Thank you

I can’t fully express what it means to me to reconnect with long lost friends.  But not just to reconnect.  To realize that, despite the fact that our lives have diverged and moved on and changed so much, we can still count ourselves sisters at heart, connected in more ways than can adequately be described.

It’s been a long time since someone has told me that it is, in fact, important that I keep fighting.  That simple sentiment, that notion that what I’m doing, what I’m fighting for still matters, has fanned the flame in me and driven me forward.  I no longer just want to get through this year for the sake of passing my first semester of law school.  I want to do well, I want to succeed because what I do, what I want to do matters.  Simple as that.  And it’s been far too long since I’ve been reminded of that simple fact.

But beyond the much needed encouragement and validation, I can’t quite express what it means to be able to be fully honest with someone again.  Even if I can’t say everything out loud quite yet, either due to lack of clarity and self-reflection or simply due to fear, knowing that I once again have someone that I know I can and will be able to share these things with is beyond freeing.

It gave me the courage to post what I’m feeling on this blog, even if I’m not in any way ready to explain everything I’m talking about to anyone who might ask.  The simple knowledge that I have someone by my side, willing to stand with me and back me and continually confirm that no matter what I might say or feel, I am still a powerful woman ready and willing to do important and amazing things has given me the strength that I need to take even just this small step forward.

The words “thank you” are beyond insufficient, but they are all that I have.  So that is what I will give.

Walking the Tight Rope

I’m plagued by these thoughts.  I always have been, for as long as I can remember. And for as long as I can remember, I’ve repressed every last one of them.  These thoughts will invade my dreams, both waking and sleeping, and I’ll push them aside, telling myself over and over that that person cannot be me.  That I can’t feel that way.

I justify in my mind that it’s ok for other people to feel and act on these feelings, but I judge and repress and flog and punish when it comes to me.  I complain about being forced to live up to those lofty expectations set by the organized church or by my family or even by my friends, all the while forcing myself to live out my own double standard.

I walk this fine line, tight-roping my way through questions of politics and morality, telling myself, and making some damn convincing arguments, that the two can somehow be separated.  That I can believe in the freedom of others to say and do one thing while condemning those very thoughts inside myself.

I cling to the comfort of the religious explanations and condemnations that I’ve always known, despite condemning their tone and even their proclamation.  I want one thing in my private life and another in the public sphere.  This is my desire, because such a separation makes my own twisted thoughts and longings so much easier to rationalize, to push aside, and to wipe away.

I long for a clean slate, a simpler state of being, where I don’t have to search out my own answers.  I shouldn’t have to spend longsuffering hours searching for some form of balm for the truth that I’ve always known in my heart.  I read through exposition after exposition, knowing that they more fully explain these oft quoted words of hate and pain than anything else I’ve ever heard or read, and still I tell myself that they’re not enough.  That I need something more.  Some grand gesture, some neon-light-in-the-sky revelation.

But that revelation has been and always will be a simple, small, quiet voice in my heart, telling me over and over again that love, and not condemnation is the answer.  Telling me that the one true and perfect Yahweh made me, and, at my core, who I am is a reflection of His very truth and perfection.  That nothing can taint my Imago Dei.  I have been wiped clean by the blood of the Lamb, so who I am, what I’ve always known, that is truth.  That is my revelation.  I don’t need these expositions, these arguments, this constant need for justification and validation.

But how do I finally learn to trust this truth that I’ve always known in my heart?  And, better yet, how do I actually admit to the world that I’m embracing this truth inside of me, their so-called “truths” cloaked in condemnation, hate, and lies be damned?

I’ve already ripped the veil off once before, declaring once and forevermore that I am not perfect, that I don’t have it all together.  But I still clung to those basic beliefs, no matter what my heart or even my logic and exposition said.  I wanted that comfort.  I wanted to belong.  So I claimed to agree with every tenant of the faith, even those that grated against my very soul.

I’m not ready to throw off that cloak just yet.  It’s not as much a need for that comfort anymore as it is a fear of being rejected.  I now know, and rest perfectly at ease in the knowledge and truth of the love of my family and friends.  But what of their acceptance?  They claim to give it on a synonymous basis with their love, but love and acceptance are far from equals.

So for now I remain hidden, choosing to bide my time in hopes of building my courage.  But this grating against my soul can only be suffered for so long before it must be pushed out.  And then where will I stand?

"No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself, and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be true." ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne