Just a few pages into a new book this evening (Women Food God) and a brief conversation with Michael and I was in tears...wailing...over a hurt that runs so deep I've done nothing but run from it since the day it was inflicted. I thought I'd dealt with it and to some extent that's true. Mostly though I've molded myself into someone I'm not sure that I was ever meant to be or, at the very least, someone that I had to be so that I could just...survive. You know how you can remember an event and there's what actually happened and what you believed happened? And Satan is such an exquisite liar that what you believe begins to make sense...to become your truth.
I just lay there crying in Michael's lap while I had words with God about it all. No holds barred words. I don't trust You words. You did leave me. You did forsake me. How could You have let this happen? Where were You? Is this seriously the good plan You had for me? You knew this would happen!!! Why didn't You stop it???
As a rule, this isn't the way I speak to God. I'm mostly gracious and careful, sometimes distracted, always polite. Tonight I didn't care. Tonight my heart was in my throat and I had to speak or choke on my own words. And I didn't get wrath or the cold shoulder or condemnation. I got...comfort. Not in words. I didn't want words. I didn't need words; I'd said enough of my own. It came in the touch of Michael's hand rubbing my back and smoothing the hair from my face. And with his touch the realization that God was using him to comfort me, to sooth me, to ease my pain and reassure me of His love for me. Insert deep wobbly breath here.
I know that there's still more to process and that there will still be more conversations and tears and ups and downs and while all that makes me feel unsteady on my feet, of these three things I'm absolutely sure: that resisting the pain hurts more than the pain itself, that I have an incredible husband who doesn't run away when I'm hurting and that God hears all of my words and He sees me.
He sees me.