When God Shows You Your Truth

“God, show me my truth”was a statement that I once said frequently. In my attempt to be more like Jesus, I desperately wanted to become better and I knew I needed God to do it. I didn’t realize at the time that my statement was dangerous and that I wasn’t prepared to see what I was asking. One day, God answered me and I didn’t like what I saw.

It’s amazing to me the ways in which we perceive ourselves. On the one hand, we see ourselves moving freely and strongly in the world. On the other hand, we witness ourselves living bound by legacies of hurt, dysfunction, and grief.

I thought I dealt with the things that God was showing me about myself but what I didn’t realize is dealing with a thing, and walking over it are two different things. I didn’t know that in my effort to become well, I healed wrong which brought other areas of my life out of alignment.

The misalignment surfaced in my personality. My inability to admit that I was wrong. My ability to walk away from people without a moment’s notice.

Unfortunately, I thought so much of my life was built on strength, but it has been really built on fear and rejection. Interestingly, the two can pose as close cousins of strength, but when the light focuses they falter.

This is how my life is at the moment. In my attempt to live and say “I’m okay,” I forgot to bleed for the little girl deep inside of me. I forgot to comfort her with questioning eyes who wondered would she be worthy of someone’s love. I forgot to validate the teenage girl who was rejected from the cliques in high school. I mismanaged the moment to speak to the young adult walking through college dorms looking for her father in other men. In essence, I walked away from myself long ago and I have the proclivity to challenge those who want to stay.

God showed me these things about myself. Like garbage kicking up in heavy winds he is stirring the depths of my heart to bring to light the hidden parts of me. If I can be honest, what I see scares me. I thought I dealt with that. I thought I was free of those thoughts. I thought I had moved on.

While I did everything I could in my might to be okay, I’ve never been completely healed. Under the scab of my wounds are tender, pulsing flesh begging that I do it right this time.

I must do my work.

I’ll do it with God this time.

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