As I sit across the room from Ben, the silence hangs in the air heavy like a cloud. I think of the fact I am posting a Real Love series on my blog and how at this moment I want to hit him and I hate the hypocrisy I feel. He said something that cut to my core and I hated him for it, I hated the truth in what he said to me.
The boys are running around in circles, laughing, singing and dancing to Edward Sharpe and Ben and I are are such a stark difference in silence. Bear comes by, perceptive as usual, nonchalantly yelling opposites while watching our eyes. “Happy, SAD!”
It can’t be unsaid. Maybe it needed to be said even. But I feel that childish extreme of indignation and certainty, “I never want to talk to you AGAIN.”
Sometimes God makes me laugh, he sends himself in a skinny 5-year-old’s body, arms around my neck singing in my ear, “He is jealous of me… loves like a hurricane, I am a tree, bending beneth the weight of his wind and mercy [pause.] OHHHH HE LOVES US, OHHHHHHHH how he LOVES US” (my ear rings….) and it continues on, the God breath in my ear trying to recapture my heart from selfishness, doubt and anger.
Isn’t it funny how we beg God to come down, to talk to us, to save us and when he whispers the answer in our ears we turn our faces away? I’ve heard the same word for months now and ignored it, praying for another answer.
I’m frustrated in this waiting time. I am impatient. oh so heart breakingly impatient.
I drove the other day, heart buzzing in anger and a forever stoplight caused my eyes to take in the surrondings. I saw a pond with a small waterfall pouring into it, stirring it and a few days ago it was so warm but now I saw ice forming in the swirls. A thickening, a slowing. A dying.
Oh my God that is me.
I had been awakened, felt the breath of real life. and I turned away from it all because I almost couldn’t stand the goodness. I craved comfort even if the comfort was the path to death. I closed up, slowed and began to freeze over again.
I stare at Ben across the room. Praying for my heart, praying for grace to forgive, grace to love that man. Because, I can’t on my own. My selfish streak runs too bone marrow deep.
I know in my heart I don’t have to always be right but my head makes a better argument. Dying to self is well said. I feel death in a skin crawing real way when I shut my mouth and let Ben win. Because, winning doesn’t matter. Being right doesn’t matter.
Life is beautiful, even in the messy, confusing moments where truth seems fuzzy and desires run strong.
I accept Ben’s insult, swallow down my pride and let it break me.
There is beauty in these broken places. There can be clarity, growth and character built when you lean into the hurt and don’t ignore it until it’s a cancer rotting your insides.
Submission. Grace. Truth. Surrender.
Lessons I am ever learning.
Thanks to the beautiful Approaching Joy for the amazing conversation Monday and hearing from you that being right doesn’t matter! I love hearing gentle truths and God used you in a powerful way.