Just a Giant One

Tonight was not about me. It was about a lot of things and people, but most certainly did not revolve around me.

I did, however, get something out of it. And it's big.

One person, crazy enough to believe they can change the world, can. One person who is willing to stand up when everyone sits down under the crushing weight of oppression or the insignificant weight of embarrassment can cause others to stand, even if it's just to fall. One person following God's lead instead of their own can change an entire generation.

I want to be the one, you know? And I think I have it buried somewhere within me, or maybe it's more surface-level than I can see, but I want it to define me. I want to be used and consumed by God until I die and can really start living without the glaring flesh and sting of death. I have some things about myself I need to change first, though.

I don't love people enough. I love them in theory, just as I have spent most of my life loving God in theory, but when it comes down to it I don't love them enough to spend every ounce of myself sharing who God is with them. I don't love others enough to gently guide them instead of trampling their insides with my opinions; truth given in the wrong way at the wrong time is too often mistaken for falsehood.

I am too hard on myself. I let one mistake define me and I have a knack for taking humility to a wrong level. Couple that with bouts of egomania and I become a hindrance, not a help, to the Kingdom.

But, praise God, He's working things out in me. I am repairing relationships in my life like a madwoman, stepping up and having the hard conversations, and soaking up His word like nobody's business. I am letting Him work, so He is. No matter what else, no matter how I am or who I am or what happens, He Is.

No It don't Come easy, No It don't Come Fast

What to say?

I am being forced to dig within myself to the most hurting, buried parts, bring them to the surface, and face them head on. Through this process I am finding out exactly how much of my life I have repressed. It is a lot.

I remember the first day I taught myself to compartmentalize to the point where I could be physically present in a conversation, respond as required to the smallest degree possible, and record what was being said for later review. That way I could recall it later, piece by piece, and not deal with the hurt in front of the person. Unfortunately, I always forgot the last step; I would leave the traumatizing material buried and not even scratch the surface of my hurt. As these things have compounded over the last three years (the time since that date), it has only served to further compound the things inside that I had already done this with, unbeknownst to myself. Now when I try to access a memory from, say, the second grade, it's gone. I have to dig through the last fifteen years of garbage until I finally get into a place of clarity where it is possible to see the hurts (or even positive experiences) from way back then.

All I can say so far is how sad I am. I am sad that I have wasted so much of my life repressing instead of facing. So sad that I am now having to spend a significant chunk of my life working through this stuff instead of getting on with my life. Devastated by what I'm turning up, which if it had been addressed in the moment would have only been a scratch on the exterior of my soul; instead it has become a sickness to my soul. I cannot believe some of the things I am discovering.

This is going to be the hardest work I have faced thus far.