A Quiet Whisper

“There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.” – Nelson Mandela

So is the same with me. I returned home this last week, and it hasn’t exactly been the most restful, peaceful setting that one would hope for. Tensions that have been lying dormant for a while were stoked up, some flaring into fights or confrontations, others dimming out to a smolder. Above all of these, however, I’ve really had to face some demons in my past. And I mean that more literally than I want to.

Which is the very heart of the problem. Those four words: “I don’t want to.” I don’t want to face these things. I don’t want to. My heart, my head are pleading with me to run, to run away again. It’s easier to just deny these things, right? Pretend like everything is fine, that I don’t hurt anymore. That my heart is still whole and not clumsily patched together with broken stitches. I want to believe that I’ll be able to hand that heart away to people again, and have them respect it and hold onto it, and not hand it back to me because they can’t deal with it. I want to run away and pretend like it’s all fine. Bottle it all up again. It’s what I’ve always done, it’s how I deal with the stuff of life. But there’s also a chunk of me, a small quiet whisper saying that it’s not right.

My friend says that somewhere deep inside of me, there’s a terrified little girl. And I’ve reached the point where I hardly know her. I stopped writing, I stopped introspecting. I didn’t want to know how I felt, because I was afraid of it.

And right now? Right now I feel unsettled. I want to go back to my apartment, where I feel safe. I guess it hasn’t been the best few days. I went from a horrible week to one filled with anxiety and hurt. It’s strange to think that just a week and a half ago, I was crumpled on the floor of my janitor’s closet, bawling my eyes out and crying to God. I was angry. I was hurt. I wanted Him to know that I felt unlovable, unwanted. I wanted Him to know the depths of my pain. At some point it occurred to me that I was crying about feeling left out and unwanted to the very person who was so unwanted that the people around him decided to kill him.

That small whisper wants me to be brave, to face the wounds that I have deep within me. People have told me I’m brave. I guess I could never believe it, because it was usually a front that I put on to protect myself. Vulnerability isn’t my strong suit. I’d rather help others and deny my pain. But that isn’t going to help anyone, including myself. So now, I’m trying to find that girl. Trying to figure her out. Yes, my head is fighting me every step of the way, and I still don’t feel great. Quite the contrary, I’m slightly nauseous, because I know where introspecting is going to lead me. And I’ll admit it: I’m scared.

But there was another guy who listened to a quiet whisper. It came after blowing winds, an earthquake, and a fire. The LORD was in none of those, but when Elijah heard the whisper, he wrapped his face and came out from his hiding place, and he listened to the whisper of the LORD. It wanted him to do some scary stuff, but it also reassured him that what he had done was not in vain. The whisper was always going to be there to guide him. 

The Pursuit of Happiness

Where have I come from, and where am I going?
I suppose this would be an appropriate question for the first post. I used to blog all the time, back in the days of Myspace. Now, however, things have changed. For one, I'm no longer a seething mass of teenaged angst. I've been looking back at the things I used to write, and quite frankly, it's shameful. So here's to a fresh start that hopefully won't be based off of pure whine. No promises, though.
So where have I come from?
Well, as I've just stated, I've come a long way since 2007. A really long way. For instance, I enjoy life, which is something I sadly could not say only a few years ago. I also have the joy of having most of my skin still attached to my body. I am also happy to report that I have a healthy relationship with food (when I can actually afford it). But above all, the major difference in me, the cause of all of the other change, is God. He barged into my life in 2008 and changed things up a bit. He's good at doing that.
But where am I going?
Only a few weeks ago, I wouldn't have been writing this. For as long as I've had a story, I've been ashamed of it. My history was one of fear, of weakness, of violation, and things I still don't know how to explain. I didn't want people to know this side of me. I didn't want them to look at me and see me for who I was; who I still feel like at times. It got to the point last year where I was desperately trying to hide from everyone. To be vulnerable would be to hand someone a deadly weapon that could be used against me. My panic disorder was going off the charts, and I quickly started sinking into depression again.
The few friends I chose to confide in urged me to seek counseling, but I violently fought against it until I had no other choice. Even then, it took me six months to draw up the courage to see anyone. So now here I am, nearly a year and four counselors later. They didn't fix everything. Not even close. But they helped me to realize some things, and get some stuff figured out. The turning point really came last week.
I had met with my pastor because I was having a hard time. A really hard time. I was simply struggling with life, and I wanted guidance. And he, in approximately 23 minutes, gave me a new perspective. The counselor  I had been going to had been encouraging me to focus on myself, on making things right within me. My pastor told me to turn around, to look to the future, to others, to God. Something so simple and yet so beautiful. The very next day, our professor talked to us in Chapel about the very question that heads this post. The day concluded with a dear friend sharing her testimony. Throughout it all, I felt God tugging.
And something changed.
The shame, the fear that has plagued me for so long has vanished. What happened? Honestly, I still can't explain it, but somehow I realized that everything that has happened to me I can use to bring glory to God. I can relate to others in ways that many people cannot. Yes, I spent around five years of my life in an addicted, anorexic haze. Yes, I was taken advantage of in ways that people don't like hearing about. But those are insignificant. Colossians 1:21-22 reads "This includes you who were once far away from God. You were his enemies, separated from him by your evil thoughts and actions, yet now he has reconciled you to himself through the death of Christ in his physical body. As a result, he has brought you into his own presence, and you are holy and blameless as you stand before him without a single fault." Without a single fault. I am holy and blameless to my Holy and Blameless Creator. The scars which I've been carrying I can now use as weapons for His glory. I feel no shame. 
And that, my friends, is a beautiful thing that has honestly never happened to me.
Which leads us to this blog. It is going to be my musings about life, the universe, and everything. It is my pursuit of happiness by processing the things that happen in my life.
And the root of my happiness, the root of my freedom, the root of my life is God.
May He grant you grace and peace.