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.
But…
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.
