i'll just throw out the disclaimer. this is long.
pages said "10 pages" eish.
i am long winded. its what always occurs when i'm honest.
i do have my mothers genes in me.
so feel free to skip ahead or behind. i don't write for you,
but for me,
its how i process and live.
and what brings joy.
God and i have been fighting a lot this week.
i’ll yell out to him:
“its not fair! i don’t care that
you never said things would be
fair or easy, i want things to be
fair and easy!”
He gently whispers back after each attack:
“i’m here. would you stop being so peevish
and let me calm you.”
of course, i just want him to raise his voice
making it a fair fight, but he doesn’t.
he won’t.
he loves me too much to yell at me (unless its VERY needed, he won’t.
he knows i’ve been hurt by those (or one) who yelled to often and to much.
he knows i’ll shut down...so he whispers).
his whispers are my undoing.
well, usually they are.
usually his whispers are what bring back the sense of:
“ooooo yeah.....you do love me”
what am i doing running around on my own?
again?
again!?
“ahhhhhh sweet jesus, i am here. i am here.
lets do this together; here’s my hand
and my eyes, they see you...i’m right beside you.
for now. for good. forever.
till i forget again.
and could you please rapture me enough in you and your love and belief in me,
that i won’t forget so soon this time?”
(i’ve digressed to how it should be between us...this week it hasn’t been....)
this week i’ve been exceptionally frustrated and fearful and confused.
so i’ve been
unyielding.
like a broken lover i’m breaking my beloved’s heart
and i know it
but i can’t stop
i don’t know how...
i’m not a quitter. i’d much rather not attempt something if
i’m afraid i won’t like it or will want to back out later.
i don’t back out. or quit things.
i’m to stubborn and in moments arrogant to pull out.
and i know He isn’t worried about me running away.
i have no where else to go.
no where.
but i will stop and i’ll pause
everything.
no more sharing my heart with him or anyone.
no more smiles on my face.
no more clear thinking.
no more desires.
no more ability to process and care.
just quiet and pensive i’ll meander through each day in
a drug like induced coma.
not fully engaging or feeling.
my best defense and only defense is to hide my heart.
it’s all i know to do.
and i’m good at it.
to good.
so good, i hate it.
with everything in me, i hate it...
but i can’t break the habits that have grown in me
from my personality and youth and childhood
and were perfected from rejection and betrayal by the one i loved the most.
hiding is my secret weapon
that instead of destroying my opponent destroys me.
you’d think i would stop doing what hurts me.
you’d think?
but you’d be wrong.
if you’re honest with yourself, you know its terribly hard
to stop what is comfortable and so central to who you are.
so i fight myself this week as much as i fight him.
i hate when we fight.
everything is screwy and miserable.
EVERYTHING.
nothing is right when i am not right with Him.
ooo and i’m still mad at him. even now.
not mad, necessarily; just frustrated.
i want my lover to be and do what he is not and will not.
i want his physical body, though his promised spirit
is much better he says.
i want him to create a robot like spirit within me allowing me to act
and think and be ever engaged in who i am in
him and his love for me.
but thats not who he is...
i didn’t want to wait to write about all the glories of our mending.
our coming back together and the way he is so patient and restorative with me.
He is so patient and restorative.
always--
but i’m hurt and want him to know it.
so like a petulant child i’m still stomping my feet and pulling
out my pigtails...
to get his attention, so he doesn’t just know how hurt and upset i am
but literally feels it too.
of course it is doing no good. i am His and He is mine,
and He knows all to well my hurt and pain.
but i’m disappointed in him (in life, in myself...)
and all i know to do is be a brat and
hold out longer.
i’m also very good at being a brat when i want to.
i don’t think i am very often
(you’d have to ask my prior roommates and family for an honest answer),
but i can be a real good brat when i want.
we’ve been fighting. at some point i’ll cave in.
i’ll miss him hard enough
and
that will be all.
usually no compromise has been struck.
he doesn’t compromise with me.
ever.
its at the same time singularly annoying,
and vastly assuring.
He is true, His word is true and i either accept it
or i don’t.
i have, and do, and always will...so i cave.
if He has come to set me free.
and freedom is the ability to choose.
choosing means i’m often far to
ignorant to do what i want.
or is what i really want far less noble than i think?
hasn’t his mark on me been indelible?
are my desires so immature and superficial?
i have chosen to use my right to fight....
and am miserable because of it.
ooo for grace to trust him more....
our relationship is so keenly marked by accusations and questions.
we’re not the sort that goes by life in a comfortable silence.
apathetic to each other.
we do have our comfortable silences; yes, yes we do.
but we’re both to full of passion and life to be quiet for long together.
in fact, we’re strong enough together, trusting enough of each other,
that its ok when i freak out and go to war with him.
of course, he’d rather i didn’t, rather
i could just trust
all of him
with
all of me.
but he doesn’t mind when i shout,
or give the silent treatment.
he’s used to my games and knew exactly which tactic i’d use
in each situation as he knitted me together in my mothers womb.
my questions and doubts further prove i believe he is there and caring and listening.
i’m learning that.
if i really didn’t believe i’d just leave.
i’m not a leaver.
loyal to a fault
through and trough.
and so it is with him.
so it is with us.
neither leaving the other.
but locked in a standstill of wills.
he persistently tender and present.
me bewildered and doubting.
.............................................
open heart surgery is a very big ordeal.
its painful.
you’re in the hospital for a long time.
you go to rehab even longer.
your diet has to change, your lifestyle has to change.
your scar stretches across your sternum, under your ribs almost to your back.
its bold and lavish.
unmistakable.
so it is with me.
i wish it was just a simple incision that was made.
a quick visit to hospital, anesthesia in my airways;
i lay asleep.
the cuts are made,
the broken mended,
sown back together i wake in a cool state of euphoria because
i’m heavily medicated.
my surgery wasn’t so smooth.
i wasn’t asleep when the damage was done
and i wasn’t asleep when the first cut was made.
i’m still wide awake its morning each day as repairs are made in a
slow systematic fashion.
i don’t understand the symmetry in restoration.
but i know He does, and today; that is enough for me.
emotional heart surgery is more vast then physical heart surgery.
people aren’t as gentle with you.
they aren’t as helpful
“let me bring you a meal. may i drive you to work? can i do anything for you?”
of course i’ve had my fair share of friends and family doing just that.
(and thank you. thank you with all that i am...)
but days go by and turn to months and next month will be a year and
no one bothers to ask anymore, or offer.
do they forget?
do they forget i wonder to myself that my heart was cut out
broken and bleeding and
still isn’t fully mended?
does it matter?
it hurts more to think of my own forgetting?
days go by and weeks.
no months for me...but weeks...
does that mean my heart is healing?
do i want to forget?
will that mean i’ve moved on and am whole again?
we’re far to afraid as humans when it comes to dealing with matters of the heart.
say what you mean, mean what you say and
be courageous.
it is never bad or hurtful to be reminded on a forgotten day
by someone else that they haven’t forgotten.
no, no, to know you are thought of is a special sort of love indeed.
but please don’t all jump in now to say a kind word
or to ask the state of my heart.
care must be genuine or its bitter to the taste and
painful to swallow.
everyone says i’m being restored.
but that is so vague its exasperating.
i’m gonna ask the next person that says that
what they mean by it?
am i not now who i was?
of course, i’m not. i know that...
but what am i not? or missing?
that is in need of restoration?
will you know when i am restored?
it surely can’t mean a new name,
a new marital status,
a new flesh to lay next to my flesh at the end of each day.
that is far to cheap and surface.
inevitably that could be part of it, but not the whole..
so what is it that will signify
“restored”
in the bright neon lights that are my life?
see, i fight with him over this too....
over what restoration means
for me.
i don’t really care enough to wonder what it means for you.
some day maybe i will again.
but i have enough issues on my own accord to not care about another’s.
thats not true.
well, sorta.
if this is as good as it’ll get till i’m fully sanctified and home...
it is curse inducing.
and i don’t curse.
but its enough to make me want
to throw a nice little f bomb
or something with equal vulgarity and
dramatics into my daily language.
this can’t be all there is...
but i have no grand dreams or wishes for more
i have only small prayers and fearful timid steps of faith.
massive questions i raise up to him and try and find the
daily satisfaction in Him to let the questions be enough.
we fight when it isn’t.
and this week it isn’t enough.
his goodness isn’t enough.
his belief in me isn’t enough.
nothing special or extraordinary happened to cause this breakdown
of faith and love.
just the slow build up of life.
reminding me i am ever dependent on him.
and a hot mess without him.
maybe tomorrow i'll have had it with myself and surrender.
maybe not.
there's less of a fight in me.
not only does sleep call me (its almost 2am!),
but like the balm of shade on a hot summers day,
writing always reminds me of what is true,
and good and noble...
and He is all these things.
and for me
love.
he is love flowing in me.
always.
tonight i sleep knowing that...
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