Once again struck by how terrible a blogueuse I am. I think I have this idea that to be writing on here, I need to have something structured and relevant and complete to say. But Daddy reminded me that I wanted to use it as a place to write out my life, as a way of processing and documenting and understanding. Since very little of life is structured and complete, it makes sense that I rarely permit myself to write. It simultaneously makes no sense that I do not write, because using writing as an external processing outlet enables me to actually make sense of what I am thinking and feeling. The alternative is to carry it all around in half-processes, forever thinking and making no headway.
Whole(broken)hearted has taken on a particular aptness lately. I have realised that I have been broken and hurting for so long that I have no idea how to be whole, or what whole looks like. I know that I am on a somewhat messy process of healing, but I don't know what happens when I get there. The brokenness is what I am used to, and there is comfort in familiarity. More, I am as scared of having real community as I am that my current aching loneliness will become a permanent thing. Being loved and being known has been an unusual thing in my days, and I honestly do not know how to handle it. I am scared to ask the Lord about the coming season (I can feel the change, but have been being ostrich-like and ignoring it) because I do not know if it would be more scary to do it alone, or to have people alongside me. All I can come up with is that 'perfect love casts out fear', and that means that all I can do is go back to Jesus and see what He thinks... Watch this space.
