tim came home and asked if there was something burning.
i said, "yes."
he asked what.
i said, "paper."
i said i was just burning some paper.
"paper therapy?" he asked.
he went about his stuff.
i think he's kinda used to my mad (as in crazy) ness and awesomeness by now.
today glennon moyle posted on momastery about her experience 'witnessing' others stories. she had put out a call that if anyone sent her their story she would read it and witness it and then burn it. she said, "cool ashes can't burn us."
i sat down right then, i had a cancelled meeting, and began to write my story.
i wrote for two hours.
i cried for only part of it.
a bit of it said this.
"But I have another story. My real story. The story without glittering dresses, pomegranates, and sand dunes. What if I told you my story? Would you still love me? Could I show up, truly naked, and still be loved?"
i think it might have been kinda beautiful.
i wrote about lies and secrets.
and then i sealed it up.
and then i remembered some more.
so i wrote some more and sealed it up again. with four stamps, just in case. i really wanted to make sure it got there.
and then i wondered what to do with that extra copy.
i decided i'd witness for myself and burn it in my kitchen.
four pieces of paper creates a little more fire than i had anticipated.
but it didn't burn me
or the house.
and after i took a shower and came back downstairs later, it smelled a bit like a lovely campfire under the stars.
and then i held this envelope that seemed so weighty and important.
i kinda wanted someone else to read it too and i kinda didn't.
so i carried it around in my purse for a couple of hours.
and then i knew it had to go today.
it was time to stop carrying the past around. it was time to literally let go. i didn't have a copy. i didn't save it on my computer. and i felt a little sad to see it go.
and i drove away from the blue mailbox feeling like i needed to share with someone this moment. but i couldn't even really put my finger on how to talk about it.
so, i went to good earth. because somehow that just seemed right. i bought a few random things and then sat in my car, with my phone running below 3% and typed out a few thoughts and some new affirmations.
"I'm gonna say all that experience has turned into soil for this me to grow from. I think I'm a kinder, more sensitive, creative, thoughtful and loving person from my hard things. I'm planting the seeds today to continue to grow my voice and uncover my best self.
I am easily finding myself comfortable with the woman I am today.
I am easily finding myself saying I am enough.
I am easily finding joy.
I am easily recognizing my blessings.
I am easily finding myself teaching.
I am easily finding myself aligning with my best, truest purpose.
I am easily finding myself giving giving up old habits and worries that no longer serve me.
I am easily finding myself seeing and accepting the best in people.
I am easily finding myself allowing myself to play and dream."
i think that is exactly what christ is.
a witness to our pain.
and our soul-splitting joy.
and all the imbetweens.
he can sit with us and not be scared, or overpowered by it.
we don't have to be ashamed or hold back or edit or apologize for the things we are bringing for him to witness.
really, he already has.
he sits with us until we are finished. and sometimes we aren't ready to let go yet. so he waits. until we come again.
but, there is a time when we are ready to let it go and he holds out his open hands, ready to receive our letter in his. he knows its weight. he knows its beauty. and he records it.
right there on his palms.
he writes our names there, along with hundreds, thousands, millions of others.
but in that moment it's only our name that matters when he looks us in the eye
and says, "you are enough."
and takes it from us, for us.
and we sit there in that vast emptiness, without that heavy burden, just soaking in the potential.
he is our witness.
that is the atonement.
and when we are ready, we walk away.