Dear Self

Dear self,

I know you crave wholeness, and you think that means perfection, like somehow being imperfect will shatter you into pieces of unimportance. Like plastic jewelry crushed on a sidewalk, only useful for the moment it made someone else happy.

I know you think the way to wholeness, perfection, is efficiency in all your tasks, like there's a shortage of time on the clock of your life, and laughing wastes the seconds and the oxygen around them. Like you must take up less space in the world, and do things faster, and do them better. And stop breathing so much.

I know you think your feelings need to justify themselves to you before appearing, and that you are worried about letting them run the show. And I know there are good reasons you've come to see emotions this way, and that you are protecting yourself, and I want to tell you that's ok.

I want to tell you it's ok to face the fears that are underneath your controlled calm waters.

I want to tell you there is a choice, you have a choice, to stop making yourself so crazy.

I want to say you can let go of the electricity underneath your skin, if you want to, and you can let the softness of rest and vulnerability find you without fear of being crushed and scattered; at least, not ultimately, and not tonight.

I want to let you know you're right, the world is not a safe place, and it's understandable you would feel sadness, grief, and fear. But it's also the case that you are walking on sacred ground, and while unsafe, it is holy.

You are not afraid of the dark things, but you are afraid of yourself. That no longer serves you. Let's try to let it go, if you can. Try to yourself be for a while, even unwell, in the darkness of your own heart, angry at the depth of the unwholeness you rage against. And see how the morning still comes.

You -- never-enough-er, perfection-craver, chaos-tamer -- you cannot make your world whole.
You must face the scattered shards in order to be whole yourself.
This is what we have to work with.
What we have to pray with.
What we have to be with.
And when heaven comes to earth, how much greater it will be.

I cry aloud to God,

aloud to God, that he may hear me.

In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord;

in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying;

my soul refuses to be comforted.

I think of God, and I moan;

I meditate, and my spirit faints. Selah

You keep my eyelids from closing;

I am so troubled that I cannot speak.

I consider the days of old,

and remember the years of long ago.

I commune with my heart in the night;

I meditate and search my spirit:

‘Will the Lord spurn for ever,

and never again be favourable?

Has his steadfast love ceased for ever?

Are his promises at an end for all time?

Has God forgotten to be gracious?

Has he in anger shut up his compassion? Selah

Psalm 77:1-9