I haven’t written in a long time. And I don’t just mean here on this blog. I haven’t written at all. It’s been almost two months since graduation and there hasn’t been a single story, a single paragraph, sentence, or phrase.
Writing is one of the biggest ways I find myself. Finding things to say let’s me know I’m still alive, that I’m still breathing and feeling, listening and watching.
I haven’t been able to write this summer because I’ve lost a huge part of myself. Pieces of my heart have been locked away, hiding, scared to come out. So there have been no words. And no tears. How does one move back across the country, say goodbye to four years of life and relationships and not cry? I’ve waited for months to be able to cry.
It all started last fall. I found myself in a situation that was wrong. It was painful. It felt unsafe. It made my heart feel unwelcome. It wasn’t really my fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. And then there was no way out. I was stuck for the next eight months. At first I fought to keep my heart right, to find the truth in the haze of lies and cling to it. But it was hard. And no one was fighting with me. It became too easy to let my heart go.
So I decided to play God. Not consciously. But that’s what I did. I stepped into judgment. I started to criticize a man’s heart, his actions, his motives. I questioned his faith. I accepted the role of the victim and sided with Eve in the garden. God said look at your heart, and I passed the blame.
I say this now with such clarity, but it’s taken me weeks and months to pick it all out. But I know now that when I picked up that judgment it allowed something evil to come in and steal a piece of my heart. It’s easy to pass the blame, to see the wrong in someone else’s life instead of dealing with your own. And it’s true. They may very well be wrong. Painfully wrong. But that doesn’t mean I’m not still responsible for my own heart. And while it seems easier to pass the blame, it’s a lot harder to carry the grudge. My heart has been so heavy. For weeks I’ve asked myself why I’m so tired. It didn’t make sense. But as my heart grew heavier my body grew weaker.
I’m starting to find myself again. I know because of these words I’m writing. I wish I could say I had a heart full of glowing feelings towards this person I judged. I don’t. But I’m starting with a choice to forgive and trusting God to heal and bring my heart along in the process. I’m trusting that tomorrow when I get up, he’ll give me the strength to choose to forgive again. I’m trusting that the day after tomorrow he’ll help me pick another splinter out. All I know is I don’t have any more time to waste… and I miss having myself.