You Will Recover
Only a few short months ago, my mom presented me with my diaries from years past. Reading and re-reading the cringe-worthy paper posts of my teenage heart reminded me that forming my emotions into words has always been my outlet to express the inner most parts of who I am.
My writing has become far too infrequent over the past year and a half, as I’ve found myself mentally sorting through life events far outside of the limitations of my control. Grief lay so heavy over my heart for so long that surely everything I wrote would reflect the deep hurt only a few knew the layers of. The same hurt that threatened to consume my thoughts and dictate when, how, and who I ministered to.
But didn’t the Psalmist David, the greatest writer of all time, pen his vast array of emotions into the very words I’ve found myself gleaning strength from throughout my life? In David, we find a man who wasn’t afraid to express his vulnerability in words as he navigated hurt, anger, fear, and betrayal while learning to navigate his way to recovery from those he had once been closest to.
“You will recover.” I read the words before me as my hands tightly grasped my phone, hot tears streaming down my face. So many tears for so long that surely by now, my face should’ve been stained with permanent, red tear streaks. Tears shed in private, but the same God who bottles those hot tears had a healing laying before me.
“You will recover.” It felt impossible as I clung so tightly to my validated emotions, fueled by years of one facet of ministry that now felt as though they had been years wasted.
“You will recover.” As I learned to live life without those who had once been a large portion of what I thought was my identity.
“You will recover.” I read as I recognized that clinging to hurt had become the comfort zone my heart was now choosing to reside in. While slowly laying a welcome mat for the unwanted guest of bitterness who can coexist so easily when the hurt is harbored.
I’ve learned over the past year and a half that recovery is always optional. It’s a decision that must be made daily through prayer and living in the steadfastness of the Spirit of God. I learned this while living through some of the most emotionally, mentally, and spiritually taxing seasons of my short thirty-four years. A season experienced following a church hurt among those outside of our own walls that surely felt as though it would consume my very existence. While the hurt may not have affected the church my heart calls home, it had gained control over my heart, and what affects my heart will affect my church.
While recovering, I’ve learned that while weeping over the loss of what once felt like family, God had already provided and surrounded me with those who were more than gold-plated but genuinely golden.
While recovering, I learned that every end is also a beginning. I learned that you can’t base new opportunities on old feelings. I’ve learned that if it’s out of your hands, it deserves freedom from your mind. I’ve learned that while weeping may, in fact, last for more than just one night, joy truly does come in the morning. I’ve learned that one’s identity cannot be found in the opinions of others but peacefully found in Christ alone. I’ve learned to love every soul that walks through the doors of our church in the village where that Pastor Mailman and my hearts call home, just a little bit harder. Because loving hard is exactly what Jesus would do. I’ve also learned that not everyone will understand your vision, and that’s okay because God gave you that vision to focus on for a purpose- His purpose and that there’s no time for distractions.
“You can recover” has become far more to me today than simply a message from God delivered on behalf of one of my best friends, but it is now my testimony as well.
If you’re reading these words I now write with a Holy kind of confidence, know that this testimony isn’t limited to merely a few, but this is for you.
Because of God, I have recovered.
You can, and one day, you will, in fact, do just that.
You will recover.