I have struggled with writing in the way that my heart is calling me to write – transparently, freely, truly sharing my mess. But lately I feel like there is just too much mess to share. Jealousy has a hold on me. I feel straight up envy of those who are pregnant. And it seems to taunt me – several other women who lost babes the same week I did are now expecting again. Moms who already have children are expecting again. Women who weren’t trying at all are expecting. Young girls are ‘accidentally’ expecting. And I am not.
I would have been 8 months pregnant this week.
I plot posts, collect funny anecdotes and pictures, and do nothing with them. Because my mess is too big. My smudges are too dark, my scrapes too deep to share with you. Outings are planned, friends meet up, phone calls are made. And I feel forgotten and uninvited and alone. Despite my family and incredible husband, I stubbornly choose to feel alone. I allow the grey to cover me, and I struggle for joy. Instead of sharing my stories of my mess with you, I shut the laptop and walk away. I choose the way of the coward. Instead of dumping my heart onto the screen, and sharing my mess, and using this space to heal, I bemoan my little numbers and ‘friends’ and depth of words.
That is the cowardly choice. Because my words are just that: mine. If they lack depth, it is because I neglected to dive deep.
As I read the Christmas cards that arrive in our mailbox , I discovered that they all had a different tone to them this year. The authors shared their messes. Stories of loss, stories of sickness, stories of sadness. They were honest and true.
Through their honesty, they made me see my cowardice.
I am not alone. I am not forgotten. Joy has never left me! Not once.
God is moving and weaving in and through my life, and I love what He is doing. I love seeing His hand work. I don’t always adore the circumstances, but I adore Him. And I fully believe that He brings beauty from ashes.
After all, He brought salvation to the world through a feeding trough in Bethlehem. Through a literal mess – straw, animals, probably poo =), an unwed teenager, stinky shepherds – He brought unrestrained, pure beauty.
If I don’t choose to share my messes with you, I am not using a chance that I am offered to heal, to ‘clean’ up. Ann Voskamp wrote: “The Word God wastes nothing and He heals two broken hearts with one story – the reader and the writer.” I don’t know if any of you experience healing or freedom in what I write, but I do. And that is more than enough to plug away. Especially when I don’t feel like it.
So excuse the mess, but here I am.
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