The past months have been for reading, for listening, for observing. While the season has been heavy, my soul has relished the quiet moments found somewhere deep in the noise. The still has given me space to fill my lungs and breathe. Releasing tension, inviting calm. I've taken notice of the beauty around me and given thanks. And while I have a good life and much to be grateful for there is something I need you to know.
Sometimes I'm not okay.
Some of my days are sad and dark and messy. I like for you to see a polished exterior, well groomed and lovely, allowing only my pillow to hold the secrets of shed tears and whispered prayers. I rarely speak about the very thing that rests upon my surface, this one care that I have learned to hold in and push down.
I want to be a wife and mother. More than any other hope or dream, I want to be a wife and a mother.
It's not that I'm alone and I haven't forgotten the truths that speak of who I am. Nor am I hopeless. But I rarely talk about this deep, unmet desire because I worry about what you will think. I worry that you'll think I'm needy and petty. I worry that you'll think that there are more important issues that should concern me. I worry you'll give me the crummy advice that seems to easily slip through well intentioned lips. I worry that you will feel uncomfortable or pity me.
I haven't told you of the days where the constant stream of tears left my cheeks stained. I haven't told you that the hardest thing I do each week is walk into church..alone. I haven't told you that it's sometimes a struggle being around the ones that I love the most because it often reminds me that I'm still waiting.
Perhaps I do think about this desire too much, wasting precious thoughts and tears. But perhaps in not speaking it I have kept myself locked and caged, making it impossible for you to truly know me.
Quite honestly, most days I am fine. I have a job that I love and the best family and friends. But sometimes I need to tell you that I'm not okay. And when this happens I'm not looking to be fixed.
I'm giving you permission to see my depth. I'm inviting you to share yours.
Sharing from the deep is scary and uncomfortable, it's also brave. It a risk to be raw and real and honest. It's a risk to shed the pretty and reveal the scars. But it's a risk worth taking because while it opens us up to rejection and criticism, it also positions us to receive love that is able to pierce through the walls we've built and cradle the burdens that we so desperately want to share and need to share.
Sometimes we have words to offer one another; sometimes we have only a shoulder, a tissue and a prayer. Which is enough and okay.
Perfection is a lie and it hides the beauty that is found in our mess. Beauty is in the cracks and broken pieces that have found the strength to mend and live on to tell their stories. It's there in the scars that know how to hope and look ahead expectantly.
Beauty lives in the places that are not okay but dare to have the faith that they one day will be.
