His words spilt over the table as he was open & raw. Transparent & vulnerable.
We are from two very different walks of life. Passions, desires and goals. Our lists would never have a common bullet point. Yet, as he shared his soul, his bruises and his very heart beat I found it mirrored mine. Different circumstances yet they had molded similar reactions.
Every time the door opened the back of my legs felt the wind peirce through my dress pants. He continued to share and I was given glimpses into his life. The similarities blinded me momentarily and instead of the Real Feel 3 degrees on my legs all I could feel was the same harbored hurt and simultaneous emotionlessness I have had at the deepest of my being.
"I'm a mess, it's not pretty at all Emily"
These words stood out to me and demanded my attention.
Sometimes, the church gives off the assumption that believers don't have heart break. That they don't have deep, dark scary nights of lonely.
Assumptions, as we all know don't ever make anyone look respectable.
Being a mess has a negative connotation.
Messes are beautiful. Messes mean that you have lived, you have been passionate about something. Perhaps destructive, but your fire is not out. Being a mess means you know there is a better tomorrow. Meeting yourself in the darkest corners--allowing them to take your breath away & being okay. Being okay with not being okay. Being a mess means that you are loving, living & reaping in the rewards and consequences of doing so.
We are too scared to feel.
We are too scared to be.
We are too scared to admit that we are not okay.
We need to embrace mess.
We need to love without bounds.
As we finished our conversation I was convicted to be more transparent. More real.
Don't be afraid to be a mess.
It's beautiful, I promise
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