1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking
2. Link back to The Gypsy Mama and invite others to join in.
3. Please visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments.
OK, are you ready? Give me your best five minutes on:
God never place us in any position in which we can not grow. We may fancy that He does. We may fear we are so impeded by fretting, petty cares that we are gaining nothing; but when we are not sending any branches upward, we may be sending roots downward. Perhaps in the time of our humiliation, when everything seems a failure, we are making the best kind of progress.- Elizabeth Prentiss
Sometimes I feel stuck. The days seem to repeat endlessly and each trial continues and each step feels as though I am retracing a path with tracks from my drifting heart . Sometimes I find myself in familiar surroundings and I wonder at how I have allowed myself to come back here. To this place that I thought I had moved beyond.
We talk of getting real. Of letting each other lean in close and see us as we are, the no makeup greasy ponytail girl staring into a full closet of clothes that no longer fit and deciding it’s not worth going out today.
The weight watchers name tag, Hello My Name is Alia sticker you found on the back of your jeans when you undressed at night and you realize you ran all of your errands since your meeting that morning with it stuck to your butt. And that one of those errands was buying ice cream and cake mix because you weighed in and the scale was mocking your hard work and you give up so easily.
Your toddler saying “Put me down you idiot,” at a homeschool ceremony while he struggles to get free of your grasp and you know he learned that word from you and your road rage. And you wonder how these kids of yours will ever turn out alright when they copy you so readily. And the worst parts always seem to come out.
And you feel like a failure. Again.
Some days you feel the draw of depression pulling you down. The invitation to stop caring. To stop trying and just close your eyes and your bed is calling you, it is pleading for you to stay. It would be so much easier. And you find yourself there again. In this place you’ve moved beyond and you know you don’t want to stay here. You know that this is where your heart goes to die. To be alone.
You want to be real but you also want to be loved. And sometimes you don’t feel the real is lovable. Sometimes the real is messy and pitiful or weak and broken.
Sometimes your real feels whiny and complaining and you know you should choose joy but what comes out sounds fake and syrupy and you don’t want to be that girl. The one who never seems real, with the platitudes and life lessons wrapped up neatly. The one who never lets the messy bits show.
So you choose to keep silent and alone and settle into this familiar place. Or you may choose to tell it all. To let the messy bits show and hope for the best, to set out on the path even if you’re not sure where you’ll end up.
Sometimes it is enough to say that I am a failing in these areas. And that God is at work. And that is good enough. The best, really. God knows our real, our ruts in the road from life’s ordeals, why would we try to hide them from the ones He’s put in our lives to help us find the way back? Our friends.
To all of my friends who cover my messy parts and still love me, I’m so blessed by each of you.