Breaking Out of Alcatraz

I have moved tables in this coffee shop four times since I walked in 15 minutes ago, the restlessness in my heart evident in my inability to sit still. I have been on edge since I posted last night because I refused to say what was truly on my mind. I’ve been moody, short-tempered and catty all day. God bless the men who have to traverse my emotional minefield on a daily basis. So, let me tear away the veil of sarcasm that has been my greatest defense for so long, for every person, everywhere, that has ever spent more energy trying to protect the last shreds of strength they have, rather than surrendering to the Grace that can cloak us in peace.

My femininity has taken a physical beating. I stood and took punch after punch allowing my heart to become so disfigured that I now stand on the brink of losing myself in a chasm of bitterness and hostility. I am like a dog that has lived its life in fear of the next beating, throwing any idea of companionship to the wind and simply taking up my sword daily to battle the onslaught of mistreat that slinks around every corner. Just like those battered dogs, I am fighting an internal war. Do I reject my purpose and build up the walls so high that I can never escape my personal Alcatraz? Or do I die to myself daily, laying down my fears and allow Alcatraz to be demolished, knowing that one day I may get hurt again?

Praise God I was never physically abused, or emotionally mistreated by anyone in my life. I am truly blessed. This beating is the daily misuse that slowly cracks the foundations of my heart, allowing my soft vulnerability to drip out until the well is dry, the reserve empty, leaving me searching to fill the void with something, anything.

The Fall left our world broken and empty, and I allowed myself to become another victim of the epidemic rather than a vessel of the antidote.

Adam and Eve entered my life during Sunday School just about the same time that Noah and Jonas entered the scene. Now little me, a fiery ball of blonde energy that beheaded Animal Crackers with the vengeance of a guillotine during a revolution, thought little of the naked lady and man running around a garden eating apples. There was a guy getting eaten by a whale that needed my Crayola’s attention. The whale’s tummy looked oddly like mine, except insert a small man in a robe instead of some soggy disfigured zoo animals. Little did my tiny-self know that the sin committed in that garden altered my entire being.

The curse of the fall first became truly evident to me only a short time ago after my first and only heartbreak. The parting was not messy. There was no fight, no yelling, no particular reason that ended our two year relationship. We met several times in the following weeks for closure, whatever that means, and to try to figure out how it all went so wrong. In the beginning my mind was set that this was his fault. He chose to end this. He decided not to love me anymore. He walked away from what we had. But as we sat in the park on that sunny afternoon, tears in both of our eyes, it dawned on me that I was broken. I did this. I ended the healthy bond that we once had.

Several minor disagreements left me mistrusting and defensive. In my heart of hearts I knew that I was fooling myself. This was not the love that God had intended for me. He was not the man that I would spend my days with. We were just two people headed in opposite directions grasping at a connection that had dwindled into mere familiarity. In those last months, I became needy and demanding. I required every minute of his time and every ounce of his energy. I was no longer the Proverbs woman “clothed in strength and dignity”, and I certainly was not “laughing at the days to come”, I was clawing at the past and dragging his strength with me.

Lucky for me, I serve a God that is full of grace and strength. He was not too big nor too busy to climb down from His throne into the muck and mire that was my broken heart. He washed it with his blood, once again. Just like a mirror, my heart can only reflect what it is angled towards.

The sin of man left a longing in the hearts of men and women, and we are looking in all the wrong places. I am so tired of starting this game over again. How many times do I try to cram some guy into the hole in my heart that is perfectly carved to fit the cross?

This is my public cry that I will no longer hide the message of my feminine beauty from the world it was meant to love . I will protect and guard, but not defend nor stifle. I will cry for the pain of those around me, even though my mascara will run and my face will look like I got punched. I will celebrate their joys, laughing my stupidly loud laugh despite the confused looks of those around me. (No sir, that is not a 90 year old man laughing…that’s just me, sorry it’s so hearty)

I choose to offer my beauty to this broken world. I choose to reflect the grace that I have not earned. I choose to allow the Healer to make me whole and complete in Him alone, turning away from my weakness and running to the strength that saves.

Let's get real. I am going to stumble and fall because I am a crazy hot mess. I will be hurtful and mean, but I will strive to live out a life of restoration.