Another week has gone by since I tripped headlong into the rubble that clutters my heart.
Another week has passed since I began to count the gifts. My journal contains 31 such moments, finding joy is here even in uncertainty and pain. Open elevators when I arrived at work. Repetitive hugs from my niece-in-love. Best friends that have known me longest and best. Hot tea on a chilly day.
31 moments from the week of a 31 year old. It seemed oddly appropriate to realize this last night.
This past week I allowed the tears to come. I've listened to angry music, then sad music, trying to soothe my soul. I forced myself to tell my parents and then Tracy about this current struggle. I am practicing the art of sharing pain. It is not easy for me to open up about the lies I still believe or my fears about myself.
I keep praying for clarity about where to go from here. What does last week's breakdown mean? How do I move on?
I keep listening but so far God has not spoken. A friend commented that this may just be a time for me to lean on Him and draw close. There may not be a next step or a step after that for awhile.
Ah, back to waiting. My old, familiar
This is stretching me, perhaps more than moving to Nashville has done. My issues followed me here but maybe now I am in a place where I am ready to deal with them. Or maybe I'm finally recognizing them by name.
Though I'd like to gloss over my hurts once again, though I'd prefer a quick fix, it's time I learned how to be dependent on God with this collection of rubble.