I find my spirit searching for Ground Zero, as though an explosion has occurred, beloved parts of me have died, and now I am looking for purpose in all of it. I am sifting through the rubble, begging to find a living spark.
Nick and I went to Philadelphia this weekend. We have a history in this city...we have been here before. We arrived once or twice to attend conferences for our business, eating peanut butter and jelly. It was our Ishmael that was given up in pursuit of our Isaac. Later, we were there working from dawn to stars for our second big adventure, which folded 24 hours later. Without warning, I felt the scars of both visits begin to bleed as we passed so many things that reminded me of those visits. Nick would point out a place that we had been, and nausea rose in my chest and I felt like I was suffocating. Nick thought it was weird that I had such an adverse reaction. I didn't understand it either but I couldn't deny it.
We have never been afraid to take risks, to dream beyond our current reality, to commit beyond our current ability. We, as a couple, are unique in that neither of us fear adventure. But as we passed these old landmarks, I felt like a gutted fish. I had pursued both ventures with everything that I had. Financially, physically, emotionally--I had held nothing back from my willing heart to give whatever was needed to achieve success. And as time has passed, I have started to have days here and there where I don't think about the drought. But it's still there, like the splinter in my mind that Morpheus talks about. I have dreams that are so violent against my spirit that I wake up exhausted. I see a label or hear a name and I feel my blood pressure rise. Even though every part of me wants to take the good lessons and discard the rest as mere history, my spirit won't let me. Every day I feel it branded into me, a burn that never heals.
I don't know how to do anything partially. I wish I did.
I find myself here on my little rotting deck, on a plastic lounge chair with my laptop. My neighbor's back door is maybe 100 feet from mine and he's on his cell phone and smoking a cigarette. The breeze is nice but it carries a slight wafting glance of someone's trashcan. I could go inside, I guess, but I've seen those four walls as much as I can stand. Its starting to feel like a cage in there.
I'm having a why me moment.
I don't understand how I am still here, renting this silly little townhouse. I don't understand how anyone who has worked as hard as I have, served as selflessly as I have, loved as I have loved, pursued despite abandonment, sacrificed as much as I have... I feel like I am Cinderella--a woman who has a royal destiny but her face is smeared with ashes. I am hurting because I feel like I have been forgotten and overlooked, and I'm angry because that's how I react when I'm hurting. Everything about this little scene of my life doesn't fit. It grates against me like sandpaper on silk. I am certainly not overlooking my blessings, but at this moment, they seem too few for all the seeds that have been sown. So few people know what I have really done, where I have really been, all I have really accomplished. What I have survived.
But Papa, there are no excuses for you. You know. You have measured the weight of it on my shoulders. You know that I am an Olympian, that my shoulders are broad and that I take delight in the adventures you give me. You have found joy in me. You told me so.
But do you see the field of dry bones stretched out before me like a hideous opera?
This is not what we agreed to. You promised life and freedom and blessing and honor. You promised that I could trust you. You promised a Great Adventure. This better not be it. At least, this better not be the theme. I know where I was when you laid the foundations of the earth. I was in your heart. I was already in you. I know your character, who You are. I know You have not forgotten, I know You are already running to me. I know you chose me because.
I will not just sit. I can't. I don't know how and I don't want to learn. I want every day of my life to matter. Too many of my days are being drowned in status quo and I feel poisoned. I know in your designed purpose there is room for rest. But there is an enormous difference between resting and loitering. I feel like I'm a newspaper writer, leaning against a wall of graffiti smoking a joint, ignoring a deadline. I feel urgency but no clarity.
Wow, when I read back over this, it's the honest truth but its so uncensored. Papa, thank you that you know my heart and that there is nothing to hide. I'm crying out for you to renew my mind. Refresh my spirit and bring revelation. Fresh Jesus. Give me something awesome to do that fills me up. Give me faith to step out in spite of my unanswered questions. I know you didn't create me to blend in.
I love you. In Kelanie's words,
all I wanna do is lose myself in you....
lean back in your arms and just let go now...
let it be to me according to Your Word...
Your ways are higher than mine.
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