Funny thing is, I have a hard time believing I ever really had one to begin with... it's always felt muffled, as if someone was holding a pillow over my face. When I tried to speak up, what I had to say was never truly heard, instead it was the tone in which I said it, or how bad the timing was of what I said, or the emotion I had too much of while saying it, or the age at which I said it,... anything to skirt the issue of what I had actually said.
And over time, my "voice" became synonymous with "who" I was.
So, over the years, I learned to convince myself over and over that any perceived injustice or suppression or impossible expectation I may have experienced was just a figment of my imagination. I gave the benefit of the doubt so often in the name of "grace" and overlooking wrong that in the end the only one I blamed of wrongdoing was me, and I constantly needed to seek forgiveness for it from others and endlessly begged God to help me change. I was too sensitive. I was too strong. I was too harsh. I was too flirty. I was too aloof. I was too direct. I was too vague. I was too emotional. I was too much of everything a woman shouldn't be, and not enough of everything a woman should. And in certain circles, it usually meant that anything I had to say, anything I stood for, was not valid, not true, or simply not worth considering. But was this because of other people's perception and expectations of me? Was it my perceptions and expectations of myself? Was it both?
I've been wrestling with this for a good while now, and I can sense that there's still quite a bit more wrestling to come. After walking away from some circles of influence and releasing myself to really examine and almost re-experience previous hurts and shame and guilt, this is where I've landed. I'm left standing here looking around, trying to get my bearings and as the dust starts to settle, I look at myself and I can't help but wonder who I actually am. What do these bones and muscles and organs amount to? Is this creature "me"? Or is it what others have piled onto me? Is everything that I am a reflection of what others insist I am. Is it a rebellion of what others insist I be? Is it simply me?
It's remarkably difficult to explain, and I wish I were at the other end of this transition season instead of smack in the middle of what sometimes feels like the twilight zone. I've attempted to write things out on numerous occasions to give a picture of what's been going on to help me process everything and also in the hope that it might help or encourage someone else, but it's just been so jumbly-bumbly at times, and quite honestly feels extremely wasteful and selfish to "self" examine so dang much, that I don't know what to write other than these confusing ramblings and wonderings.
Yet at the same time, as I'm studying and seeking and wrestling, I can feel some new places starting to come alive in me. It's as if I can see the old skin and muscles starting to loosen and shake while underneath I feel the new tissue forming. Ooh, kind of like the blind man in the book of Acts, when the scales fell from his eyes... the old skin that covered blind eyes needed to be living and pliable for seeing eyes, and the old, dry stuff got pushed off and tossed away.
So now, what's left out in the open of "me" is a mind that is in awe of the Lord's patience and justice towards his people, especially as we read through Jeremiah; a heart that is stirred to tears of joy and excitement as I read Acts 10 and see promises fulfilled; an ear that continually hungers to recognize the voice of God and another that still hears too much of the the world around; arms that were emptied and now ache to embrace others fully; hands that desire to make and give something beautiful; legs that love to dance and celebrate; feet that long to go and do; and a soul that strives to rest into his burden.
Sometimes it hard for us to understand long periods of transition when we live in such an instantaneous world; in less than a day we can be halfway around the world. So it's good for me to recall how God seemed to instigate and utilize long seasons of travel, or imprisonment, or wandering, in the lives of his people in order to shape and form them and to prepare them for what lay ahead. So my hope is that in the past year and however much time lies ahead, I might be pliable clay in the hands of the potter during this season, and that what He forms will point to Him and others will say, "Look at what the Lord has done!".
