Scars
It's 5:34 am. I'm thinking about letting go.
The interesting thing about learning how to let go is that it first requires holding something: hurt, fear, anger...
Love.
Letting go requires vulnerability because it means acknowledging that I'm trying to remove something from my life that I once clung to. It means opening up my heart, my mind, my soul to find the deepest roots of those emotions so I can gently, perhaps slowly, remove the harmful pieces of them.
It hurts. And it leaves a scar. So the question becomes: would I rather experience the sharp, temporary pain of surgery and a corresponding recovery, with the possibility of limited mobility and occasional aches and pains? Or would I rather try to ignore it, leave the emotion there, buried under layers of bandages, and risk infecting and debilitating my entire soul?
I've been told that giving myself this spiritual surgery is brave. Perhaps it is. But I feel that I no longer have any other viable option. I will no longer live with a crippled soul, not when I have an opportunity to heal it. Not when God stands ready, with open arms, to show me how.
God is the master surgeon and I am His student. He will let me make mistakes. He will allow others and myself to leave scars on my soul. Scars are meaningful. They are evidence of a life lived, chances taken, and lessons learned. They hurt, but the pain is actually a vital part of the process.
I've believed for many years that spiritual and emotional scars make me broken, unlovable, unacceptable. But now I see the truth.
The truth is: I am incomplete without my scars.
The interesting thing about learning how to let go is that it first requires holding something: hurt, fear, anger...
Love.
Letting go requires vulnerability because it means acknowledging that I'm trying to remove something from my life that I once clung to. It means opening up my heart, my mind, my soul to find the deepest roots of those emotions so I can gently, perhaps slowly, remove the harmful pieces of them.
It hurts. And it leaves a scar. So the question becomes: would I rather experience the sharp, temporary pain of surgery and a corresponding recovery, with the possibility of limited mobility and occasional aches and pains? Or would I rather try to ignore it, leave the emotion there, buried under layers of bandages, and risk infecting and debilitating my entire soul?
I've been told that giving myself this spiritual surgery is brave. Perhaps it is. But I feel that I no longer have any other viable option. I will no longer live with a crippled soul, not when I have an opportunity to heal it. Not when God stands ready, with open arms, to show me how.
God is the master surgeon and I am His student. He will let me make mistakes. He will allow others and myself to leave scars on my soul. Scars are meaningful. They are evidence of a life lived, chances taken, and lessons learned. They hurt, but the pain is actually a vital part of the process.
I've believed for many years that spiritual and emotional scars make me broken, unlovable, unacceptable. But now I see the truth.
The truth is: I am incomplete without my scars.
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