It’s a Friday morning, and I’m feeling quite accomplished. The meaningless tasks: laundry, deleting emails, straightening, setting goals for myself, logging miles, balancing checkbook, importing CDs have nearly all been completed. And well, the exciting thing is all of these have been completed and I have just come my first interview.
My inbox has been housing rejection letter after rejection letter. Subject lines could have just said you don’t meet our standards, instead of boosting my hopes, only to be let down upon reading them.
I have been kind of stuck lately. I hid myself from those closest to me and have been harboring bitterness to get me through my days. I went into hiding. I forbid myself from speaking to others, closing up my sad, angry hardened heart from anyone and everyone.
I kept myself from writing and freeing myself with words poured out.
I have been willfully afraid of being vulnerable. And well that tried and true, coping mechanism of mine is often used, but never helpful.
It took honesty and light from my sweet Mother to bring me out and over.
I’m not there yet, and well truth be told, I never will be.
But the beautiful thing is, that I’m moving.
My heart and soul are slowly waking again.
With this awakening, comes a realization that I was placing my worth in those rejection letters. I was placing my worth in being a college graduate who goes about her days lifting unwanted clothing off the floor and hanging it back up, all over again. I was telling myself that being unwanted in this job market- probably meant that I was unwanted- in every regard.
So I closed up, locked myself in, threw out the key.
I refused to move.
I cried myself to sleep many nights and just wondered what on Earth I was doing in this country, with a heart settled under the Mexican sun. I wondered what good I could do myself with 7.25 an hour, how on Earth I could get out from under bills and student loans- clinging to the tightrope, feet curled under, thinking just maybe one day I could pack my bags and leave all of this behind.
I’m still making that 7.25 an hour, rising and falling with the Goodwill, being my daily destination.
I’m still receiving rejection letters.
I’m coming out of hiding.
I’m facing the hard truths of loving a foreign country, miles away, settling into the fact that it may take me awhile to get back there.
I’m remembering that there is grace in coming back to my Father, and there is hope ever still.
I’m running even on the days, when breathing comes sporadically and my feet scream at me to stop.
I’m paying off one bill at a time, cause that’s what it’s gonna take to get there.
I’m stumbling back into community, something made with me in mind.
I’m seeing that one can rise from the ashes and loneliness of depression, by the single choice of fighting back the covers to see another day.
There’s beauty in progress. There’s beauty in movement.
And if I have to tell myself every single day that He is faithful, when I am faithless, that is what I’m going to do. Because I’m tired of living back bent and heart torn with bitterness, finding my worth in everyone and everything but my Maker.
I’m not defined by my inbox full of rejection.
I’m not defined by my depression.
I’m not defined by my loneliness.
The number of clothes I hang up and pick up off the floor does not define me.
But rather, God in His infinite grace and mercy defines me.
And this is exactly where He chooses me to be.