I've been mulling over which parts of my life are worth writing about. Initially I thought maybe painful dissappointments make interesting themes - writing about that is usually cathartic anyway. But i ended up confusing myself when describing this hurt to that pain to that betrayal which left me wondering if i was breastfed properly (explains the perceived parental detachment/neurotic personality... who really knows these days...)
But no matter how serious the wounds feel, they come and go. Besides, sometimes putting things on paper only magnifies their effect, and i was left feeling like... well... i can't actually say, cos that would be defeating the point wouldn't it?
So as monumental as the dissappointments seemed, i've come to realise - for the fifteenth million time running - that God is my only refuge. Surrendering to Him doesn't make anything better, it just gives me something to live for. And that's worth writing about.
There is so much talk that gets bounced back and forth about committing to God that i've come away feeling quite familiar with the concept. But to get acquainted with the honesty of it all means facing up to personal demons. So while it's great to finally have all my insecurities and questions suddenly answered, the answer itself made me angry and i wanted to hate someone. Since God was the one who pulled back the curtains, i aimed at Him. I forget that He's showing me because He wants to help me.
The moral at the end of the story is, i'm still struggling but it feels great to surrender things at His feet. Knowing it was His love that set me free, i'm trying not to run anymore. So here is my heart, and that stupid need to find and express love in a relationship.
