Like a child at home

I get it. Or at least, I'm getting in.

I really want to write this out so I don't forget what this feels like. After the anger, which is really just a lot of hurt, it really isn't about who did what wrong. Even though the strongest of strong temptations is to say that I am justified, that daggers have pierced my soul and wounded my delicate mind, even if that's true, I can put the pieces of my broken heart in God's hands. (Is there still a part of me that secretly hopes said culprit will find this and apologize? Of course. But the fact that I don't need that anymore (because a few days ago, that's all I thought would fix the problem), is the reason that I want to remember what I actually feel right now. Sure, I'd still like some resolve, because I just don't like when things don't have a finite ending. But maybe, even with words, they still wouldn't. But the thing is, now--unlike a few days ago, or yesterday even--I am actually in a state of mind where I could talk.) My mind and heart are aligned--where I've stopped creating unrealistic expectations in my mind and letting it go rapid fire, and my heart has caught up, has embraced what is.

I have never been good at being submissive, but I'm starting to. And not doing it begrudgingly, but willingly. So I finally get to feel what I think He has been promising me the whole time, if I would have just let Him in. I was leading choir on Sunday and explaining how the dynamic of the song needed to follow the meaning of the words. And as I described the chorus, I knew--No more a stranger, nor a guest, but like a child at home. I hate crying in public (but as a new friend reminded me, there's nothing wrong with crying; one day I hope I'll really be able to believe that...), but these tears felt so good. I have been a stranger to Him; I have felt apprehensive about being in His presence; but now, now I feel like a child. For the loneliness that I have felt in the deepest, deepest part of me for so long, it is finally being filled. And I guess it's not ironic, that at the same time, all the people who I have loved, and had felt so painfully separate from, seem so much more present. And almost like I love them all better. Because I am loved. And I have let Him love me. (It's frustrating, because words just don't capture what this feels like. Or just how intense a process it has been to let Him love me. But what else do I have but words to record this?) I realize, too, that I could not have asked for this sooner. I am stubborn, and until I was broken like this, I wouldn't have been able to choose submission in the hardest moments.

My computer hadn't been playing DVDs for the past month (maybe as another way, too, of making sure I stayed at least somewhat focused), but I came home Saturday night and was hurting. A lot. Not angry. Just hurt. And I prayed that God would just be with me as I watched Tangled til I fell asleep. I (pride myself on) never asking for things like this--usually I keep fighting it, thinking I can get through it, or try to fix the problem myself (usually by thinking about it, which makes things worse), or...probably other things--but that's when I felt most like a child. It was just something small. I needed to know that He was here. Now. Not that I could push myself, yet further, to keep believing in the one day that everything comes out in the wash. But that I could feel Him now. I think I can ask for that sometimes. And He came. And He stayed. There's still a part of me that feels like I'm taking advantage of Him; that I can't ask for things too often. And there probably is a reasonable limit. But right now, I feel surrounded by His embrace, and I know that even when I can't feel it like this, because sometimes He has to let go, the hope He has given me is no less real. I believe Him! I believe that He really will take care of me. This is the love I have looked everywhere for. This is the taste of Home. And why it's all worth it. Even if nothing turns out how I planned.