Updated on January 25, 2017
We are gathered here today to let the light fill our broken bodies.
In a world obsessed with “arriving,” we just reached a new plane in “becoming”—and that’s okay. We are here to say that life is not only black and white—instead, it’s filled with more colors than we ever could have dreamed of.
We are living proof that life is hard. That it’s not about us. And no matter how much we try to fool ourselves into believing it, we’re definitely not 100% in control. How could we be? If we were, what would account for our wounds and feelings of despair…the nights we stayed up late crying, faced with a world that suddenly didn’t make sense…?
We’ve all had experiences—both joyful and sorrowful—that have made us who we are today. They’ve left us with bellies full of laughter, but they’ve also left us with hearts full of holes. They’ve left us with wanting.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve lived in that wanting for entirely far too long. I’ve sat and watched life pass me by as I remained “stuck,” holding onto my brokenness. Rather than allow my wounds to heal and be filled by something called “grace,” I picked at them, causing them to fester.
In fact, I became proud of my wounds. I played the “victim card” and allowed them to define me. My wounds were evidence that I had fought a courageous force and survived. They were signs that I had experienced the depths of life. Pride consumed me and I became quite content living in my wounded world.
Only after feelings of despair descended upon me for the umpteenth time, tarnishing the beautiful interior of my wounded “home,” was I able to realize that it looked a whole lot more like a prison than a warm and inviting abode. Only then was I able to re-evaluate and decide that I wasn’t ready to settle in such depths—now, or ever. I wanted out and I couldn’t run away quick enough.
Instead of properly grieving the closing of a season, I named myself “fine;” I attempted to move on from the emotional storm that surrounded me, leaving the past in my wake. Little did I know that wake was a growing tsunami—a tsunami that was about to crash over me and destroy the life I knew.
That tsunami recently crashed down and left me reeling in its aftermath.
It’s only now, exhausted and humbled as I desperately trying to pick up the fractured pieces of my life, that I’m able to hear a faint whisper that breaks through the constant barrage of lies. A whisper that echoes and reverberates through the halls of my being: “enough.”
Enough. Enough. Enough.
Enough with the wanting. Enough with the pride. Enough with the fear. Enough with the running.
Enough with trying to hold it all together.
Because honestly, I don’t think I was meant to. I don’t think you were meant to either.
I’m now learning to find a home in reality. In recognizing my anxiety. In acknowledging my feelings. And in letting them go before they consume me and trick me into thinking that my life will continue to be one long series of failures, regrets, and missed opportunities.
I’m learning to find a home in reminiscing over not-so-old memories I thought I had locked away for good. In choosing joy and laughing over things that most people wouldn’t find funny. In treating myself to more ice cream and sprinkles than my lactose intolerant stomach appreciates.
I’m learning to find a home in the light. I’m learning to allow it to wash over my tarnished interior and rest in its radiance as it recreates me daily. I’m learning to find a home even in the pain it causes as it enters my body and sears me, filling the cracks that I had once been so proud of.
It’s not easy, this renewal process. I feel stuck. I feel alone. I feel a lot more than I know what to do with. But I know that despite the dark clouds that obstruct my skies, the light is always present.
Dear reader, I ask you to sit. Feel. Be. Let the light fill you.
Don’t hold on so tightly to things that are no longer meant for you. Don’t make room in your heart for ghosts. You are worthy of so much more.
Don’t let go of things that are still meant for you. Don’t block out the healing that’s yet to take place because of a trickster named “fear.” You are worthy of so much more.
Remember to rest. Laugh. Cry. I promise you, you won’t always feel like this. I promise you, you aren’t alone (if you feel like you are, email me).
You are worthy of the light.
Please, let it fill you.