There’s something about my soul that has always been drawn to messiness, to imperfection.
To a paint spattered table in a stuffy old room. To hands stained with ink carefully holding up art for me to see.
My actions speak louder than my words, so maybe I do try to be perfect. But I’ve never wanted to be. My heart aches for delirious late night talks and papers ruined by spilled tea, for tears that come from the deepest sympathy and from the most genuine laughter.
Lovely readers, I know you’ve heard these words from me time and time again, but I write it so often because I have to remind myself.
I have to remind myself that beautiful, messy, ink stained lives don’t happen when you hide.
Because right now I’ve got the covers pulled tight over my head and the light is slowly streaking in through the blinds. I’m begging and crying for it to please just leave me be. I don’t know why, but I am furious about my blessings.
Loneliness is fine, I say. I don’t need to be seen. The more I’m given the more that’s going to be taken away. Because if I never show up with ink on my hands and my face–with my heart as vulnerable as it is messy–I can always say, “Well, they didn’t really know me. That’s why they left.”
But as I hide underneath the covers, I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“Darling, wake up. I have called you to love beautifully. And my sweet Jaime Lynn, you can’t love the people around you until you let love back in.”
“Promise me,” I beg, “Promise me that you’ll shield me. You won’t let me get hurt. Don’t let them laugh or mock or ignore me. Oh I don’t think I can bear one more person who says they won’t leave and lies. Promise that if I’m vulnerable with the people I meet, I won’t regret it.”
He says nothing, and I know I will get no such promises.
People talk about a God who provides armor and warriors and weapons. That is not the God I know.
The God I know gently wakes me up each morning and tells me how loved I am. He says, “Yes, I’m sending you into a war zone, but I know what you need.”
The God I know sends me off to battle but he doesn’t give me armor. He lays a hand on my heart and gives me some paper and ink.