Under The Rug

Here’s the deal tonight. I’m angry. I’m angry and I’m going to write about it with little to no editing so you kids can get the real deal. And it may be because I’m a little hormonal, or it may be because I’m a little wined up (that’s like wound up, except with more wine), but it’s how I feel and locking it up in my dark, dank little heart is a lose-lose-lose. Lose for me, lose for you, lose for God.

DAMMIT I am SO angry. I do not understand what kind of pattern the threads of my life are supposed to be making right now. Remember that analogy, you church kids? You know, how a rug woven from underneath doesn’t make much sense but you flip it over and hello gorgeous? I am underneath the rug. I am underneath the rug in the dark wearing glasses with the wrong prescription. 

What the hell is going on?! I chuck the old life, with all its selfish decisions and fearful choices and lonely dead end roads, and what happens? Joy. Bravery. Adventure. Purpose. LOVE. The joy and the bravery I’m desperately hanging on to and fighting for, and most of the time I think the fact that it is a daily battle makes it better. I still wake up most days able to be intentional and ask God for help and to show me when I’m in the meaningful moments He has in store for me that day. And the adventure, well, to that there is a season – one can’t stay in permanent road trip mode if one wants to contribute to society and their family and buy a house someday. So, that’s one I can let go of for a while. Purpose? Well, see previous post. I’m getting (miserably small and few) glimpses of that, but it’s a frustrating process. I’m trying to believe that God will reveal my purpose – meaning what I’m going to focus my time and creativity and energy on for the foreseeable future – in levels, rather than overwhelm me with it all at once.

But love. LOVE. Where have you gone? You came in and out of my life like a freight train, Cowboy, and left a path of destruction behind you. I didn’t come looking for you. I didn’t ask for this. You were thrust upon me as a result of what I still believe were all the right choices. YOU came after ME. And yet you were the one who bolted, the one who has shut me out of your life in any meaningful way after the epic way you let me in, and now seem to have gone about your life as if nothing important ever happened. Fucking hell, did this cost you NOTHING? Do you not hurt at ALL? Goddamn men. I don’t use that expletive often but sometimes it’s called for. As my girl Anne Lamott has written, men are just so shitty at being PEOPLE sometimes. Such terrible communicators, such hardhearted, distant animals. Sure, they can lift heavier things than we can most of the time, and I appreciate their deft handling of bug removal, but do they have to be SO good at indifference?! There are moments when I seriously question God’s sanity in making any men and women for each other, because too often it seems too hard to even be worth it.

And speaking of God, what are YOU up to, sir?! You know my heart better than anyone. You know exactly the depth of my feelings in this stupid situation and yet despite my prayers You refuse to either restore us or relieve me. Even when I had finally begun just the smallest baby step of feeling like I could find a way to live with accepting that this story may really have no more to it, You let him send that text? “Hey.” What was that? And it led NOWHERE. What possible story do you have for me there, God? Seriously, I’m asking. Don’t pop him up in my life every couple months without a reason. This is NOT a roller coaster I want to be on without a purpose. If you have more to teach me, I’m listening but honestly right now it just feels like You’ve left me hanging out here like a sad girl pinata, brutally exposed to the come-and-go attentions of a guy who really doesn’t know what he wants.


So, okay. Here’s what’s great. I am angry, as you can tell. Hurt, confused, lonely, on the edge of desperate. (Like, I almost drove to his house tonight, just so I could see his face and talk to him, but then I realized that might have been a little CRAZY. Thank you Lord for the good judgement to toss that idea out the window as soon as I had it). But I do not for one single second actually feel abandoned by God, nor do I believe He is one bit upset with me for being angry. I think He hurts when I hurt and rejoices when I trust Him enough to come to Him with each and every feeling I have. I believe He, just as any parent, desperately wants me to confide in Him, whether its anger or joy or fear or gratitude. He is to be reverently adored, but He is also the best at being a friend. He invented it. He created the concept of dropping everything to comfort and advise the ones He loves (spoiler: that’s all of us).

To wrap up:

Wine, I love you.

Cowboy, I love you, but don’t fuck with me.

God, I love You, but pretty please with all due respect could you possibly avoid fucking with me unless of course it’s for my own ultimate good which it always is but uggggggggggh.


*P.S. Sorry for all the “fucks”, kids. Take me or leave me. Love you guys.

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