I’ve been busy. Under construction, you could say. A kind of self mandated rehabilitation. I’m recovering from all the things that have left me feeling like a skeptic, and a fool. I’ve been hiding within myself, being vulnerable within the stillness I’ve found in me. Learning about myself, and my scars. My fears, too. There are plenty of those etched along the creases of my naked heart. Self inflicted, some of them. Others burned into my flesh from years of neglect and moments of stupidity. I’ve been learning to let go of my foolish belief that I am the architect of me. I don’t know a thing about what the best version of myself would be. I idolize strength and condemn myself because I don’t have any of it. I’ve been battling denial and learning to admit that I’m weak. And soft. I’ve been facing the reality that I hate those parts of me. I’ve been getting acquainted with my longings. Realizing that I still crave the dead tree that I was once rooted so deeply in. I’ve been fighting to understand the beauty and magnitude of what it means to be uprooted from rotten, festering, suffocating, Death, and grafted into satisfying Life. I’m coming to terms with the fact that my prayers for belonging have been answered. Eternally. I’m finally realizing that trust is a concept that eludes me.
I’ve been busy.
Learning not to keep people at arms length out of the fear of getting hurt. I’m learning to share myself and my gifts, to laugh genuinely, to let people close, to love without moderation, to weather disappointment well, to endure joyfully, and to trust. Yes, I’m learning to trust. My Father. Myself. And yes, you, as well.
But the bruises are still quite tender. And I’m not quite ready to come out of hiding. Yet. Forgive my absence. I must let all this come to fruition.
Only a little while longer now. I promise.