Posted in Family, Gifts, indigo inspiration, Insane in the Brain, Living Water, Thanks for the memories

It’s weird being well.

It’s weird being well.

I cry a lot.  About other people.  And when I’m happy.  Come to think of it, I may weep every other day, but it’s less and less because my heart is too mangled to speak.  It hurts being tender and feeling other people’s pain, but it beats being brittle.  I’m in awe of the healing that’s taken place in my life and my heart.  My mind is clear and my emotions are capable of reaching out beyond my own disasters.  I have been able to weep with those who weep and laugh with their laughter.

I also feel I have lost time to make up for.  I see myself as being the emotional age of a much younger person who grew up in a stable, nurturing environment.  But that’s ludicrous.  Because the cracks in my being have been filled in with something much more beautiful, and I am His masterpiece being fashioned from the fragments.

Every day is a fresh start since I am yet again faced with the newness of the work He is doing.  Oh, that I would be the poem of love that He reads to me and to the world around me!

I wax sappy and ridiculous.


A side effect I am not entirely ok with experiencing.  Happy emotions are more difficult for me to process, perhaps since I spent the majority of my life treading water in a mud bog.

I have experienced varying degrees of loss and uncertainty in the last several months.  Not all of it in my immediate sphere of influence, but close enough that my newly mended heart feels the searing pain of it.  I know I have abandonment issues.  That’s what happens when your birth mother sits across the table from you and signs you away.  Having embraced the spectacularly wonderful family God transitioned me into, I failed to realize I carry scars.  Scars are fine.  If you know you have them and recognize their effect on your mended life.  I retreated a bit from my social circle to shield myself from the reminders of this world’s finiteness and the devastation of those left behind.  The empathy was too much.  I too clearly could put myself in the shoes of the loved ones.  “It means you’re well,” a wise friend told me.  A friend who’s known me since before the overhaul.  “It means that you’re healed enough to reach out beyond yourself.”

I was afraid of going back into the shell I once inhabited.  I can’t go back there.  It’s cold.  And dark.  And very small.

But He tells us to weep with the brokenhearted.  And be joyful with those weeping for joy.  So all the crying is ok.

I’m crying over my own loss.  I’m crying with the loss of friends.  I’m crying because I can’t handle how happy being well is making me.  I’m crying because people I love are being blessed.

Maybe I have overactive tear ducts.  I should have that checked out.

But the prodigal son is home and the big brother is asking for his party too.  And the Father is embracing both sides of me and healing me with His Love.

I’m buy stock in Kleenex, though.

Don’t judge.



I rock. I also paper and scissors.

2 thoughts on “It’s weird being well.

  1. Love this post! The Father is embracing both sides of me …perfect words! 🙂 you are a wonderful woman of God! Amazing how He uses life to change us for His Glory! Be thankful for tears :)They are a good thing….reaching for Him, Anita


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