Here is a space for honesty. And a ramble in vulnerable processing.
I'm six weeks into having a run with bronchitis and walking pneumonia...trying to make a good go at it towards getting healthy again. Comedy may role in threes, and the third time may be the charm; but I'm now on round five of antibiotics...hoping that this one works so as to avoid a weekend stay in a local hospital on pneumonia observation (complete with antibiotics via IV). In a weird way of doing math, this makes me realize: roughly 3 weeks ago I turned 28. And that is really what I want to talk about.
The day prior to my birthday was wonderful: my roommate baked me a completely homemade angel food cake, and then we went to go see The Nutcracker Ballet performed by the Royal Ballet Company in London via a digital broadcast at the local AMC Theatre thanks to my super-thoughtful brother. Fairy tales and dancing.
The day of my birthday was actually rather disappointing: all my plans fell through and I spent the day mostly alone or doing errands, trying not to feel depressed. A friend came to visit, which saved the day for me, and I later attended a Christmas party that night wherein my friends there sang "Happy Birthday" to me even though it wasn't my birthday party - which was a very nice gesture. A day of waiting.
The next day, one of my best friends took me to see Frozen and we finished that wonderful adventure with a trip to the comic book store wherein I picked up a copy of Pride and Prejudice in graphic novel form. And that night, I had a party where I invited some friends to go out swing dancing with me. I had a total blast - felt absolutely special - completed with a friend of mine purchasing me some original Disney princess artwork offered by an artist at the holiday market hosted by the dance venue. Fairy tales and dancing.
Perhaps even better, my lovely friend, Hilary, blessed me by opening and closing my birthday with messages of love. Her words blessed me as she pronounced, "28 is going to be amazing." And I don't exactly know why, but I wept because I felt like her words had prophetic power and I just knew them to be true. I believe that 28 will be amazing. It's the first time in I-can't-remember-how-long that I haven't resented turning another year older. I just believe that this upcoming year will have something amazing in store for me. And I am so ready to put all the heartache of being 27 behind me.
So, in turning 28 I look forward to this wonderful year ahead with the hope of fairy tales and dancing.
Which also leads me to this new year: this year 2014 - which I find to be such an aesthetically pleasing number. And although it didn't start off the way I'd envision (being sick and having to stay home, not even being invited to the party most of my friends went to, etc) I am still excited about the upcoming year and all of the potential for new beginnings and growth that it has in store.
Of course, this does not mean that I get to start with a completely blank slate. I once heard that the problem with running away from your problems is that you take yourself with you. And as much as I'd like to forget that 2013 happened, the fact of the matter is that, well, I can't. Not right away, at least. And some things, like the passing of my grandpa, will always stay with me. But, I think that's okay because even in the pain, there is beauty. The pain is beautiful because it shows how much I loved him. It reveals that he was important in my life. And that I miss him even now. Love provides the beauty that redeems the pain.
Considering the other pains, this is where I have the opportunity to move on. And by "move on," I mean that I can continue to heal from the wounding done to my heart. I wonder at the timing that the first crushing blow and loss of relationship happened the week of Easter...carrying through the summer with the blossoming of hope and loss of love...followed by the news of my grandpa's sickness...and then the loss of him as well...which carried me into Advent: a season of anticipating the coming of Christ. I am anticipating this return even as I anticipate the restoration of my heart and even as I see the healing of my heart. But it is slow going.
Because forgiveness is slow going. And there are often hiccups along the way. Forgiveness is often a choice that must be repeated.
Concerning the man who convinced me to give him my heart - the man who whispered to me the most beautiful dreams - who made me feel alive in ways I hadn't dared to hope for myself - the man who I fell in love with - the man who told me he wanted to marry me...the man who got his ex pregnant:
I did the thing "you're not supposed to do" a couple months ago: I looked him up on Facebook. And I saw the picture of his newborn baby - the child he had with his then-ex who he told me he no longer loved...but who is now his wife. I saw the picture: I saw this precious, beautiful child. And my response was truly one of a hope of blessing for their future. I hope they grow into being the parents that this child deserves and needs: the kind that selflessly love one another. I wish them joy.
What that leaves for me is the space and time to heal. The chance for my new beginning is like rebuilding a garden after the devastation of a storm that has uprooted trees, ripped apart the shrubberies, and turned the flowerbeds into swamps. It has and will continue to take time, work, effort, reshaping, tending, and a whole lot of God's touch in and around my life. And a whole lot of patience and gentleness as I learn how to trust again. God will deal with them: will tend them, prune them, and guide them if they let God do it. In a sense, they no longer matter in my life. What matters in my life is my opportunity for growth.
And sometimes, growth comes from letting people go.
A friend of mine shared with me a clip from Tyler Perry doing a skit from Madea. Aside from being hilarious, the draw to it were her words, "When people want to walk out of your life, you let them go."
Most often, people don't tell you they want to leave - they show you with how they handle your heart.
And those people don't need to be kicked out. Proper boundaries will let them decide whether they want to kick themselves out of your life or not. Proper boundaries leave room for those people to come back, but - as Madea put it - most of the time, the relationships those people offer are like leaves on a tree. The wind blows and they go this way, and then the wind blows and they go that way, and then the wind blows and they fall off and die. But they were good for a season, and the shade they provided was nice.
I am still learning about letting go. I like to think that I am growing in my ability to set and maintain healthy boundaries. I watched a friend kick himself out of my life this fall because he could not handle being in a relationship wherein I called him to respect me even as he respected himself. And it was sad, but I let him go. And I feel stronger for it.
I lost my best friend at Easter. The relationship didn't die right away, but it eventually became a sort of poison in my life. The sense of betrayal, disrespect, lack of honesty, and unwillingness to be vulnerable with me that I sensed from him led me to the eventual conclusion that this was a relationship that I no longer wanted.
And I don't regret that.
I still feel the pain of losing him. There are days when I very much miss my best friend - this man who knew me better than most and who was like a brother to me. I feel the pain of what feels like being ostracized from most of our mutual friends because I refuse to get on board with being happy or even "okay" with his choices. But this is my room for growth. This is where I start to learn about forgiveness - and how to practice that - at a deeper level. This is where I learn to pick up a rake and clear away the leaves that have fallen from the tree.
Because, here again - he no longer matters in my life. And his choices show that I no longer matter to him. And, in a way, that's a good thing. He should be free to live his life and make his choices. And he has chosen to pursue what he thinks will make him happy and fulfilled without me in mind. And I'm not sure how to say this, but it is good that I do not dictate his happiness. So, it is time for me to grow. And it is time for me to heal. God will grow him, and tend him, and lead him as he allows.
Perhaps justice isn't always a crushing vindication against our enemies. Perhaps justice is served for the wounded when they are able to grow into a space of joy and love for those who hurt them in the past.
And I am excited when I think about this for myself. Because I still have some growing to do. But looking forward is what makes this a new beginning.
