On privacy and pain: when you don’t know what to write

On privacy and pain: when you don’t know what to write

woman sunsetThey say, “Write what you know.”

But … what if what you know is too painful, too difficult, too private to write about?

Maybe they’d say that I should write it all down in a personal journal rather than in a public forum. And maybe they’d be right. Just keep expressing, keep trying, keep moving forward.

That’s not my story, though. When life got too difficult, too painful, too messy, I wouldn’t write anything. Not a darn thing. Well, maybe one or two things, but nothing that required me to dig in and peel back the fragile layers of my life and possibly bleed all over the poor soul who happened upon my words.

I admit: I’ve been holding out on you.

It’s sometimes a confusing tightrope to walk, this life of imperfect faith and so-called public platform. I strive to be “real” and “authentic” and “genuine,” with as little difference between how I am behind closed doors and when they’re open. But I also am a flawed human being, tied by sacrament and faith and birth to other flawed human beings. Respect for my dignity and theirs (and yours) means that, sometimes, I write around the things that are breaking my heart rather than fliging the thin veil aside for everyone to see.

The last thing I want this space to be is one where, in my brokenness, I damage relationships and possibly my heart and maybe even your heart as well. I have always, always intended this to be a place of encouragement and redemption.

And so I wait. I wait for it to stop being so painful and difficult. I wait for the sunshine to appear, burning off the months and months of frozen cold and dreary damp in my soul.

I wait for the redeeming wounds of the resurrected Christ to bind and heal my own tender wounds.

Because if there is one thing I can write with any semblance of authority and certainty today, it is that God is not finished with me yet. I know that He is guiding this healing, this transforming, this becoming.

I believe that my story–where Jesus Christ alone is glorified through every detail of my wild and blessed life–is being written, even if I can’t yet see the words.

photo credit: Alex Jones via unsplash 

My child, I say to you: arise

My child, I say to you: arise

Photo by Marlee Kay
Photo by Marlee Kay

Hi, there, friends!

I was blessed to write today’s devotion over at Blessed is She, one about seemingly devastating pain and sorrow that was miraculously transformed by the healing touch of our saving Lord. Maybe, like me, you’ve experienced pain or sorrow so deeply that, at times, life doesn’t seem like it’s worth living anymore. I am here to testify to you, my dear sisters in Christ, that life is *always* worth it, even if it isn’t easy. Real healing begins when you can allow Jesus himself to enter into your life and say to you as he did to the little girl in today’s Gospel: “My child, I say to you: arise.”

Please know that he loves you so, so much and wants nothing more than for you to be healed. You are not alone. God bless you.

heather