Dear Wounded Heart,

There’s something burning in my heart. Something I want you to know.

When you smile at me, I see the pain in your eyes. I hear the hurting cry your heart screams.

The pain you think you’re hiding isn’t hidden at all.

I see it. I feel it. I know it.

See, I’ve experienced that pain, too.

I’ve felt the deep-cut of viciousness. I know the ache of wanting to belong, but feeling out of place.

I know all too well about building up thick walls around a wounded heart.

I’ve been there.

I’ve done that.

I know what it’s like to create a barrier so thick and strong that nobody can penetrate it. Even when they dare to try.

But can I share with you a lesson I’ve learned about such walls, Wounded One? When you become weary of keeping your heart protected with the obstruction you’ve worked so hard to build, you will find yourself all alone.

Because people will only try to break through your wall so many times. People are human. And when others reach out in love because they sense you’re hurting, only to be rejected time after time, they’ll eventually accept that you aren’t willing to let them in.

Be brave, Wounded Heart.

Stonecarving
Creative Commons License photo credit: AMagill

Let somebody in. If you give me a chisel and ask me to sit with you, I promise you, I’ll help you begin chipping away at those monstrous bricks.

I know how difficult it is to trust. I understand the heartache. I feel your pain.

Sometimes we have to be willing to put an end to assumptions. Open our hearts and minds. And just open ourselves to the love that others want to give us.

I know it isn’t easy. But it is doable.

I’d love nothing more than to give you a bear hug and tell you, “It’s going to be okay.” The truth is, it won’t be okay…as long as you cling to those old hurts.

So let them go.

Break down that wall you’re hiding behind.

You aren’t fooling me.

I see the pain. I know that pain. I feel it.

Love,

me.

The power of blessing others

Sunday was a tough day for me. Things happened. And yet in the middle of the mess, God remained constant.

Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/kavehfa/2428338037/

I suppose when the devil did his thing on a Sunday, he assumed that it would cause me to stay home from church. He was wrong. I found great solace in knowing that I would be among sisters and brothers of faith, standing in God’s holy presence to worship Him in spirit and truth.

After service Sunday night, something unexpected happened. A sweet lady came to me and said, “Sister, I need to put a blessing on you.” She hugged me and spoke a very simple blessing in my ear.

She had no idea what I was going through that day. She doesn’t know the ache in my heart. She doesn’t know all the unanswered questions that gnaw me at times. She was simply following God’s heart.

In the Greek, blessing means

 to ask God’s blessing on a thing; pray God to bless it to one’s use; pronounce a consecratory blessing on

Even a mess can be blessed.

God knows about every mess in my life. He understands my pain. He sees the most secret places of my heart. And He knows when I’m needing a blessing the most.

That Sister’s simple whispered blessing gave me renewed strength. It reminded me that no matter the ugliness in my life, He wants to use it for His glory.

This isn’t about me. It’s all about Him.

When I choose to remain steadfast in Him, He will use everything–the good, the bad, the ugly–for His glory. No matter how big or little the mess, I choose to place it in His hands.

Do not let yourself be overcome by evil, but overcome (master) evil with good.

{Romans 12:21, AMP}

There is evil in this world. But it will be overcome with good. It will be overcome with God.

The Dark Hours

light in the darkness by cassehn, on Pix-O-Sphere

Photo by Cassandra Ake-Bradley at Pixosphere 

I dragged through the day. Seconds ticked by like hours. The heavy cloud loomed above my innermost being; poured down rain.

Depression. Such an ugly word to swallow. Even more difficult to say aloud: I’m depressed.

I’m a Christian. I’m not supposed to be depressed.

The deceiver’s hiss seared my mind.

Worthless.

Useless.

Waste of space on this earth.

God doesn’t care; He’s forgotten you.

Lies.

I went through the motions, barely making it through simple daily responsibilities.

Wash dishes. Fold clothes. Feed kids.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. That day, I couldn’t take any more. I retreated to my bed. Pulled covers up to my chin. And I just lay there. Lifeless. Staring. So empty.

Sleep evaded me. I didn’t need sleep anyway. I just wanted to be alone.

My sweet husband wanted to help me. He tried to pull me from the muddy pit I’d been in for months. But this was beyond his help.

This pit of depression was of my own making.

I’d been wrapped up in mourning what I’d lost. Hating the present and longing for the past.

I’d been shaking my fists at God. How could You? If You truly loved me… Why won’t You…?

This anger, bitterness, and doubt turned inward caused an implosion of depression. I couldn’t see any goodness. I didn’t want to be happy. I wanted things to go back to the way they were. I wanted my way, not His.

The depression and sadness and anger deepened. Choked life. Withered my soul.

Those of you who have experienced depression know what I’m talking about. These dark hours seem endless. Hopeless. So very hopeless.

Only when I fully surrendered my will to Him—when I started trusting Him again—the fog finally lifted.

Trust—that which does not come easy for me. Trusting in God means surrendering myself—my will, my heart, my mind—to Him. Trusting God means acknowledging this life in not my own, but His. Bowing to His awesome majesty and saying Yes! to what He has for me, instead of holding on to something that wasn’t mine to begin with.

Some days I forget about the dark hours. When I walk hand-in-hand with my Creator, it’s easy to forget how low and lost and lonely I was.

Some days the dark hours threaten me again. Taunt me with their gnarled fingers, beckoning me back to the wallowing place to lament over times past. I refuse. One step forward, closer to Jesus, pulls me away from the darkness one more time.

If you are in the middle of your own dark hours, look for the Light. It’s there. It might be a speck of a pinpoint, but it’s there. God is there, especially in the dark hours.

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