Of dust and ashes

I was at a women's retreat this past February. The theme of the retreat was "Cover to Cover" which emphasized the value of our stories and the connections that we make to each other because of our stories.  During the weekend, there were several times where ladies shared their personal stories, or speakers shared stories from scripture. These scripture stories weren't new to me. But the combination of the stories from scripture and the stories from the speakers led me to realize that there were things in my past that I had thought I had dealt with that were still haunting me. And so I emailed a safe person whom I had come to trust pretty deeply over the months prior, and I told her that I was working on dealing with some things myself but that there might come a time when I would need her help. Her response was I'm here when you want to talk and you don't have to do this alone.

I hung on to those words as a lifeline for the next month. I tried to work through things myself. Finally I admitted to myself this wasn't work I could do alone. I reached out to that safe person to ask her if we could talk. And so she picked me up for coffee one Sunday evening. We made awkward small talk all the way to Starbucks and part of the time after we got there. She knew I had much more to say but she let me pretend that I didn't until I was ready. And realizing I was never going to be ready, but that I had to say what I needed to say, I spent probably the next 30 minutes telling her most of the ugly things that had happened in my life for the past 40 years. I was so broken and so ashamed that I couldn't even make eye contact with her. I spent much of the time I was talking either trying not to cry or folding a napkin into an elaborate piece of origami, just to have an excuse to not look into her eyes. And yet she never took her eyes off me. She never looked away. She never looked shocked. She never looked repulsed. She just looked at me with the same look of love that she wore when I first began to share my story. When I finally finished talking, she asked some questions, to try to help guide me to ways that I could heal, and she asked me if I was willing to work with her in a coaching capacity to work through the things I had told her. And so with this precious guide by my side, I began my journey of healing.

Over these past several months, I've been doing some very deep emotional work. Part of that work involved dealing with childhood and young adult trauma. Part of that work involved forgiving myself for things that I have done to hurt both others and myself.  All of it has been difficult. I've had the blessing of having amazing friends to support me and an amazing person coach me through this work. She has challenged me. She has loved me. She has supported me. She has prayed for me. And most of all she has listened to me and encouraged me. I absolutely would not have been able to be brave enough to do this work without her willingness to walk me through this time. She has spoken so much truth and love into me. She has hugged me tight so many times, saying without words what I needed to hear, which is that I am worthy and I am loved.

Along to the road to healing, I wrote a number of letters.  Some to myself and some to others. Letters which allowed me to forgive myself at times. Letters which allowed me to see things in a new light and realize that I didn't need to forgive myself at all, but I needed to forgive others. Letters which allowed me to see myself with a compassion I had never before known. Letters which made me cry in the writing, and cry in the re-reading. Letters that helped me to heal. During a particularly hard time, my precious guide asked me if I wanted to figuratively put the things I was dealing with on a high shelf in a closed box for a time, to give myself a break from the difficult emotions with which I was dealing. While I ultimately chose not to, I did decide that I wanted to literally put the letters into a box and that when I was further along in the healing process, and when I was ready, I wanted to burn those letters and scatter the ashes at the cross at the retreat center where I had first realized I had such a need to heal.

This past Tuesday, after months of a lot of tears, and a lot of prayer, and a lot of cussing, and a whole lot of healing, I scattered those ashes in the water, to wash away and to leave me with a new start.  Fresh and clean, and without the dirt of the past.

And so my months of sitting on dust and ashes has come to an end. I know there will be hard days. Days when I try to pick up the baggage that I worked so hard to set down. Days that I question whether I am worthy. Days I struggle with shame and regret. But there are also days of joy. Days of excitement at what is to come. And most of all there is deep gratefulness for the work that God has been doing in me and prayers for his continued work in me in the days and months and years to come.  Because what I know is that he's not finished with me yet.  And the good work he started in me, He will be faithful to continue until it is completed.  Amen.