You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in a bottle. You have recorded each one in Your book. (Psalm 56:8)
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Since I was a teenager I made the promise to myself that no matter what, I was going to be as painfully honest with myself as I could possibly be. I was going to be transparent. There is something so refreshing about being transparent, with nothing to block the light. Light shows us what needs to be cleaned, what needs to be repaired. You can’t fix something you can’t see.
Try it. Go make a mess on the kitchen counter or try to glue back together a broken vase in the dark and then flip on the light. You'll see that all you have done is smear the dirt around and your fingers are stuck together. It's a lesson in futility in its purest form.
Sometimes the clear panes of glass of our hearts, through neglect or because we don’t want them to be seen through, can become shrouded in a film of grime. Things become dim and the areas that need to be cleaned become hidden.
Because I have promised honesty, I will tell you that my windows had become a little more than dusty. My transparency had become downright opaque. About a year ago (you'll notice there have been no new posts on the EVBN since...) I made the decision that I was going to hide what I was going through. I saw the pain in my family's faces because I was still hurting and still struggling and felt that I was burdening them (by no fault of theirs, they are generous and loving people and never made me feel this way, it was simply how I saw it in that state of mind). I had turned the blog into a book and began to sell it, and I felt that if people really knew what I was dealing with they wouldn't want to read it. I felt that it would somehow diminish the honest and heartfelt things that God had shown me.