Some things are too difficult to express in words. The pain runs too deep–or maybe it’s the shame. See, I’ve reached one of those mental walls–a point wherein you want to be introspective and think and process, but you can’t. You can’t think about it anymore. But at the same time you know you need to do so. It’s a tough headspace (one that makes me feel altogether foolish).
I won’t go into details because I can’t do so briefly (and they would be embarrassing if I did). Needless to say, the devil has sown seeds of envy in my soul, and the harvest of resentment is in full bloom. What’s worse, I know it’s my fault; I know that I’ve allowed it, that I’ve failed to look upward rather around me, that these emotions are toxic. I have been unable to shake them for the better part of the week, and I see no sign of their dissipating. I need to own them (which is why I’ve confessed them here and elsewhere), and also I need to face them. But I don’t know when I will.
All I can think about is the next step I’m gonna take–the next move I’m making to get passed it. Or maybe just to get by. It’s a strange thing to wrestle with personal perception versus objective reality. One may know the latter but the former is simply too strong and too askew to be silent. How I wish it would. I lament when my emotions get the better of my reason, particularly when my feelings are ghastly.
Looks like I have a new journey to begin with all deliberate speed–a recalibrating of my heart toward contentment, gratitude, and thanksgiving. The lesson is timely, to be sure. I hope I can learn it, apply it, and use it. The Lord knows I must; maybe that’s why it’s come to this.
I know–I know. Could I be anymore vague and/or cryptic? Sure, I could; but that’s not my style. I want to tell you enough to be real and vulnerable but not enough to betray confidences or hurt someone. That’s a hard line to draw, but I’m trying. In time I hope to have a follow-up to this, that I’ve harvested all this chaff from my heart and burned it. Christ needs to be the one holding the reaper.
Thanks for reading when I get this way–I don’t take pleasure in posts like this one, but they’re necessary. If I say I’m Living Life Loving Christ but not confessing the ugly side of myself, then I’m lying about something. So this is me, laid a bit bare and a bit embarrassed. But better than old, brittle, and bitter. Here’s to repenting before that happens.
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