In his blog this morning, David Hayward ( also known as the naked pastor) shared this cartoon and a wonderful encouragement for those of us (all) who are in the process of transformation. He wrote,” You must break free! To remain where you are will be the death of you. You intuitively know this. But we hesitate because we predict the trauma. We foresee the crisis.”
The scary part really is in the surrender to the process.
I was really inspired by this little drawing today…knowing that I feel like I am in the process of a transformation…feeling like I can actually see it through for the first time…it’s exciting and terrible at the same time. To remain where I was would surely be death. To become who I’m meant to be requires a death too…
I would like to share a poem that I already posted a couple months ago but it feels right to share it again.
The Unexpected Study of Me
My name means worthy of love.
Believed for so long that it was affirmation of some clearance rack value.
A bonus prize… useful for something someday realized.
Eventually this would ring true.
Today has whispered into my ear.
At last, this meaning I see
could be bigger than me.
A prophecy declared from the Almighty?
Words spoken over me from infancy?
Mandi. Worthy of love.
I must believe this. Claim this. Deserve this. Embrace this.
Labored for so long.
Behind the shades,
in dark rooms, in pain.
Heavy and burdened.
Time was hogged.
Downward spiral of toxic seething bile.
Something new is turning, crowning, and mounting.
Fire that has raged war,
pressing and urging…
Burned down all these walls
bound with thick sturdy purging.
Ropes that are braided with cords
of deep rooted and tangled words.
Seared into me like a red hot branding iron.
Owning me. False identity.
oranges and reds.
Snapping and crackling.
Knots untying in my head.
Smoking, slowing, and finally cooling.
Signs of spring now emerging.
Fresh and tender stems cutting through… cropping up from piles of ash.
A breeze on its way, kicking up dust, lifting pains.
Fresh, fibrous, sweet and raw.
This newborn relief.
Value and worth.
Thoughts, talents, skills and abilities.
Waking up from a deep frost.
Weak and wobbling in fragility.
Fat and sedentary from lack of use, comfortable self abuse.
Upcycle these virtues…rely on them again.
Let the renovation begin…
Each limb, each crease and roll.
From the inside out.
Lord, let your artistry flow.
Come alive and emerge.
Casting away all doubt throughout.
Your knives and tools sharp but subtle.
Carving and molding.
Repurposing my heart beyond these limits I’ve been living in.
This voyage, this song brewing,