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
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.
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
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.