The Ugly Truth

I’m angry.
I’m angry, and if I’m being honest, I’m a little bitter.
It’s ugly, y’all.

But I didn’t start a blog to make myself look like I’ve got all it all together, or to attempt to convince people of my enlightened spirituality. I started a blog because, for me, writing is worship; it is my testimony in action; it is my person outreach.

And I can’t be effective if I’m being inauthentic, so you get it all; the good, the bad, and well…

Yesterday we found out the results of my toddler’s CAT Scans. In short, there’s a mass; a mass that’s pressing on her esophagus, and we don’t know what it is.

Yesterday I had a conversation that I feared with all my heart.
“It could be something as silly as a piece of food that her body has walled in, or it could be more serious.”
“Could it be cancer?”
After a moment of silence my pediatrician said “We don’t know. I wish I could say no, but I can’t.”

Yesterday I cried.

When the panic passed, and when the fear turned from sharp stabs into engulfing waves, the anger came holding bitterness’ hand.

My mind raced with “Why her?” thoughts. Why was she born early? Why does she have a heart defect? Why is she delayed? Why – on top of all the challenges we’ve had to deal with – does she have this issue now? Why are there people who are never asked to face these kinds of trials? Why are their kids in perfect health? What makes them more worthy? Why is my daughter less important to guard?

I’m feeling shaken; broken; and guilty for thinking these thoughts to begin with. But I have to own them, because they’re mine, and they exist. Not putting them on paper or saying out loud doesn’t mean I’m not thinking or feeling them. And, the thing is, God still knows them. I can lie to everyone, including myself, but I can’t lie to Him. So whether I scream them into my pillow or push them way down deep inside and feign a smile, He knows they’re there. Lingering. Festering. Waiting.

And, the thing is, I’ve come to realize that God doesn’t want my fake smiles. He doesn’t want my superficial “strength”. He would rather have my earnest broken heart crying out to him; He would rather have me come to His throne room and yell and shout and scream and give it all to him. Because He can’t take something from me that I won’t give Him. If I’m bottling this inside, keeping it locked up, I am keeping it from Him, and if I am keeping it from Him He can’t do anything with it.

So I’m owning it. Not in the accept-this-as-who-you-are self-discovery-book kind of way. But in the this-is-my-truth-and-it-needs-to-be-released kind of way.

Admitting these things, confessing them, does not mean that I am clinging to them or excusing them. To the contrary; I know they’re there, and I know that He wants to hear about my heartaches, because He wants to heal them. And there is power in the spoken.

God spoke the world into being.

We can rebuke the enemy with our words.

Our speech can bring life or destruction to those around us.

They can bring freedom. They can break chains.

And so I am speaking them. I am flushing them out of my spirit, and crying to my Daddy that I’m hurting, and I’m scared, and I’m broken – and I need You.

And the best thing about my Elohim, my God? He doesn’t take anything from us without giving us something better in return.

When we give Him our fear, He gives us His peace.

When we give Him our weakness, He gives us His strength.

We just have to acknowledge what we’re holding, and then be willing to let it go.

So here I am; This is me.

A mother who is crazy in love with her daughter, and a daughter who desperately needs the comfort of her Father.

The good, the bad, and the ugly; This is me.

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