psalm 61

I listened to pastor amy’s message on dream seeds again this morning. I found a parking spot and as she wrapped the message I wept. And I wept. My heart is so overwhelmed by loss, grief, sadness, memories, dreams deferred and her message told me not to give up on my dreams. That God gave them to me and He will bring them to pass. I wept because I held out hope for no reason. I kept a part of my heart open, dedicated to nothing. Foolish. I looked at my tear-stained face through blurry red eyes and said there’s your truth. you are scared to death that this will happen again. You are the main character in this story. Write through your pain, set yourself free.

In the message she says that we try to protect our seed coat, that our dreams are wrapped inside the seed and the only way for a seed to germinate is for that coat to be broken. But we protect the coat from wind, rain, heat instead of allowing the elements to beat the coat, tear it just enough so that the fruit (dreams) inside can sprout.

I haven’t cried that hard in a long time. It reminded me of when d and I parted ways in my early 20s and I held out hope for very long time, wanting him to change, to come back to me, to us. I don’t know how long it took but eventually I moved on in my heart and my mind. He wasn’t replaced but that space was sealed and it was an ugly scar.

What I have now is another scar but this one is still fresh, perhaps because I’ve picked at it. Instead of letting it heal and rubbing it with a salve, I’ve picked at it and now it’s an oozing mess. Where is the balm that will heal this scar?

Funny, every relationship has a wound. Some of them are deep gashes, others are paper cuts. But every single one of the marks has a story. Just like when you were a kid and you fell down and you grow up and someone asks, what happened there? And you recount the story of how you and your sister were riding bikes and she pushed you off the back and you cut your knee. Or the time she was cutting watermelon and you reached for it and she sliced open your finger. Or the other time you were riding bikes and you scraped your pinky along with yellow picnic table, the one with the rough edges. Every single one of those scars is still visible. The memories are just as clear as if it happened yesterday but the hurt and pain has disappeared.

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