Raw. Fettered. Burgeoning.
I’m trying to find the right words for what I am lately, but I’m coming up empty.
Yesterday, I cried while listening to Charlotte’s Web during the afternoon kid shuttle. The day before that I cried while listening to Charlott’es Web too. And the day before…
We take many short trips. A single movie can last us an entire week. This week the movie has moved in me.
Perhaps I’m just sensitive, but certain things have just gotten to me. The latest?
Wilbur tells Charlotte the Spider, “I don’t know if the things you write about me are really true!” Things like terrific and humble and some pig.
I think I heard my soul cry those words along with Wilbur.
“God, I’m not sure I can believe the things you have said about me!”
Good things – how God chose me or wanted me or loved me. How God still does.
Why is it so hard to believe the good things people tell us about ourselves? Why do we look down and shrug or give a non-committal ‘thank you’.
Or is it just me or the mentally ill or the overly stressed moms who wonder? Did something go wrong to make me this way or, God forbid, do I make myself this way?
I don’t know the answers to those questions or how to overcome any of it – the downtrodden selfie viewpoint, the self-doubt…
I think maybe, just maybe, listening when my heart squeezes to the sound of Charlotte’s Web might be a beginning. Perhaps the first step in healing anything is simply acknowledging there is pain.