I wanted to find the words to my heart. Thinking I would stumble upon a cute little post to send along its way in reply to an e-mail. I wanted to share the twisting of emotions into words to glorify God and spur others toward raw, real, honest Love. Instead, in the looking back, I found glimpses of what my heart needed to be reminded as well as my own raw, open wounds scattered along this journey.
I wince seeing my empty arms and empty bed still there tonight.
I thrash about overwhelmed by the waves when all I want to do is find rest.
I sigh as I still haven’t found anyone who knows how to hold my heart and feel like its only been crushed a bit more.
I feel the tears rush to my eyes as I now ask the question about home out loud instead of tentatively like before.
These mileposts along the journey show me something that I hadn’t expected. Unlike before, now I’m learning to own my feelings while learning to tell all of my story. I’m learning to feel all the parts I hinted at, but adamantly avoided and “never went there” because I taught myself early on to be the “strong one” in order to survive. I’m finally crying the tears for me.
I’m learning to be my Father’s daughter.