thoughts on “control”:
i hold it tightly, i do. i repeat a rhetoric of “i’m not enough, i’m not doing enough, i’m not smart or productive enough; i can’t handle enough…”
sunday brought me to my knees in holy anger and disappointment (and a not-so-holy stubbornness that roared its teeth too, at Leo of all people. what a man.) a conflict of emotions, where civilians would’ve gotten hurt had not the only tangible civil thing been my heart being sown out of its old pieces.
sometimes, i learn that we, in our most gentlest concern, lightly take parts of our hearts with the heaviest weight– we think them whole, redeemed. and we stitch them into the fabric of our messy heart, but the attack was waiting to happen; the arteries were clogged with sorrow weren’t they? God saw the ragged pores, how badly we needed the oxygen to bring a pumping heart to life, to not take away parts that he breathed in us eons ago– and what does he do? he keeps loving us back together again.
if we let him.
so why and where does “control” come in? I’m very good at giving God juuuust enough that it looks like my whole heart, but he and i both know it isn’t. i could fool anyone, even Leo maybe (at this point, maybe not – he knows me better than I do sometimes. relationships are magic, healing + terrifying). but i position myself with just enough surrender and mix in the honest humility and neediness– but i hold back. on what?
on fully trusting. or even trusting at all– that God doesn’t need my hands to do his brilliant work in my life. that he’s bigger and more capable than I am. that my striving, my abilities and my talents– as good as they are– they close the space for Love to thread its needle.
so i start small, over again:
i whispered up to heaven as i spoke with someone who needed my voice to say, “it’s all grace, remember that. it’s not just for those who don’t know grace, but it’s for you too.” funny, isn’t it? how we often speak truth to ourselves inadvertently.
i lose myself and find myself in writing. i go months, years even, without finding treasures buried deep. how eccentric and odd it is to find yourself in a moment, in a ripple that once held a hurricane.
i whisper, lord, i’ve done my part. i choose to be here, now; to be present and be a strong post– i know you come through, so do only what you do.
an hour or two later, while i swam to awaken these bones and muscles to fresh resurrecting, that which i couldn’t do– was done.
the grace is for you too.