Layer After Layer.

Honest Reflections.
Originally uploaded by iamxlcp

Back from 2 weeks in Southern Africa. I'll have to post later on specifics.

On a trip like this, you can't help but come back changed. Someone asked if I was changed. Immediately I answered yes. This was at the end of our stay in Katse and I had started seeing some of the things God had done, all very small. God doesn't always work in huge, astounding ways. But then again, whenever He does work, that's something to pay attention to.

Throughout the few weeks, transparency definitely seemed to be a theme. Which isn't so great for me. Being transparent means showing my weakness, and I know that if I'm honest, I'm horribly weak. But I have always refused to let that large part of me show. I wanted to appear strong, like I have it all together. Thus, the scars I now bear on my arm and leg. When my then boyfriend & I broke up, my way of "coping" got so much worse than it alread was. I wanted to control and prevent the emotion that I knew was otherwise inevitable. I didn't want to hurt, and I didn't want to come off to others as the weak one who crumbled after a stupid break up.

So you see, transparency and I don't mix well. I don't cry. And I don't like to let people too close. When I do, I eventually snap out of it & try to push them away. And I don't want to be dependent.

Slap on a mask. Apply layer after layer. And let that become the new face of me. Just as long as no one sees the real me.

Each morning, 3 of us shared testimonies. Everyone was so honest. They were honest about struggles, about fears and weaknesses. Weaknesses.

But I could feel the unity. And I felt a lack of judgement. The morning came for me to speak for a few minutes. I held my breath and dove in.

I started out,

"I've always left out a bit of my testimony, but I realize it's the story of the last 2 years of my life I'm ignoring. So I'm going to try to be transparent today..."

The whole way through my voice shook and I couldn't catch my breath. I said what I needed to say, though. Everything was finally out in the open.

Transparency.

Maybe that morning made a lasting change. Probably not, though, even while I did learn so much from it. I still see myself pushing people away. Even today, at this moment. ...One of my closest friends, even my mom. And then I wonder why I feel so hopelessly alone.

But perhaps it's moments like this one that peel back even just one layer of this mask. And that in and of itself is progress.

kadi.

An Enduring Patience

Eyes open, you’re on the floor
Some might call this an epiphany
A revelation of sorts
But, really, you’re just happy to be alive.

You clench your fists, then hesitantly release them
Symbolically letting go of what you’ve clung onto for so long
Over and over, the same forced motion
Yet it never makes any difference; you just aren’t ready.

You cry out for a savior, even though you still hold onto your vice
You’ve given it up before, but you fall harder each time.
To some, God means love, safety, hope, and grace.
To you, God means pain, failure, hurt, and fear.

Torn, you decide it’s time you’re honest.
You tell God you can’t leave it behind.
You’re scared of what might happen, it’s who you are
So you take it back up, leaving the cross in the distance.

“I won’t force it upon you, that’s just not what I do.
But I’ll still love you. I’ll still watch over you.
So if you decide you want me, I’ll be right here.
I’ll be waiting for you. I won’t be going anywhere.”

That’s who He is. Maybe someday you’ll recognize Him.
He’s patient when no one else around is.
And He’ll stand here with His arms open wide
Waiting for the day you call His name.

kadi.