February 27th
February 27th
Putting the pieces together. Pattern pieces, game pieces, lego pieces: the whole month has been about putting the pieces together.
And putting a few more of the pieces of my story together as well. Because so much was shattered in those years of undiagnosed depression, so much of my understanding of who you were, Jesus, so much of who I had been, who I was. Reading our story aright is so hard sometimes.
Four years into following you, Jesus, I thought I knew how the bits fitted together, how to do Being A Good Christian Woman – even if, mostly, I couldn’t manage it (wasn’t blonde, didn’t sing soprano, didn’t like wearing skirts and wasn’t married or engaged).
Forty years into following you, I realise I know nothing! Except, maybe, some of the names you have given me.
I really can’t find the instructions that tell me how all the pieces go together. Or the rules for how to play the game. I don’t know How To Get It Right. And maybe that’s not even or ever possible. And I am so aware of how much I don’t know you, Jesus, how much more there is to you than I ever realised. How much bigger you are than the outlines we like to put around you, how wild, and how powerful, and how tender, and how loving.
Putting the pieces together. Pattern pieces, game pieces, lego pieces: the whole month has been about putting the pieces together.
And putting a few more of the pieces of my story together as well. Because so much was shattered in those years of undiagnosed depression, so much of my understanding of who you were, Jesus, so much of who I had been, who I was. Reading our story aright is so hard sometimes.
Four years into following you, Jesus, I thought I knew how the bits fitted together, how to do Being A Good Christian Woman – even if, mostly, I couldn’t manage it (wasn’t blonde, didn’t sing soprano, didn’t like wearing skirts and wasn’t married or engaged).
Forty years into following you, I realise I know nothing! Except, maybe, some of the names you have given me.
I really can’t find the instructions that tell me how all the pieces go together. Or the rules for how to play the game. I don’t know How To Get It Right. And maybe that’s not even or ever possible. And I am so aware of how much I don’t know you, Jesus, how much more there is to you than I ever realised. How much bigger you are than the outlines we like to put around you, how wild, and how powerful, and how tender, and how loving.
Comments
Post a Comment