It has been so long since I’ve written, and I feel it in my soul, the weight of all that’s been left unsaid.
Yesterday was the first time in as far back as I can remember, at least two months, that I woke up feeling like myself, feeling a little bit human again.
This year has been so hard. It has been full of hurt and relationships changing for the harder and perceived failure and an endless well of wounded pride and words like infertility and all kinds of messes I can’t even articulate. I have never been less sure of myself, less sure of my place or my direction, less comfortable in my own skin. It’s been this dark place, darker than anything has been or at least felt for so long.
So much darkness, the kind I couldn’t even put a name on, couldn’t pinpoint. There was no way to articulate it, no words to say the things that chained me. And so I stopped talking. I pulled away in ways I never have before. Because there are those days when you can’t rest comfortably in a space where there are people AND the knowledge that you have no idea what to say to them. So my whole life became this one small hope:
Thank you, Mumford & Sons, for writing this tiny declaration I couldn’t give voice to.
And then, yesterday, the words felt real for the first time in God knows how long, how many days. They felt like a question until yesterday, and there was this anxiety that always emerged with them. Yesterday though, as my eyes opened with the sunrise, the words ended with a period, with no lilting upward turning of a tentative voice.
Still, fluctuation. Last night, the question mark eeked its way back into my moments. This morning it felt like a declaration, followed by an exclamation mark, and I really, honestly believed it.
And so today, I praise in the face of what feels like certainty, of peace and exclamation marks. But I calm my heart, knowing that the question mark days will come back around.
And so it goes.
And as it goes, these other words pop into my mind. A declaration of my youth.
“I’m inright, outright, upright, downright happy all the time,
I’m inright, outright, upright, downright happy all the time.
Since Jesus Christ came in and saved my soul from sin,
I’m inright, outright, upright, downright happy all the time.”
And I stare at that declaration, look it in the eyes, the words that have for years instilled in me a sense of guilt for dark days and weak faith, and I call it.
I call it bullshit.
With all due respect to those who are more offended by the use of that word by a Christian than the idea that we’re raising kids with the idea that salvation is equivalent to 24/7 elation, that the whole of the Gospel can be reduced to an equation that always adds up to our happiness, I’m calling it.
There are so many question mark days in the life of someone chasing Jesus. There are hurts and doubts. There is brokenness, so much brokenness, and if you are happy all the time, I daresay that you have turned a blind eye to the world’s hurts, the sort that made Jesus Christ Himself bawl like a child when He walked among us.
You have questions. Doubts, flaws, hurts. Brokenness. Anger.
Me too. Come with me on the journey?