I've been reading over past blog posts as I sit up, tired and unable to sleep from a particularly delightful allergy attack. So as the ice pack numbs my neck, I am numbing myself reading my own heart and what it has revealed over the past few years on this page.
In my first post, I said my biggest fear was being the Christian that people love to hate, being perceived as false.
Ouch.
In an effort to be completely honest and far less likely to ignore how sad it is that that would be my biggest fear, let's readdress this. That is not me anymore.
The idea that I would care more about being understood for who I am than being a person who loves as God did, outrageously and without condition, is a little nauseating. I suppose I've gotten better at waiting. This may be the only benefit of my new diseases: that they forced me to slow down. And even though I hate that and the fear of never accomplishing anything I want sets in soon after acknowledging that, it's becoming easier and easier to shut up.
Although, in many ways, I am still that girl. I still want more than I deserve and I still want to love more than I am loved. And I still haven't learned how to do it yet.
With daring, I say, "God, keep teaching me."
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