” And she had a will like a root; it was sometimes hidden underground, but it was there, tough and fibrous and sustaining everything she did.”
My cheeks burn as I try to stand my ground.
Speaking my mind.
Having the audacity to challenge credentials.
Hold on tight… I can feel my grip slipping.
And I realize I’m done,
done and onto the next one.
Are friendships supposed to be this hard?
Is this the easy and light yoke that was promised?
What happened to fellowship and sharpening of swords?
It feels so heavy,
but everything about me is heavy, so maybe it’s just me.
Agreeing that yes, I need to die to myself.
So I try.
And try and try and try.
And it chips away at what is left.
And with it,
the belief in grace for all.
Pardon for all.
Faith for all.
Because, it’s taken me so long to figure this thing out,
and now it’s ruined.
Guilt regulating this frigid temperature.
Nothing can grow on this plot.
Hard like a rock.
You can blame yourself.
If I’m rebellious?
I’m disobedient because my back straitened taller when I challenged what you said?
Am I obnoxious because my voice is raised often, and with passion?
Am I lost because I can’t fake what I don’t believe?
The little root and sprout of the woman I’m supposed to be has been curled up and hidden beneath the dark soil.
The earth is fresh and damp and warming up under the beating sun.
Soon, there will be a new thing.
Rooted deeply and rooted onward by the ONE who created my lungs to fill with my own words.
I feel it coming back again,
the hints of something special.
That nudge that I was made for something special.
That you are special too.
Pound the shovel down and pierce what would have died,
I am exactly who I’m supposed to be.
“And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.”
– 2 Corinthians 3:18
* the picture and quote I shared are from an Instagram account I follow