestly than I can at this point. I count on your ability and willingness to do so more than I think you know. Be long suffering when it comes to my psychosis. I don’t promise I’ll ever be any better, but I’m hoping for that.
I want God to be ever-glorified in and through me. I know I’m highly favored and beloved and the apple of the Creator’s eye, which is insane. But my soul is curled up in this ugly, snotty fetal position, quite literally praying for Spring.
That’s where I’ve been.
Biblical confession according to Matt Chandler? Check.
No comments:
Post a Comment