Friday, September 20, 2013

This Is My Confession

My name is Erica…and I have a confession to make.
If I’ve learned anything in the past couple years, it’s that sometimes, writing is the only way to soothe the pain that sits in my heart…unattended.  When I write it out…I feel a little less chained to it.
One of my only prayers as I venture out to write this is that behind the words, you see and hear a real person. One that has feelings, emotions, thoughts, ideas, made mistakes, is working on her stuff, failing, falling, trying, learning, hoping.  And even as I write this, fearfully, I don’t want anyone to think, “well gosh, she must be thinking about me.”  You can relax, I’m not thinking about you.  Remember up there when I said writing helps me…it’s purely selfish. ;)
This is my confession, Usher.  Sometimes…it’s hard for me to see other people…happy.  I realize that in the social media realm we, at times, addictively partake in, life is either black or white.  Those facebook statuses and Instagram photos and Tweets are normally, “I love life” or “Why me, God?!?!” Most of those social media outlets only target ourselves.  They aren’t even social.  Well, social about ourselves I guess is what I am trying to say. 
So when I say sometimes it’s hard for me to see others happy, I mean it in the social way.  Let me explain.  The last movie date I had…was with my mom.  And the one before that…was with my sister.  I spend most of my weekends either sitting with a complete stranger at work, or watching the time painfully tick forward.  Forward into…what?  Sometimes nothing. 
I would probably need a third hand to count all the weddings I’ve attended.  Alone.  I would need a bank statement to see all the newborn outfits I’ve bought.  And zero hands to know how many times I’ve been someone’s girlfriend.  I know…I can hear you thinking, “poor thing.”  And while maybe even 6 months ago I would have welcomed such pity, the word I cling to is “promise”     


I’ll be honest…there are nights, like tonight, when I spend time with Him just being honest about how I feel.  Remember, im a person…I have feelings, too.  I spent about an hour sitting on the edge of my bed, crying to my Father.  Asking Him questions.  Telling Him as best I could how much my heart was aching.  Even though He already knows.  There used to be times when I would go an entire day without ever acknowledging Him.  How rude, right?!  But if this statement is true, that we are a product of our environment, then it would make sense that I hardly knew God was my Father and that He cared about every little detail.  Why?  Because there have been days on end where my own dad could get away without saying a word to me for the entire day.  Did it phase me?  No.  it was what I was used to.  And though there have been times even in the last year where I would physically feel pain over the fact that I could walk into the house and not have a word said to me by him, I’ve learned that he is a product of his environment, too.  What am I saying?  Im saying ive let him off the hook.  He was probably ignored as a kid, too unless he was doing something wrong.
So I cling to the word “promise” because wrapped up in that word…is hope.  And there are a few different reasons why hope is packed into that word.  The first reason is that if I have been promised something, my responsibility as the one whom has been promised, is not to try to make that promise come true.  It’s the responsibility of the One that has promised.  The next reason why the word “promise” has hope tucked in there is because if I’ve been promised something from Him, it must be more amazing and unfathomably extravagant than  I could ever dream up.  Beyond beyond my wildest expectations.  It’s better than I could do.  And the last reason why hope is embedded into promise is because any promise that He has made me is not selfish.  I may think the only reason He has promised me something is so I am the only one who benefits.  I’ve learned He doesn’t work that way.   I’m not the only person on this earth that needs hope.  And maybe, just
maybe…the promises He’s deposited into my heart will bring others hope.
So…what is my responsibility?  To rest.  My responsibility is to rest…not in the promises that He’s made.  My responsibility is to rest in Him.  And even though my heart bursts in angst sometimes, even though I swirl in “why”, and even though I find it hard to see others happy, watching their promises come true, this is what I know; He is faithful.