Today someone read me a post from another fellow Portlander's blog. This Portland blogger seemed quite happy as a human, with lots of cute things to say and fun things to do in the Portland area. I loved it, in the sense that I wanted to be her, but at the same time, I didn't want to hear anymore, because I couldn't relate. At least not right now.
It was as my friend was reading about this Portlander's love of farm animals that it hit me... "I've become one of those depressing bloggers whom people might only read so as to feel better about their own lives." And that's only if they keep reading. Many stop at the first sign of depression.
My thoughts scrambled as I started to think about happy and fun things to write about so that I too could have hundreds of people comment on the things I have to say. Seriously? Hundreds of comments? About farm animals? And I get it... the point of blogging of is not to get the most comments, just like the point of facebook is not to get the most friends, but let's face it, when someone actually acknowledges they read what I write by commenting on it, or someone actually acknowledges they want to be friends with me, even if by facebook, it does put a little extra hitch in my giddy up.
Prior to hearing about the wild adventures of farm girl, I had gone on a walk around my neighborhood. I walked down to the local nursery and took in the beauty of all the trees and plants around me. If there's one thing I love about Portland, it is the epic trees in this town. I love trees. I love to draw them, paint them, climb them, swing from their branches and sit under their shade. I love how some change drastically throughout the seasons and some remain constant in their appearance. I love that some are weak and some are strong. I love that they are firmly rooted where they are planted. I love that they don't resist growth. I love that they provide shade and shelter. I love that they serve as homes, not just for animals, but for kids of all ages looking for the perfect fort. I just love trees. And Portland has some beautiful trees.
I realize this is where I should post pictures of some of the trees. I know farm girl would... she had tons of pictures of all the animals she described. I wish I could keep up with her, but alas, I cannot. And I am OK with that. For now.
The time will come when I will venture out with a camera and document this beautiful town. I've started slowly, but nothing is ready to share yet. For now, I will wait for my lunch to finish cooking (itself), sip on my coffee, and sit in front of my computer with my writing pants on. Yes, I have writing pants. I actually dubbed them my writing pants today. They are too comfortable (and too cute, if I might add) not to wear them while I sit and write. This is the method of accountability I have chosen. I love wearing these pants, so now whenever I put them on, I must write, even if only a few sentences to get the thoughts out of my head.
And so, I realize I don't keep an award winning blog with lots of profound things to say or fun things to do or make, but I feel happy when I write. So... if for no one else other than myself, I will keep writing... even if it depresses the hell out of whoever reads it.
Happy reading, Y'all!
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
a dash of salt
I baked a cake today.
A seemingly insignificant detail in the grand scheme of life on planet on earth, but for me and my small spec of time here, it was quite a lovely way to spend some of my afternoon. I was baking it with the intention of sharing it with a community of people tonight, and although I was proud of finishing what I started, it didn't quite turn out the way it was supposed to look, at least according to the picture in the cook book.
It was flat and thin and looked a whole lot more like a giant pancake than it did an actual cake you would frost and serve at a birthday party; but in thinking about it, even a pancake is a type of cake, and I was excited to at least get the finished product in the family of what I was aiming for.
There are many things aside from cakes that end up looking different than what we think they are supposed to look like, or even what we want them to look like. You can follow the directions to a tee without missing a step, a beat, or even a dash of salt, and still end up with something that looks nothing like the way the picture promised it, whether that be a picture from a book or a picture you have painted in your mind.
As I've said many times before, so I apologize for saying it again, I moved to Portland, OR last fall. I knew what it would hold, I knew what it would look like, I knew how it would go. I had the directions and all I had to do was follow them and this wonderful life that I imagined up would become a reality upon moving here, or at least that's what I thought. I did have peace that I truly believe came from the Lord about coming here, but I may have sabotaged the peace by placing expectation upon what my time here would look like. The doors leading me here were wide open, so I walked through them, trusting that if this wasn't something the Lord wanted me to do, He'd shut them. As the doors flew open I walked faster and faster, forgetting what I was walking away from and expecting my arrival to be triumphant.
Low and behold, I walked through the last door and I arrived! And then everything fell apart. Moving here, for me, was going to be a step towards figuring out what I was going to do with my life. Instead, it quickly started to feel like 5 steps backwards, which I've encountered before, but this time I was alone and outside of my comfort zone.
Having had some time pass and being somewhat more adjusted, I am in a place where I am starting to be OK with the fact that moving to Portland looks absolutely nothing like what I thought it would. I'm actually coming to a place of being thankful that it doesn't look the way I planned. I thought my purpose in coming here was to go to the Art Institute and that was it. I still don't know what it is, if it's one specific thing at all, but I know that God has something bigger for me than just an art degree from an accredited and incredibly expensive art school. I thought I would find more purpose in my life (something I seemed to be lacking at that point) if I pursued what I was passion about, so I pursued art, or at least a form of art that would allow me to make a living.
Long story short, I'm not in school anymore. Was it another thing I started that I didn't finish? Maybe. Was it something that I tried and didn't like and can now rule out as a profession? Possibly. But I think there's more to it than that. I was so confused when I decided not to go back to school. The questions seemed never ending... "Am I supposed to stay in Portland? Isn't school the reason I came here? Do I go back to Chicago? Lord, what am I doing? I keep trying all of these different things, hoping it will be what you want me to do and hoping it will be what I want to do, and hoping it will fulfill me, why do I not feel fulfilled? Do I just keep trying? Am I not looking hard enough? Am I missing it? I don't want to start another thing and not finish it, what do you want me to do?"
It's funny when the Lord shows up. Over Christmas break I was staying with my aunt and uncle in Chicago. At some point, on some normal day while I wrestling with questions about the direction in which my life is going, as I normally do, mother nature called... or perhaps it was the Lord, but it was certainly mother nature that I heard... and felt... and responded to. I went to the bathroom without any expectation other than a normal visit to the bathroom. I was still asking the Lord questions while I did my business. In the brief moment before I got up to flush, I felt and heard something that wasn't mother nature. I stayed right where I was and revelation hit me like a spiritual two-by-four across the back of the head. It wasn't an audible voice, but I heard the Lord say something... something like this...
"You can try all of the things you want to, but if you are looking for them to fulfill you, you will never find what you are looking for. Not even doing something you are passionate about, such as art, will give you the fulfillment you are looking for. Only I can fulfill you the way you want to be fulfilled, so if that is why you are trying these things, your search will never end."
It was common sense and mind blowing at the same time. It's something that I knew to be true, but it wasn't until that moment that my heart received it and felt it to be true.
Our conversation continued for a while, but eventually I flushed the toilet, along with my desires to find purpose in a job, a school, or an identity of any sort, and flung the door wide open, leaped into the hall and blurted out "that was the best bathroom visit EVER!"
I don't know if my aunt or uncle heard me, and if they did I don't know what they might have thought I meant... after all, I was in there for quite a while, just listening to the Lord. But it didn't matter what they thought or not, I left the bathroom feeling lighter for more reasons than just those mother nature had to do with.
I still have moments and days of confusion, but I am increasingly aware of God's hand at work in my life. I am in pursuit of the Lord, not for what He can do for me or show me, but just simply and solely so that I might know Him. In knowing Him I am finding my value again and my purpose in life. I am finding that I may not be a trend setting graphic designer, or the next greatest Women's Bible study teacher, or even the humblest of missionaries in the bush of Africa, all things I have once pursued; I am finding that I am simply loved... simply and solely for who I am, not for what I can do.
This is no excuse for laziness... to just exist and be content with being loved by God. I'm still doing my part by taking steps towards things and seeing where He'll lead, but I'm doing so knowing that the things I pursue aren't going to make me a more satisfied person or define me for better or worse. Yes, I am learning to be content in whatever circumstance simply because I am loved by God, but it is that love that fuels me to pursue Him harder, knowing, and sometimes just simply trusting, that He will have His way with me and the rest will fall into place, not because of my own doing, but because of His.
And so... these were thoughts that came to mind today, all from simply following the directions of a cake recipe and getting different results from what was promised. Nothing is picture perfect. Not even from a cook book. I'm all for baking, but when it comes to recipes and formulas for how to do life, I give up.
A seemingly insignificant detail in the grand scheme of life on planet on earth, but for me and my small spec of time here, it was quite a lovely way to spend some of my afternoon. I was baking it with the intention of sharing it with a community of people tonight, and although I was proud of finishing what I started, it didn't quite turn out the way it was supposed to look, at least according to the picture in the cook book.
It was flat and thin and looked a whole lot more like a giant pancake than it did an actual cake you would frost and serve at a birthday party; but in thinking about it, even a pancake is a type of cake, and I was excited to at least get the finished product in the family of what I was aiming for.
There are many things aside from cakes that end up looking different than what we think they are supposed to look like, or even what we want them to look like. You can follow the directions to a tee without missing a step, a beat, or even a dash of salt, and still end up with something that looks nothing like the way the picture promised it, whether that be a picture from a book or a picture you have painted in your mind.
As I've said many times before, so I apologize for saying it again, I moved to Portland, OR last fall. I knew what it would hold, I knew what it would look like, I knew how it would go. I had the directions and all I had to do was follow them and this wonderful life that I imagined up would become a reality upon moving here, or at least that's what I thought. I did have peace that I truly believe came from the Lord about coming here, but I may have sabotaged the peace by placing expectation upon what my time here would look like. The doors leading me here were wide open, so I walked through them, trusting that if this wasn't something the Lord wanted me to do, He'd shut them. As the doors flew open I walked faster and faster, forgetting what I was walking away from and expecting my arrival to be triumphant.
Low and behold, I walked through the last door and I arrived! And then everything fell apart. Moving here, for me, was going to be a step towards figuring out what I was going to do with my life. Instead, it quickly started to feel like 5 steps backwards, which I've encountered before, but this time I was alone and outside of my comfort zone.
Having had some time pass and being somewhat more adjusted, I am in a place where I am starting to be OK with the fact that moving to Portland looks absolutely nothing like what I thought it would. I'm actually coming to a place of being thankful that it doesn't look the way I planned. I thought my purpose in coming here was to go to the Art Institute and that was it. I still don't know what it is, if it's one specific thing at all, but I know that God has something bigger for me than just an art degree from an accredited and incredibly expensive art school. I thought I would find more purpose in my life (something I seemed to be lacking at that point) if I pursued what I was passion about, so I pursued art, or at least a form of art that would allow me to make a living.
Long story short, I'm not in school anymore. Was it another thing I started that I didn't finish? Maybe. Was it something that I tried and didn't like and can now rule out as a profession? Possibly. But I think there's more to it than that. I was so confused when I decided not to go back to school. The questions seemed never ending... "Am I supposed to stay in Portland? Isn't school the reason I came here? Do I go back to Chicago? Lord, what am I doing? I keep trying all of these different things, hoping it will be what you want me to do and hoping it will be what I want to do, and hoping it will fulfill me, why do I not feel fulfilled? Do I just keep trying? Am I not looking hard enough? Am I missing it? I don't want to start another thing and not finish it, what do you want me to do?"
It's funny when the Lord shows up. Over Christmas break I was staying with my aunt and uncle in Chicago. At some point, on some normal day while I wrestling with questions about the direction in which my life is going, as I normally do, mother nature called... or perhaps it was the Lord, but it was certainly mother nature that I heard... and felt... and responded to. I went to the bathroom without any expectation other than a normal visit to the bathroom. I was still asking the Lord questions while I did my business. In the brief moment before I got up to flush, I felt and heard something that wasn't mother nature. I stayed right where I was and revelation hit me like a spiritual two-by-four across the back of the head. It wasn't an audible voice, but I heard the Lord say something... something like this...
"You can try all of the things you want to, but if you are looking for them to fulfill you, you will never find what you are looking for. Not even doing something you are passionate about, such as art, will give you the fulfillment you are looking for. Only I can fulfill you the way you want to be fulfilled, so if that is why you are trying these things, your search will never end."
It was common sense and mind blowing at the same time. It's something that I knew to be true, but it wasn't until that moment that my heart received it and felt it to be true.
Our conversation continued for a while, but eventually I flushed the toilet, along with my desires to find purpose in a job, a school, or an identity of any sort, and flung the door wide open, leaped into the hall and blurted out "that was the best bathroom visit EVER!"
I don't know if my aunt or uncle heard me, and if they did I don't know what they might have thought I meant... after all, I was in there for quite a while, just listening to the Lord. But it didn't matter what they thought or not, I left the bathroom feeling lighter for more reasons than just those mother nature had to do with.
I still have moments and days of confusion, but I am increasingly aware of God's hand at work in my life. I am in pursuit of the Lord, not for what He can do for me or show me, but just simply and solely so that I might know Him. In knowing Him I am finding my value again and my purpose in life. I am finding that I may not be a trend setting graphic designer, or the next greatest Women's Bible study teacher, or even the humblest of missionaries in the bush of Africa, all things I have once pursued; I am finding that I am simply loved... simply and solely for who I am, not for what I can do.
This is no excuse for laziness... to just exist and be content with being loved by God. I'm still doing my part by taking steps towards things and seeing where He'll lead, but I'm doing so knowing that the things I pursue aren't going to make me a more satisfied person or define me for better or worse. Yes, I am learning to be content in whatever circumstance simply because I am loved by God, but it is that love that fuels me to pursue Him harder, knowing, and sometimes just simply trusting, that He will have His way with me and the rest will fall into place, not because of my own doing, but because of His.
And so... these were thoughts that came to mind today, all from simply following the directions of a cake recipe and getting different results from what was promised. Nothing is picture perfect. Not even from a cook book. I'm all for baking, but when it comes to recipes and formulas for how to do life, I give up.
Monday, January 24, 2011
change is inevitable, unless from a vending machine
Where to start... so many things come to mind.
I've had a log in my eye for quite some time now. You'd think it be more painful for one who wears contacts, such as myself, but no, it's just as comfortable for contact wearers as it is for those without four eyes or four lenses of any sort.
Let me paint the picture for those of you who may not know where I am coming from....
Matthew 7:3-5
"... and why worry about a speck in your friend's (brother's) eye when you have a log in your own? How can you think of saying, 'Let me help you get rid of that speck in your eye,' when you can't see past the log in your own eye? Hypocrite! First get rid of the log from your own eye; then perhaps you will see well enough to deal with the speck in your friend's eye."
This is just an excerpt from one of Jesus' many incredible teachings during his sermon on the mount. I don't normally like to pick apart small segments of scripture from the greater picture. I feel as if so many verses are twisted to sound like anything we want them to when they are taken out of context. With that said, I simply can't ignore the fact that there is a log in my eye, and so much so that I'm having a hard time reading past that verse.
The solution seems simple... yank it out. The trouble is, my hands have been so full holding onto what I want that not only have I not been able to yank it out, I haven't wanted to. I just learned to live with it. In fact, I forgot it was there. That's a pretty dangerous place to be... spiritually blind with both hands full of selfish desires.
I've come to a place of letting go of what I want, but believe me, it wasn't and it continues to not be easy. It is a daily, sometimes even hourly, choice to surrender my will to the will of my Father. As I continue in my journey, the need to let go gets less and less... not because I get better at letting it go, but because the more I get to know who my Savior is, the more I realize that as much as my heart desires what my fists have been clenching to, I slowly become OK without it.
This is just the beginning for me... the letting go. I've only just recently noticed and started to feel the log in my eye. As if letting go isn't uncomfortable enough, trying to get a log the size of Texas out of your eye isn't much better. The log has not only prevented me from seeing, but from hearing and from understanding. It makes me sad to think of how I've been so quick to point out the change that needs to take place in other's people's lives, all the while waiting for their change to change me. I've missed the point completely, which doesn't just affect me but those I do life with, or even those I just come across. With this new found discovery my heart is sad, but hopeful. Instead of beating myself up about it, I'm going to opt for change.
I read today that "being stuck is waiting for someone else to change in order for you to be OK." If there is one word that best describes how I've felt lately (other than "confused"), it would be "stuck." It all makes sense why I've felt this way. As a living, breathing creature of God, change is not only inevitable, I think it is part of God's plan for us... to not just stay the way we are. The trouble with me is, I've been depending on other people changing to make me OK. I've tried and tried to point out their specks and ways they needed to change, but it doesn't do me much good to try and pull the specks out of their eyes when my hands are full and I can't see past the log in my own.
Today I not only let go of what my hands and heart have been clinging to, but I let go of trying to fix and change others for my own benefit and growth. I let go of my selfishness. I let go of trying to do it all and be it all.
It's time to stop living and walking so blindly and deal with this mother-load of a log in my eye.
Does anybody know a good carpenter?
(I get the cheesiness from my mom!)
I've had a log in my eye for quite some time now. You'd think it be more painful for one who wears contacts, such as myself, but no, it's just as comfortable for contact wearers as it is for those without four eyes or four lenses of any sort.
Let me paint the picture for those of you who may not know where I am coming from....
Matthew 7:3-5
"... and why worry about a speck in your friend's (brother's) eye when you have a log in your own? How can you think of saying, 'Let me help you get rid of that speck in your eye,' when you can't see past the log in your own eye? Hypocrite! First get rid of the log from your own eye; then perhaps you will see well enough to deal with the speck in your friend's eye."
This is just an excerpt from one of Jesus' many incredible teachings during his sermon on the mount. I don't normally like to pick apart small segments of scripture from the greater picture. I feel as if so many verses are twisted to sound like anything we want them to when they are taken out of context. With that said, I simply can't ignore the fact that there is a log in my eye, and so much so that I'm having a hard time reading past that verse.
The solution seems simple... yank it out. The trouble is, my hands have been so full holding onto what I want that not only have I not been able to yank it out, I haven't wanted to. I just learned to live with it. In fact, I forgot it was there. That's a pretty dangerous place to be... spiritually blind with both hands full of selfish desires.
I've come to a place of letting go of what I want, but believe me, it wasn't and it continues to not be easy. It is a daily, sometimes even hourly, choice to surrender my will to the will of my Father. As I continue in my journey, the need to let go gets less and less... not because I get better at letting it go, but because the more I get to know who my Savior is, the more I realize that as much as my heart desires what my fists have been clenching to, I slowly become OK without it.
This is just the beginning for me... the letting go. I've only just recently noticed and started to feel the log in my eye. As if letting go isn't uncomfortable enough, trying to get a log the size of Texas out of your eye isn't much better. The log has not only prevented me from seeing, but from hearing and from understanding. It makes me sad to think of how I've been so quick to point out the change that needs to take place in other's people's lives, all the while waiting for their change to change me. I've missed the point completely, which doesn't just affect me but those I do life with, or even those I just come across. With this new found discovery my heart is sad, but hopeful. Instead of beating myself up about it, I'm going to opt for change.
I read today that "being stuck is waiting for someone else to change in order for you to be OK." If there is one word that best describes how I've felt lately (other than "confused"), it would be "stuck." It all makes sense why I've felt this way. As a living, breathing creature of God, change is not only inevitable, I think it is part of God's plan for us... to not just stay the way we are. The trouble with me is, I've been depending on other people changing to make me OK. I've tried and tried to point out their specks and ways they needed to change, but it doesn't do me much good to try and pull the specks out of their eyes when my hands are full and I can't see past the log in my own.
Today I not only let go of what my hands and heart have been clinging to, but I let go of trying to fix and change others for my own benefit and growth. I let go of my selfishness. I let go of trying to do it all and be it all.
It's time to stop living and walking so blindly and deal with this mother-load of a log in my eye.
Does anybody know a good carpenter?
(I get the cheesiness from my mom!)
Thursday, January 20, 2011
still running
It didn't seem real, but it was. It was very real.
Moving here had stripped me from every comfort I had wrapped myself in over the last four years. Upon my arrival I felt myself standing naked before strangers, begging for clothing of any sort to wrap myself in, but none within reach. The harder I tried to cover myself, the more uncomfortable I felt. Though I found pieces of cloth here and there to cover my shame, they weren't pieces of cloth that I recognized and they didn't comfort me the way familiarity does.
Worn out and tired from the journey, stripped of everything I knew and loved, and covered in someone else's clothing, the discomfort became too much and I quickly started to feel myself collapse.
I fell and I fell hard. I broke every bone on the way down. The bones that had guarded my heart shattered and every bit of my heart shattered along with them. I lay on the ground appearing lifeless to those around me. I was aware I was still breathing, but I couldn't yell for help. I couldn't even speak. Not even a whisper. I could sense people all around me, people I knew who came to help me, but no one could do anything. No one knew what to do. If they moved my broken body, I might die. If they left me there on my own, I might die. I felt someone lean in to put their ear to my mouth. I heard them ask "how can I help?" as they listened closely, even desperate, for me to answer. In my mind I was screaming and yelling, begging them to pick me up and take me in their arms, but nothing came out of my mouth. I lay there, lifeless, on the ground, surrounded by so many people, but so alone.
How could they not know what I needed? How could they just stand there? Why won't they help me? Why can't they fix this? Panic set in and my breaths got shorter and shorter. The worry began to make my head hurt, so much so I thought it would explode. Anger set in and I began to hate the people around me. I hated them for standing there. I hated them for not being able to fix me. I hated them for not holding me. The hate consumed every pain I had previously felt and my body went numb. Hatred stopped the feeling of pain, so I held onto it for a while. I held onto it until I realized that hatred stopped the feeling of everything. I didn't want to let it go because I didn't want to feel the pain again, but there was a faint memory of something good that I longed for. Something good that I knew hatred couldn't give life too. That word... "Life"... that's what I needed, but it seemed so far away, the memory of it so faint.
I let go of the hatred and the pain came back tenfold. Those same people around me, that same voice asking "how can I help?" and yet they could do nothing. It hurt even worse because I knew they couldn't help me, but I loved them anyway. Loving them... it made it hurt more. It hurt more because I knew I had to let them go too. The hatred wasn't going to numb the pain, and they were going to heal it. I had to let go of the hope I had put in them to fix me. But I loved them, how could I possibly let them go? I clenched tighter and tighter to the ones that I loved, and the tighter I clenched the more it hurt.
I heard something. It sounded like a whisper... "let it go."
I violently shook my head no.
"let it go."
Tears began to stream down my face.
"let it go."
For the first time since I collapsed, I was able to let out how I felt inside and what sounded like shrieking began to come out of my mouth. On and on I cried aloud, but even above my cries, I heard the whisper...
"let it go."
My broken body, though unable to move, was still able to hold on for dear life what it didn't want to lose.
"JJ. Let it go."
My crying began to slow. My breathing followed. I looked at my arm stretched out on the ground and I could see my hand still clenched tight.
With tears streaming down my face, I slowly began to loosen my grip. Before I knew it, my hand was open...
and I finally felt at peace.
I breathed the last breath I had in me and I let it all go. I let everything go.
I gave up.
Everything was dark, but it was still. It was quiet. It was calm.
I felt breath that wasn't my own begin to fill my lungs. I felt a presence all around me, but it wasn't any of the people who had been there before. My bones were no longer broken. My heart was completely whole, without the slightest crack or bit of evidence it had ever been harmed. I felt someone or something lift me and without any effort of my own I began to stand on my own two feet.
I started to walk, and in which direction I don't know because it was still dark, but I just kept walking. I didn't have a care or concern in the world of what might happen, so I started running. I felt weightless and I began to feel overjoyed as I ran. It had been so long since I'd run towards something, and it felt good. I didn't even know what I was running towards, but I knew it was good, and I knew I was taken care of.
And this is where I find myself... still running. Yes, it is still dark and so much is unknown, but I am running with a peace and a joy knowing that I need not worry about the dark. I need not worry about what I run into. I need not worry about what lays ahead.
I run because a weight has been lifted. I run because my body has been healed. I run because my cup overflows and I no longer need to worry about what spills or stains. And I run because I no longer fear that which once broke me. It is in the brokenness that I have found restoration, and in the restoration I have found life again.
Without much sight of what surrounds me, I run carelessly into the care of He who is healing me.
Moving here had stripped me from every comfort I had wrapped myself in over the last four years. Upon my arrival I felt myself standing naked before strangers, begging for clothing of any sort to wrap myself in, but none within reach. The harder I tried to cover myself, the more uncomfortable I felt. Though I found pieces of cloth here and there to cover my shame, they weren't pieces of cloth that I recognized and they didn't comfort me the way familiarity does.
Worn out and tired from the journey, stripped of everything I knew and loved, and covered in someone else's clothing, the discomfort became too much and I quickly started to feel myself collapse.
I fell and I fell hard. I broke every bone on the way down. The bones that had guarded my heart shattered and every bit of my heart shattered along with them. I lay on the ground appearing lifeless to those around me. I was aware I was still breathing, but I couldn't yell for help. I couldn't even speak. Not even a whisper. I could sense people all around me, people I knew who came to help me, but no one could do anything. No one knew what to do. If they moved my broken body, I might die. If they left me there on my own, I might die. I felt someone lean in to put their ear to my mouth. I heard them ask "how can I help?" as they listened closely, even desperate, for me to answer. In my mind I was screaming and yelling, begging them to pick me up and take me in their arms, but nothing came out of my mouth. I lay there, lifeless, on the ground, surrounded by so many people, but so alone.
How could they not know what I needed? How could they just stand there? Why won't they help me? Why can't they fix this? Panic set in and my breaths got shorter and shorter. The worry began to make my head hurt, so much so I thought it would explode. Anger set in and I began to hate the people around me. I hated them for standing there. I hated them for not being able to fix me. I hated them for not holding me. The hate consumed every pain I had previously felt and my body went numb. Hatred stopped the feeling of pain, so I held onto it for a while. I held onto it until I realized that hatred stopped the feeling of everything. I didn't want to let it go because I didn't want to feel the pain again, but there was a faint memory of something good that I longed for. Something good that I knew hatred couldn't give life too. That word... "Life"... that's what I needed, but it seemed so far away, the memory of it so faint.
I let go of the hatred and the pain came back tenfold. Those same people around me, that same voice asking "how can I help?" and yet they could do nothing. It hurt even worse because I knew they couldn't help me, but I loved them anyway. Loving them... it made it hurt more. It hurt more because I knew I had to let them go too. The hatred wasn't going to numb the pain, and they were going to heal it. I had to let go of the hope I had put in them to fix me. But I loved them, how could I possibly let them go? I clenched tighter and tighter to the ones that I loved, and the tighter I clenched the more it hurt.
I heard something. It sounded like a whisper... "let it go."
I violently shook my head no.
"let it go."
Tears began to stream down my face.
"let it go."
For the first time since I collapsed, I was able to let out how I felt inside and what sounded like shrieking began to come out of my mouth. On and on I cried aloud, but even above my cries, I heard the whisper...
"let it go."
My broken body, though unable to move, was still able to hold on for dear life what it didn't want to lose.
"JJ. Let it go."
My crying began to slow. My breathing followed. I looked at my arm stretched out on the ground and I could see my hand still clenched tight.
With tears streaming down my face, I slowly began to loosen my grip. Before I knew it, my hand was open...
and I finally felt at peace.
I breathed the last breath I had in me and I let it all go. I let everything go.
I gave up.
Everything was dark, but it was still. It was quiet. It was calm.
I felt breath that wasn't my own begin to fill my lungs. I felt a presence all around me, but it wasn't any of the people who had been there before. My bones were no longer broken. My heart was completely whole, without the slightest crack or bit of evidence it had ever been harmed. I felt someone or something lift me and without any effort of my own I began to stand on my own two feet.
I started to walk, and in which direction I don't know because it was still dark, but I just kept walking. I didn't have a care or concern in the world of what might happen, so I started running. I felt weightless and I began to feel overjoyed as I ran. It had been so long since I'd run towards something, and it felt good. I didn't even know what I was running towards, but I knew it was good, and I knew I was taken care of.
And this is where I find myself... still running. Yes, it is still dark and so much is unknown, but I am running with a peace and a joy knowing that I need not worry about the dark. I need not worry about what I run into. I need not worry about what lays ahead.
I run because a weight has been lifted. I run because my body has been healed. I run because my cup overflows and I no longer need to worry about what spills or stains. And I run because I no longer fear that which once broke me. It is in the brokenness that I have found restoration, and in the restoration I have found life again.
Without much sight of what surrounds me, I run carelessly into the care of He who is healing me.
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