I trashed a blog post the other day. One that had sat in my drafts folder for more than three months. One that I didn’t want to read because I cried when I wrote it all those months ago.
We won’t discuss what that blog post was about. It suffices to say that I was very hurt when I wrote it and very confused about a situation that frankly still makes me a little sad. The post just sat there in the drafts folder month after month, winking at me every time I opened my WordPress dashboard, which if you read this blog, you know is at least a few times a day. I wrote it one afternoon in a fit of sadness, anger, and regret when I felt like I had to get some feelings out in sentence form or I was going to explode. It was raw; it was my best attempt at speaking the truth and expressing my feelings. After I wrote it and saved it, I couldn’t bear to open it. I didn’t want to see what I’d written. It had been written as a catharsis of sorts and I didn’t want to open that untitled post from January 6 for the life of me. So I didn’t. I didn’t read it the day after I wrote it, the next day, and soon all those next days had stretched into weeks, then months.
I didn’t want to remember what I’d poured out in that blog post. But I couldn’t let it go either, because that would mean letting go of the situation/relationship that fueled it. And I couldn’t post it. Not for the world to read. So it sat there, unread, unfinished, unposted for weeks and weeks.
I felt strong a few weeks ago and clicked on that post. It wasn’t as bad as I’d thought. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Oh, the feelings were there and they were real, but now I can look at it with clarity. Back then, I couldn’t. And a few months later, I was finally able to let go of that post. To let go of those feelings. To say “this happened, it hurt really badly, but you survived.”
That post won’t see the light of day here. It’s gone and even if I wanted to retrieve it, I couldn’t. (Well, computer geniuses probably could, but I have no desire to.)
The point? Sometimes, friends, we pursue things we have no business pursuing. We make up our minds that something is what’s right for us. And it’s not, no matter how hard we try to convince ourselves or make all the pieces fit. When something inside you keeps questioning it, maybe you should listen. Ignoring the Holy Spirit’s whispers and forging ahead only leads to heartache—that God Himself wants to save you from. If I had listened, I doubt that post would have ever had to be written or deleted months later when I finally got the courage to open it up and read what I’d written, which was sort of like ripping the Band-aid off the wound and finding out that I’m already healing.
I guess the point of this post is to say that there are things in life that hurt. Big things, little things, broken hearts, and disappointments. Some of them come through no fault of our own; many come through our own stubborn selfishness. But life wouldn’t be life if we didn’t have those moments. If my life had always been perfect and I’d never suffered loss, disappointment, or had a broken heart, I would know that God is very near, but I wouldn’t KNOW it, not in the personal way I know it now. If I’d never been overwhelmed, I wouldn’t know the power of a God who truly wants to carry those burdens for me. I would believe these things, but I wouldn’t have lived them as deeply and known Christ as well without them.
I don’t know what my future holds. I don’t know that I’ll get everything I want out of this life, but I can tell you that life is good at the moment.
But it’s not perfect. And that’s OK.