My husband – that poor, poor man – asked me a simple question, unknowingly unleashing a flood storm that he had no idea was coming. I had been stuffing, stuffing, stuffing some things inside me – knowing they were there, but unsure of how to deal with them – and his question chipped a tiny fracture in my unstable wall, causing all the bricks to come tumbling down and out.
I don’t really like to talk about my feelings. I’d rather not feel them at all. I’d rather talk about you and your feelings. I deal with my issues on my own. My husband is privy to more than anyone else, and he can deal with me better than anyone. But when it comes to emotional things, they’re mine.
I’m not denying that I have feelings and issues; I just don’t like to advertise them or burden others with them. I can take care of them on my own. But last night I couldn’t hide my insecurities. I didn’t even talk about them much; I just cried them out. Eww. Honestly, I was a little disgusted with myself.
I often say that my 20s were an uncertain time. I graduated from college (HIGH!); I suffered through my mother’s illness and death (LOW!). I had fun with my friends, traveled, and got married, so the decade ended well.
Then I turned 30, which I LOVED. I entered my 30s with confidence, knowing who I was and where I was headed. I had my children and raised them. I loved being a stay-at-home mom, and didn’t miss the office one bit.
Now I’m 40. I was excited to enter this decade, because I really feel that the possibilities for what I can achieve are endless. I not only feel confident, but empowered to turn my ideas and hopes into a reality. But I’ve had this weird feeling of being held back. I couldn’t put my finger on it.
After last night’s “situation,” I woke up with a clear head. I woke up with the thought: God’s promises are new every day. And then I saw a friend had posted this picture on Facebook:
|Photo by Gerre Brenneman|
I am overwhelmed with ideas. Or am I just overwhelmed?
Yesterday’s sermon at church was about “Who am I?” I know that I am a daughter of our risen King. So I’m leaning on my Abba in heaven to direct me. I’m going to do a little of everything I mentioned above and hope and pray that the Lord guides me (pushes, shoves, drags me kicking and screaming) in the direction He wants me to go, because I’m just not sure. And for a Type A, OCD, checklist-making, routine-craving woman, that is not a comfortable place to be.
OK, I’m getting off my shoebox now.