dread

The thing is, I’ve had a predominately idyllic life, genuinely protected from so much. My entire childhood was spent on a classic cul-de-sac with a children’s library just down the road where I literally read every book (except for the scary ones because I didn’t like those) and where I grew up in a sweet little Bible teaching church and literally cannot remember a time when I didn’t know Jesus with parents who love Jesus and a little brother who was actually never annoying. But even still, as we walk through this world, if we long for God’s Kingdom to come on earth as it is in heaven then we become keenly aware of the ways in which that is not happening. 

I’m realizing how much I’ve had a pattern of holding back waiting for the next heartache to descend. 

That I feared being seen because I was worried it would just lead to me, my gifts, my presence being consumed. 

That I didn’t just try to read the room, I tried to mitigate the whole room. 

I took responsibility for what wasn’t mine to take responsibility for. I felt conflict was because of my failure to do something right, whether it be my own tasks or to help others with theirs or their emotions. 

That I have carried dread. Maybe because it seemed like bracing might make the grief easier to manage. Maybe dread was partly my grief asking for a break and grasping for control in the meantime. 

So I hid. 
I braced. 
I didn’t ask for what I needed. 
I carried too much for too long. 
I forgot to do what I loved just because I enjoyed it. 
I felt the genuine weight of all around me, but let it be embedded in me. 
I ran myself ragged. 
I dismissed my grief because my reasons weren’t as severe as other people’s.
I was continually waiting for the next shoe to drop. 

With some time and space I began to realize that my reflexive resistance to so much that is actually right and good and true, wasn’t genuine to the core of my identity. And maybe these things I’d literally hidden from for decades, might even be God’s good design and calling for my life. 

In these days, what I do know, is that the Lord has been assuring me of so very much. Through His word, His people, His presence, His creation. 

That my grief is worthy of being honored so I can move through it. 

That being seen can be an empowering, not consuming, experience. 

That holding back was keeping me shut down, muted from experiencing the fullness of life I was meant for. 

And that the One who holds all things together, is holding me together. That the One who knit me together, can reknit things within me. 

That I can enjoy. I can be curious. I can hope. I can embrace. I can be seen. I can see. I can have needs. I can grieve. I can be angry. And that I can actually have a greater capacity to care when I also am able to release all those I love into Hands much more capable than mine. 

Even as there’s so much I don’t know, that I can’t know. There’s enough that I do know. And I know the end of the Story and it’s good, in fact it’s very good. 

So even on the days when sickening news comes once again, I’m carried, held, seen. And I don’t have to revert or withdraw in dread. 

That serenity can be found in even the strangest of places.