brokenness

Brokenness.

It is a feeling I have experienced many times in my life.

Never the same way.

There are many forms of brokenness, I have come to discover.

As I plopped down on my bed last night there was no holding back the tears.  For the understanding that if I go to sleep that means I will have to wake up and go to class in the morning.  A sense of dread hovered over me like a plastic bag, refusing to allow air to flow through it.  The tears streamed down my face and the only words I could mutter were, "Lord I am so broken. I hurt so much right now. I'm so broken..." 

So broken.

I anticipated the anxieties, fears and frustrations language school would bring up before coming here.  I expected that I would respond in a less than desirable way.  I however did not fully anticipate the heaviness that would come with.

The weight is great.

I am now having to deal with the pain of years gone by.  I am having to face the pain of words spoken over me as a child.  I am without a way to escape the pain that lingers in my heart and mind.

I want to scream.  I want to run.  I want to hide.

I want the God of the Universe to give me the ability to speak French and spare me the pain of having to learn it.  I want Him to spare me any more of this pain.

Brokenness.

A desert experience.  A dry wasteland.

The once non-stop talker, now dreads the thought of opening her mouth.

The once highly opinionated thinker, now fears sharing a morsel of a thought.

The once passionate child, now longs to find rest in the nothing.

I long for the years of learning in the past were ones of joy.  I long to remember the school days of old with excitement.  I long to think about those days and find comfort in them.

Alas, none shall come to be.

Now as an adult I must face a past laced with memories of put-downs, shut-downs, and turn-offs.

The little girl who was told,

  you're too imaginative! you need to think realistically

  you will get by, but that's all

  you talk way too much! you need to be quiet

  sit on your hands... you move too much

  will you ever get this right?

  you will never be like her, so you should think of something else to do

That little girl now sits as an adult thinking the same words are coming her way.

But they don't.  Other words come.

Words of encouragement.  Words of affirmation.  Words that should breathe life into her soul.

But the lingering affects of old, I fear, are too deep and too rooted to believe anything else.

Brokenness lingers and has found it's home in my heart.

But there is a promise from God...

Psalm 51:17

The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.