Buds that laid dormant and

birds that quieted their song for too long

reappear from a winter that was mild at best.

I tell myself that things are fine

and I tell myself that it should be better but

I find myself quieting my mind as the rest of life

welcomes Spring.

Shadows hover over the room and

the sheets entangle over my toes.

Bits of sunlight waver in as

the wind brushes past yet,

the shade of grey lingers.

The day passes slowly and

soon enough, it is night time and I

am still awake.

Deeply longing for sleep.

The weeks go by

one at a time and it is

all a blur,

filled with events, but never fulfilling.

I ask God, “Shouldn’t this be over?”

Being told to talk about it and to

push, prod, and poke at the core.

I am sick of being the sad girl.

I do not want to talk anymore because I am convinced that

healing already took place.

I have done my share of the fight and

I am tired.

But her words ring true,

“You were healed, but,

the weeds slipped through

and grew through the cracks.

You were not perfectly healed.”

Although I picked up the pieces

I didn’t carefully place them back where they belonged,

finding myself now, facing the consequences.

Lies infiltrate my thoughts.

Even though the original pain does not affect me,

the collateral does.

Like a jar that is accidentally pushed,

breaks and scatters across the floor.

The parts are all there but

not in the right order.

Resulting as

functioning and satisfactory.

Passing the test of

“How are you?”

but ultimately slipping by.

Jokingly admitting that the end result

is like a Mr. Potato head and

laughing at the irony of how the jumbled parts

resemble my soul.

It needs to be retaken apart and

reassembled back together again.

“It’ll be painful.”

But I want to be right again.

To start back at the beginning and

go over the days that I want to forget because

I have lived them over enough in my mind.

But true healing calls me to go back.

Go back, and find the real truth in those times.

Renounce and leave those lies behind

that I picked up along the way.

It will get worse before it gets better.

To press into those days that

make me want to shrink.

To reopen old wounds and emotions that

I felt so deeply and clearly.

To enter into a community that

forces me to see my true self.

This takes work.

No longer under the safe scaffolding

where a community was easy and

supportive and

I did not have to try.

The scaffolding was lifted and

it was the right time for it to go but,

I am realizing how much I relied on that support.

And so in the desert, I am where

the metaphor is too loud to ignore,

that like an Israelite clinging on to only

what can be seen; not trusting the promises given ahead.

Healing, I admit that

I still need help.

I am still not okay.