This week was an interesting week. A week that held many tears and prayers. A week that felt like it lasted for months. A week that beat me down. A week that I felt God do so much in my heart.
A week that I should've been wearing white.
When things first fell apart, I was holding all of the pieces of my own broken heart in my hands, trying at all costs to make it better on my own--but making sure I kept everything collected on the outside, so no one would guess or attempt to fathom the depths of the pain that I was harboring. It's so funny how we trick ourselves into thinking that holding it in will make it disappear...that sweeping the dust under the rug will make us forget. We're so silly, childish almost. Like a small kid attempting to cover up an obvious crayon mural in a dining room, I was trying to push other parts of my life to the front of my mind to mask the hurt. But the truth is, I wasn't fine.
But God does heal. He does pour out unconditional love that crashes over you like a tidal wave. He does promise to be ever so close to the brokenhearted.
And He was.
And He is.
And God keeps revealing more and more of His heart for me and my mess.
"You surround me with songs of victory."
- psalms 32:7
I'm thankful for daily victories, for growing patience, for refinement that hurts like hell, and for the remarkable community that Papa has given me that so willingly and lovingly walk through this time with me.
This week's self-portraiture is a reflection of all of those things. The victories, the growth, the pain, and the overwhelming light of hope that fuels the journey.
He's a good, good Father.