For the past few weeks, I have been treading water. At least, I thought I was. I thought I was doing okay. Hurting, but making it. But on Sunday, I was proven wrong.
Sunday I was angry. REALLY ANGRY. Anger and I don't do well together, at least when that energy is unfocussed. And on Sunday, it was unfocussed. I said things I had no right to say. To people who had no right to hear it. May God bless my beloved friends for the patience to deal with me that day....
All day, though, something wasn't sitting right with me. God was trying to knock ever so gently on my heart to let me know that I was wrong. I opened the door just a crack, and said, "Yes, God, I am wrong. But for now I want to continue being wrong." So I closed the door. Ugh!
In the evening I went out to an amazingly wonderful dinner with my family to celebrate my sister-in-law's birthday. I was quiet. Brooding over an exchange that had just taken place, anticipating the final word. There I sat, too pissed off to acknowledge the special occassion with the regard it deserved. I was there. But not.
I got home, full from a large and delicious meal that I could not taste because of the bitterness in my own mouth. I knew the poison had to leave. So I wrote a letter, letting the Holy Spirit guide me. I knew the Scriptures that came to mind to write the letter. I know them. And I did not obey them. I believe them, though did not believe their fullness. Until I wrote this:
My heart is black. This is my confession to you. I stand accused, tried, and convicted of your murder in the eyes of God.
I sat staring at those words, taking them in in a way I had not before. I can look myself in the eye and call myself a murderer. Not with any kind of weapon but the tongue. The same tongue that I enjoy food with. The same tongue I praise my God with. No wonder the dinner I knew was delicious had no flavor. No wonder God allowed me - though just or a minute - to shut the door....
So I confessed it all, wrote it out, and pondered the mode of delivery. Then I went to bed.
The meal sat in my stomach like a rock. I did not feel good. I woke in the middle of the night, unwell. I woke in the morning for work, and was nauseated. I took the day off work, knowing I would not feel better until I did what God called me to do. I hand delivered the letter.
We discussed it for a while. It changes nothing. Nothing about our relationship. Nothing about what we have done, where we were heading. But perhaps it opened a door for healing between us. Not restoration. But healing. That healed the anger in me. There is still a journey of learning ahead. And plenty more healing where this came from. But it started the forward progression.
It can be so difficult to listen to the heart of God telling where you are wrong. That conviction can cut like a knife. But oh, how sweet to know that the pain is at the hand of my God who loves me.... And that He will also heal that pain. I have prayed to never forget what happened - to remember the fire of anger blackening my heart, the way it felt to plunge a knife into another person with my words, the physical sickness that was a result of a spiritual darkness, the pain of the Lord's conviction, and experiencing the first threaded needle puncture into my heart to stitch it back together....
Lord, I am yours.....
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