I thought I had lost one of my journals; left it somewhere other than home. And I was afraid. I didn’t exactly know what was written in it. My journals are a place for my unfiltered, raw emotion to spill out across pages. Things I am too fearful to speak, I pen. It’s where I cuss, shake an angry fist, scream, cry, and surrender. I question, argue, beg for mercy, accept, and give praise.
We are scared of others seeing the process. It can be ugly. If someone read my journals they would think I had lost my faith, my virtue, and my mind. If I left my journal in a public place and it was found, I would be exposed.
We aren’t tolerant or patient with process. Our own or other’s. We go to judgement, criticism, shame, guilt. I am grateful God doesn’t treat us the way we often treat ourselves and each other.
I believe it is important to speak truth in love in trusted community, but this is done with leaving room for and trusting in the work of the Spirit.
Oh God, what are you up to that my human understanding cannot comprehend?
I listen to my kids practice their instruments and I hear imperfection, messiness, and mistakes. I hear tenacity, progression, improvement. The transition from choppiness and wrong notes into a smooth, lovely piece of music. If all I ever heard from them was perfection, I would miss a full appreciation of their art. When we sit and listen to a polished performance at the symphony hall, we can only imagine the hard work that has occurred before this moment. And most likely, we don’t give much thought to the sacrifice, dedication, determination. But when we are invited in and allowed to see and hear the struggle, our hearts expand.
The lows, the highs. The failures, the successes.
That place where ugliness and beauty come together, where brokenness is met with love and perseverance… that place is redemption.