I’m in such an interesting season of life. It’s a season where I can only write in vague generalities, but I need to write nonetheless. It’s tricky telling a story with no details, only the lessons being learned. But goodness, there are lessons being learned.
I’m learning that I can have grace and still have boundaries. I can forgive without making excuses. I can mourn without regret. It might seem simple, that grace should have boundaries, forgiveness should never make excuses, mourning doesn’t have to come with regret. But that’s not how we live life most of the time, is it? These are the hard things, the inner work of learning that the grace of God is for me and for those who’ve hurt me. And maybe for those I’ve hurt, too.
I’m learning that healing is a long work. I can’t say how many times people have said to me that I’m dealing with life remarkably well. They don’t see the slow mending of my broken heart. They don’t know that the grieving process began years ago, before they ever knew anything was wrong. They don’t see the scars and wounds that are still there. Not that I’m hiding anything. But I’ve chosen to allow God to heal slowly, little by little. I’m content to allow God to work in God’s timing on this one. Goodness knows too often I’ve rushed the process and ended up bleeding all over those I love.
I’m learning that trauma takes a village. My village includes my colleagues, my family, and a certain group of misfits that has made me one of their own. I need them, need their love and encouragement, their gentle correction, their support. And I’m learning that they need me too. They need my story to give context to their own. They need the opportunities to be needed. Iron sharpens iron. We grow together in this field, roots deepening together and drinking deeply from the well of loving community.
There will be more lessons to learn, more story to tell. This journey is somewhere in the middle. I have no doubts that it will be painful again as it has been in the past.
Praise the God who is always faithful.