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Thursday, October 17, 2013

Foggy Mirrors & Transparency...

Let me be completely honest...

It's about 10pm on a Thursday as I am starting this post.

I want to sleep, but I can't stop crying.

The tears started flowing when about the 40th minute of my waiting on the bus struck the clock.

I'd just gotten off of work today. All seemed swell, I suppose. I could have used some sleep and personal time (i.e.: reading, prayer, more sleep), but all-in-all it was a good day.

I was hustling to the bus stop as I usually do to catch the one that arrives around 5:10pm. When I make it to the corner to cross the street and make it halfway up the hill where my bus would have been waiting, I see my bus pull away and turn the corner to head toward my neck of the woods.

I'll keep it plain: I swore. Now, I'm not a cussin' sailor like I was in my BC days (Before I knew Christ). But lately, my language has been very much outside my character...that's another note. 

Moving on, I was quite miffed, but hustled my way on up to the bus stop and sat in the short-lived shade. Why is there even a covering at the bus stop if it doesn't shade you from the sun? Blueprint error?

I looked at my phone, because it was in my hand and my watch was covered by the sleeve of my sweater. (I was being a bum, so sue me.) 5:18pm. I waited, a bit irritated, but making it. Multiple buses that weren't mine passed--increasing my irritability. I look at my phone again. 5:29. Another bus passes. I grumbled, and waited "patiently." 5:37pm. I swore and complained. 5:40pm. Hopeful it was my bus turning the corner. ANOTHER Red River bus. I began scratching at the front of my purse, damaging the "leather." I had to get up and move around or else I probably could have worn a hole through the purse. I walked a few feet away from the bench where I once sat, and began to tense my hand muscles. *clench fist, unclench fist, stretch fingers, clench fist, crumple paper grocery bag* It got to the point where I felt deep anger. Surely, this bus should be here by now. Tears began to well, and I'm sure I felt my trachea in my esophagus. My anxiety rose and tears fell. I kept brushing them away, pretty embarrassed that people probably saw me crying. But I couldn't stop. I was so frustrated, upset, hurt even. Thoughts of being without began to flood my mind: If I had my license already...my car already...I wouldn't have to...

The bus finally came...5:45pm. Another one pulled up behind it. I asked the driver--the same one that left before I could make it--if she would be leaving first. She explained that another bus broke down and she would be leaving first. I felt so low. I felt petty. I felt selfish. Why had I gotten so angry? What was the reality behind my burning tears and clenched fists?

I sat on the bus, looked out the window, avoided eye contact and just cried. I tried to stop...for the most part. I eventually succumbed to the tears. A colleague got on the bus and waved, I gave a faint smile and returned the gesture halfheartedly. The next two stops, a lot of people got on the bus. I wanted to sit alone; to my dismay I had company. The guy saw me crying. He didn't know what to do. I wanted to apologize for my tears, but I didn't have the true desire to. I'd apologized for my tears enough. I just wanted to cry. And I did.

My weeping subsided once we hit the freeway, and I just stared ahead and out the window. By the time I got home, I was seemingly okay. I set my things down, got comfortable, ate some waffles (aka: carby, cinnamony goodness) and got to work on my online driving permit course. Eventually the system locked me out: my sign that I needed to give it a rest for the night. Before going to lie down, I checked Facebook to find that yet another friend got engaged/married/boo'd up, etcetera. I smiled, then felt kinda 'meh.' It made me think about some articles I was skimming at work. I ended up reading this article from Relevant Magazine. Great website, by the way! Anywho, it made the tears come back...

I dried my face and headed to my bed. I lied down, curled up and cried out to God...about my singleness, about my loneliness, about dating, about men, about my insecurities, about my frustrations, about how much I need Him. And He just took it. I believe He tried to settle me with a peace that at first took, then it wasn't enough. The peace of God wasn't enough. I continued to weep, toss, turn, blow my nose, cough. Weep. It was quiet at first. Then I got angry. I yelled out in tongues. I screamed. I told God it sucks not having my mother here to tell her how I'm feeling, to see if she understands, to get a comforting word from a woman who's gone through it. I told God it sucks to not be able to go to my dad for him to affirm me. 

At that moment, I felt like God nodded His head yes. He waited for me to be real with Him. To get to the root of my pain, my anger, my tears. At this moment, I didn't miraculously feel better, I didn't get up with a smile on my face ready to sleep and conquer the day ahead. I got up, grabbed my Remember the Roses book by Lynette Lewis and I headed to my laptop while wiping away snot and tears. (I've heard Lynette speak on multiple occasions, and I believe she understands well the importance of crying out to and being transparent with God among other things. Please check out her website and books!)

I'm writing about this with puffy, red eyes, a slight headache and hope in my heart that this will not just help me to reflect and heal, but to reach someone else.

Be real and honest with yourself and with God. He's patient. Even when His own peace isn't enough for your broken heart and weary mind, He can handle it.


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