long thread of stitches

Thursday I told you about my hurting heart.  Let's talk about it some.

There were these words, these words typed out in black and white.  But they felt more like red.  They felt like fire.  And knives.  They burned and they cut deep.

It was like someone lives inside this head of mine, knowing every bad thing I think and feel about myself and they said, "yes, you are right.  you are all of these awful, terrible things. plus a few more.  and no one likes you.  they tolerate you."

I read these words, til there were too many tears to see the words.  And then I put them down.  Those 2.5 pages, I put them down.  And I kept saying, "no. no. no."  Then with shaky hands and sobs and snot, I picked them up to continue reading and I hurt so bad.  Hurt like I've never hurt.

Do we even realize the power of our words to other humans?  Do we even realize?

I sat with those pages all day.  Reading them over and over.  And my friend said, "are you going to frame them?  You have to quit reading them."

I wanted an epidural.  An epidural for my heart.

That night I laid in my bed.  The words next to me, tear-stained, and folded on my night stand.  I wanted them close.  And I don't know why.  I was scared that in the night Josh would take them.  He had told me I needed to burn them.  Get rid of them.  And be done.

Not yet.

So I laid there with my head on his chest, his hand on my head in this protective way that he does.  And I couldn't quit murmuring.  There were these song lyrics that kept coming to me and so I would try to sing them, and then prayer and then verses and more lyrics and tears that just fell.

I fell asleep.

The next morning I woke up with those pages, those words beside me and in my head but the amazing thing was that they were not in my heart.

I woke up feeling free.  Bruised and hurt, but free.  I would not own these words.  But more importantly, they would not own me.

Thursday was spent just kind of wandering.  Wandering about my house and my daily tasks and the girls just knew somehow that Mama needed to not be needed.  They took care of themselves, bless their hearts.

And my friends, they took care of me.  Bless your hearts.

Thursday morning Beth Moore tweeted, "When someone is cut to pieces, words of compassion and kindness loop together in a long thread of stitches woven by the caring hand of God."

I had friends send texts and emails.  One friend, one so sweet friend, knocked on my door, handed me Starbucks, hugged me and then left.  There was so much compassion and kindness on Thursday that my heart was overwhelmingly full.  I couldn't believe it.  I really could not believe it.

A kind word would come through a text and I would think how I didn't deserve it.

Grace.

The coffee and the hug?  Seriously, I just don't have words for that act of kindness and compassion.

Grace some more.

We went out of town for this Labor Day weekend and when we got home, in my mailbox, you won't believe this, but five letters.

Five.

Full of love.

And happy.

Instead of reading those 2.5 typed pages of hurt, I'm reading handwritten notes on colorful pages with wonderful handwriting.

Salve.

You have been salve to my wounded heart, friends.  I couldn't do these days without you.  These hard, hurting days, you make them doable.

My word how I love each one of you for being a long thread of stitches, for being Jesus to me these days.

Thank you.  Just, thank you.