i paint a picture
and then as i sit contemplating it
the door to my grief is opened and i step inside
and find myself holding my favorite teddy bear to my heart and sobbing…
these moments -
they are rare -
but i don’t like them
the door to my grief seems to be connected to the door of the lies that haunt me
“you’re not good enough”
“you’re weird, broken beyond repair”
“you’re too messy, too burdensome…”
….
Rach came home - knocked on the door of my room and came in
wow, that’s great
she looks at the painting and then turns to me
Dee
What’s wrong?
I hate to see you cry alone…
and she comes to sit by me and hear my heart
and even now
typing these words
that seem too open
too vulnerable
i am crying
because i still feel unwothy
but i also feel loved
and i don’t know how God is going to heal me
or how my life
my messy life
will unwind itself…
so i am going to sleep
with the silence i feel
and the empty air to my questions…