Alternately titled: Almost Always God’s Plans Are Not My Plans.

There’s this new blogging conference, Relevant, that I thought would be a cool place to be.  Turns out I was wrong.  Yes, it was fun and I met women too amazing to compare myself to, my brilliantly wise roomie included.

But all of it wasn’t awesome.

The day before I left, someone I respect immensely, took a kind of big risk and told me something I might have reacted badly to.  (I didn’t, but could’ve) I lugged the burden of my iniquity around not realizing the weight or impact.

In hindsight…pun totally intended…there may be cause to believe that God timed this person’s comments in such a way as to cause a complete emotional breakdown. The comment wasn’t intended to send me tailspin.

But.

It did.

A wonderfully wise woman named Brooke McGlothlin kinda put me in my place.  She told of a child riding a bike in a time and place without permission. The gravel was thick and deep. The bicycle tires didn’t stand a chance. The child had no way to keep the bicycle upright.  Bloody, scarred and wounded, the child left the place hiding her wounds, afraid of getting caught in forbidden territory. Scared and alone the child covered the wounds, though even in her innocence, the child knew the wound need to be attended to, but the child was embarrassed. She covered and hid the painful marks that soon became infected. People unknowingly  bumped into and irritated the wounds. Unimaginable pain ensued. Yet, fear kept the child from admitting what she knew to be true.

The infection will eventually poison her entire being.

This girl.

This wounded girl hiding her pain

is of course

me.

I’ve been bumped one too many times at the source of the pain.

And

though I almost can’t bring myself to admit it

It’s too much for me to bear

alone.

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