This Word May Offend You.

Here are some excuses as to why I don’t write blogs as often as I’d like to:

• I don’t have time.
• I don’t know what to write about. 
• I don’t know what to say.
• Is anyone going to actually read it?
• It’s boring. 

 

Here are some reasons why I don’t write blogs as often as I’d like to:

• I don’t make time because I like to play hard and I like to put thoughts and feelings in a box on the shelf in the back of my mind so that I don’t have to deal with the emotions that tag along when I take the boxes off of the shelf to try and write a genuine blog.
• I have plenty to say about what I’m going through and what I’m learning, I just don’t know if anyone is genuinely interested, what people are going to judge about me based on what I say, or what people are going to judge about me based on how I write. 
• I’m not worried if anyone is going to read it. I’m worried if the people I want to read it will actually read it and ask me about it.
• It’s actually not boring at all. I’ve learned that I’m a verbal processor and typing things out is challenging because I get to read what I’ve written over and over again and re-think it and backspace and re-type and backspace and re-type until I just close my computer because I’ve convinced myself that it isn’t worth it because I’m just not good at it and no one is going to understand. Or… someone is going to judge me and look at me differently than I want them to rather than word vomiting everywhere and not being about to take back what I say out loud. 

 

In other words. I’m a titbag. You read it right people. TITBAG, also known as: a crybaby sally, or sissy lala. And who wants to be one of those, am I right? So if I don’t want to deal with any of those things; if I don’t want to be a titbag, I just move along the motions of life and everything is fine. Everything is cool. I don’t have to take down the boxes from the shelf, I don’t have to worry about who’s reading what I wrote and what they think of me, and I don’t have to worry about anything because I never have to deal with it. Problem solved.

Problem solved until I wake up one day and my house is falling to pieces on the ground because I have so many cracks in the foundation that the walls cant stand and the roof is caving in. Well, instead of being a titbag and crying about it, I’ve gotta be the tough guy and go to the hardware store and get the tools I need to fix the roof and put the wall back up. Of course I’m independent and I can do it myself so I don’t need to ask for help because that’s stepping back into the titbag circle. Also, because I know what I’m doing because I’m independent, I know that the foundation has cracks, and I know that repairing the roof and the walls before the foundation will only be temporary but I have things to do and its the quickest way to get my house back up before anyone sees my boxes on the shelves. But everything will be fine, the tools I need to put the walls and roof back up are just another netflix series and cigarette away. I can worry about the foundation later.

What if one day I woke up and saw that there’s another hole in the roof; however, instead of putting another piece of duct tape called Michelob ultra over it, I think…”what if we actually take the roof completely down and build a new one. Then we would have to take down the walls. Then we might as well start on the foundation so that this doesn’t happen again.” And I decide this time I might need help. I should just rent a bulldozer. You see, I’m still independent and I can tear this house down all by myself. But then it occurs to me that though a bulldozer sounds super fun, I actually have no idea how to run a bulldozer and I could hurt others. Well crap. I now have 2 options: more duct tape, or asking for help.

That’s where I am. I’m currently standing in front of my house that is falling apart because of the cracks in the foundation. I’ve finally decided that it is time to start taking the steps to repair the foundation. The first step just happens to be knocking the broken house down. Deconstruction. Every now and then I can bring out my demo hammer and smash the lies that no one is interested in what I have to say, people are judging me, or that I have to compare myself to anyone else. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I am very much dependent. I actually do need help with all of these things. Wanna know where I found that last sentence? You’re right… in one of the boxes on the shelf. Guess what the box was labeled…. yup. TITBAG. When I decided to take my house apart I knew I actually had to take the boxes down and open a few of them. Opening that box is one of the hardest and best things I’ve ever done. And realizing that the Lord actually didn’t create me to be independent has been quite the experience to walk through. It’s so much harder and uglier and REAL and FREEING and BEAUTIFUL to be dependent on the Lord who also provides neighbors to love me and help me tear this house down. The Father has been so gracious to me. He’s already shown my some pieces of the new foundation that say I am loved, I am a daughter of the king. I laugh sometimes thinking about how he looks at my stubborn ass trying to go back to the bulldozer.

So here’s another blog. My boxes are off the shelf and exposed. Everyone can see that sometimes I’m a titbag. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s what I need. And one day I know that the box will have a different label.