One night I broke completely. I felt like pieces on the ground.
I laid in bed with Justin and I told him all the things I had been feeling.
– the regret
– the guilt
– the loneliness
I felt like someone must feel after they confess to a murder.
I didn't feel lighter or like a burden had been lifted because I still felt the pain and the weight of what I had done, but I finally felt like I could stop running.
I felt like I could bend over, hands on my knees, and catch my breath.
The next morning Justin headed to work and I headed downstairs to clean.
I turned on a worship album and started to fill the sink with hot water for dishes.
I stared out the window above the sink.
"Let heaven come…"
Then I whispered, because a whisper is all I could get out…
"Yes. Let heaven come…"
And I fell to my knees.
Arms wide with tears streaming down my face I finally got it. I finally understood.
I confessed…
"Papa, I can't do this without You. I need You.
Without You I run. I give up. I'm graceless and I'm a mess.
You can have it all. You can have all of me."
For the first time I was recklessly unrestrained.
I was abandoned.
