Gathering my walking stick–the continuation of a heartbreaking journey.

I want to take a moment to apologize for my hiatus. Life has been a whirlwind lately. A good one, but a little insane nonetheless. I recently picked up a second job, got promoted there, and am working on working as often as I can to save up money for the next part of my life. 

I’ve had a revelation. One that’s extremely good. For so long my bones have been aching for adventure. My heart has nearly ruptured beneath the weight of dreams that have had the inability to come to fruition. Of childhood desires that have been unable to grow beneath the stunt of life. And now the hand of God has reached out and written “soon” on my soul. I can feel the tension rising as I know the answer to his promises. He does not falter. He does not joke. He is not a liar. I see the next step. 

You see, he promises that He will be a “light unto our path”. Always. What some people fail to realize, however, is that that light only illuminates our next step in life. It does not bring forth the entirety of our life trajectory. We may be propelled to action with that one step. If we knew the complete future of our lives maybe we would be compelled to act differently. And He knows that.

Besides, the benefit to our not knowing the whole plan of our future allows us to remain entirely dependent on Him. There are two types of people–those who see an obstacle and spend the next year crying and worrying about it, attempting to find the right tools to chip away at the obstacle until we are able to tackle it; and those who see the same struggle and rely on the only one who can take that mountain and completely shatter it. I am not saying that always relying on Him is easy. Heck, I’ve had a hell of a time these past few years attempting to understand the direction in which he was leading me. It felt like for so long that he was leading me into the wilderness with nowhere to turn but the quicksand. At some points it has even felt like my ankles have been dragged into that pitfall, and I am slowly being suffocated by a swelling desire to find something to accomplish. I have just felt so damn useless. 

And that’s the truth. 

Useless doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

I just see this whole, vast world with a belly full of aching people and I feel as though my efforts to make a difference are being overlooked. I remind myself daily that we may never know the footprints we leave on someone’s heart when we attempt to continue down the rugged path and inspire others. But yet there is still a longing so deep and so unfulfilled it can only be from my Heavenly Father. 

And that’s when I remind myself that only He can know the desires of my heart–because He placed them there. He formed them deep in my soul the day he formed me in that secret place in my mother’s womb. They say that in heaven a day is like a thousand years. I sometimes wonder how long He had with me to form every facet of my being before He nestled me deep inside my mother and made her life a little better when she discovered she was pregnant. 

So why is it so hard to trust when we know He formed the roadmap eons before we met Him? Because trusting often implies that we know we do not have the answers. We have made trust to look as though it makes us weak. It’s the same reason that strong-willed people sometimes struggle in relationships. If I’m admitting anything here, it’s that sometimes my will gets in the way in life, and it can be hard to combat, especially when I know that the compass is right in front of me, in the form of clasped hands and a mouth full of jumbled prayer words. 

I know this blog entry is long. But tonight, I’m feeling passionate. i’m feeling vibrantly loved. My heart is overflowing with the biggest sense of joy because I know I have been doing the right thing. And my Father is happy for my patience. It feels like it has been centuries. But sometimes He likes to take the forty-year route instead of the week-route because he knows you need the exposure to trials, and he is trying to build your heart up for something bigger than you could know. Patience cannot  be obtained from immediate gratification. The lesson to be learned is through those trials. And sometimes the journey is hard. Mine has been beyond difficult these past few years. 

The other night, however, I felt him tap me on the shoulder and say “It’s your time, you have been patient. You have trusted me.” 

So, I gather my walking stick, because this journey isn’t over yet. A revelation is not the end of the trials I will seek. There will be a lot of uphill climbing from here. Good thing He has hydrated me–refreshed my soul from the weary desert land He knew He needed to guide me through to encounter a spiritual break through. 

I am not perfect, but the longer I remain exposed to the fire, the less it burns, and the more refined I become. 

 

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Powerful, unforgiving–my soul as a work of art

I am a woman. A strong, powerful woman with a heart full of honey and a mind as strong as a steel trap. Who wants to change the world by using her fingertips on the keyboard to mold the clay of the world into a beautiful piece of pottery.  That even though the clay hurts when thrown on the wheel, it is twisted and turned into a work of art. The sad part is, that art can be misinterpreted, and so many people in this world like to take the way I look at things and twist them into the way some people look at nude drawings. Offensive. But all I want is for others to see that there is a mass full of people out there who only want to go another day without having to worry if their wings are going to be clipped, so they can no longer feel the wind on their face and the breeze in their soul. Or feel the sunshine on their back. The way sunrises and sunsets are always too short. Always a beautiful flicker that reminds us of rebirth, and of endings in whispers. So many lives are like that—powerful rays licking the earth hoping to taste the saltiness of the rocks and the mustiness of the dirt. Longing to feel anything besides the nagging sense of debt to the American dream they feel every morning when they fill their briefcase with another stack of propaganda, stomping off to work in pumps that cost more to place on their delicately manicured feet than it would relatively cost to feed an entire village or two of dying children here in own country.

And while my heart may be full of honey, I cannot make the world a sweeter place if no one is willing to get stung a little. I may watch a sea full of people, whose hearts beat to the drum of abuse and suffering in sizes my hands cannot hold, but this does not mean that my shattering in pieces that could put the sand on the ocean to shame makes me weak. I am only stronger because of it. Stronger because I vicariously have felt the pounding of a thousand nails along my heartstrings. And while I will never be like Jesus was, I can only hope that by filing my tongue every morning with an outpouring of holy words will make me understand how it feels to be uplifted.

Too many people are satisfied being the bulldozer in the city, when the graffiti is always much, much prettier. We would much rather stigmatize tagging as vandalism, instead see the beauty in the pain sprawled across walls like blood oozing from paint cans. Fall short of understanding the art that comes from the street. Girls splayed around street lights hoping their butterfly wings aren’t too crushed beneath their corsets and red lipstick. Men who know no other way to provide for their family than to peddle a little metal, just between their hips so that the world knows they mean business when they are thrown up against a wall, with nowhere to go but through the bullets.  But let me tell you, it’s so much easier to do the judging when you aren’t the one whose life is crumbling around you. So go ahead, keep the blinders on. But you are missing out on a world full of beauty. And while I see an ocean of problems we need to fix, and people who need more than a fistful of stitches, I will always try to bring roses to every sunrise, and lilies to every sunset.

I may be a woman. But that does not make me an object. Unless you count my soul as a work of art. I will only allow you objectify me if I ask

…explicitly.