The Rebuilding

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

-The Velveteen Rabbit


Sometimes, I imagine myself like a small bird. Small, and gentle, and delicate. Easily broken. And where I should be flying with other birds, and protecting my tender neck, I've descended amongst a pack of wolves.

That's how I see it. I'm a tiny bird amongst wolves.

You may think it's ridiculous, but I'm pretty confident that we all started off that way. Naive, gentle, whole, and then we were being gnawed, and torn, and broken by circumstances, and words, and actions. And unfortunately, our delicate wings grew claws, and our beaks turned to snouts, and we became the wolves, and we tore the delicate hearts of others.

This is life. Eat or be eaten. Break or be broken.

It's ugly, unforgiving, hard...And every morning when I wake up, I know to my soul that I wasn't made to live here. I was made for something beautiful, and it is by grace and incomprehensible love that I know this. I was not made to be a wolf, I was made to fly. I was made to be tender and gentle and kind. I was made to give love, not take it away.

I don't have the slightest clue about what God is doing with me. But whatever it is, it's changing me. Sometimes, I'm scared it's for the worst, but as of now, I have this strange feeling its for the best. I feel strong, which is ironic considering the circumstances, but despite the breaks in my metaphorical wings, I'm flying better than I was two weeks ago.

I think to become who you want to be, and who God wants you to be, you have to hurt. I don't know why, I don't get it, I personally think it seems backwards, but it seems to me that when we're broken, but we're still breathing, and we're still moving, and we're still changing, we know it's something beyond ourselves.

Break a bird's wings and drop it in a pack of wolves, and it's dead. But when, despite broken wings, the bird flies...I have a feeling that it wasn't the bird's own strength that got it back into the air, and the scars, and the pain are just another reminder that something greater is at work.

 Being hated by the world is hard, because it breaks down the soul and the heart. And being loved by God is hard because He wants to make us better than we think is possible. And though sometimes things happen outside of Him, and outside of His Will, I think He cares to make it beautiful, and to redeem us.

 There are two sides to every fence. Be in the world, or be something outside of it. Eat or be eaten. Break or be broken, but know that the broken side is not neccessarily the losing side, though it may be the harder side. On this side, you have to have something beyond yourself to keep going, to keep the broken wings moving, and to keep the heart soft.

God breaks to destroy the wolves in us, but he also breaks to rebuild the gentle, delicate, and hopeful hearts in us. And I don't know how He does it, but he doesn't just rebuilt the heart, He sustains it.

And I'm being rebuilt.


 "Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

The Hard Stuff

I just spent an hour sitting on the hood of my car in the dark, trying to put it all together. I was having an imaginary conversation with a confidant, I was imagining “him” appearing at the end of my drive, I was waiting for a shooting star to confirm my entire existence. My entire existence was not confirmed, and the only mark I left, the only proof that a sad girl was sitting on the hood of her car while strangers drove down the neighboring street or girls walked and laughed together, was a wrinkled and wet tissue that was thrown away. 

And that tissue will end up in the bin at the end of the drive, and that bin will end up in the back of a garbage truck, and my proof of existence will be stacked amongst piles of all of these other marks of existence, and then it will disintegrate.

I spent the majority of my childhood looking forward to now, only to be disappointed that in order to get to now, someone had to cheat on me, or lie to me, or forget me, and I had to make mistakes, and lose my words, and cut off my hair, and lose my cat, and so-and-so had to die…I had to break in order to be mended, and broken again to be taught, and broken again to learn the meaning of love and forgiveness. 

And as long as I believed, “everything has a purpose. Everything happens for a reason,” I allowed the breaking and mending, and the “happenings” in quiet contentment of some kind. Because I believe in a higher power, a hand bigger than mine, and an existence that gives it all purpose.

 And 2 hours ago, that belief, already fragile, was shattered. 

Because, as much as I believe in a loving God, I don’t know how apart of anything He really is.  

And I’m not supposed to say that. I’m supposed to have the right answers, and I’m supposed to be a light on top of a hill, and I’m supposed to make your hearts lighter and not heavier. But, I don’t understand “it” and by “it” I mean everything. “Everything” leads me back to God, and I have to face every Christian’s biggest nightmare, and that is doubt. Because a doubting faith, seems to be synonymous with a wavering faith. But my faith is not waivered, my confidence is.  

I’m not sitting on an alphabet rug in Sunday school any more. The easy stuff is over. God, Jesus, the Holy ghost. Noah and the ark. Jonah and the fish. The blind man healed by mud, the woman who touched His robe, the dreams, the manna, the locust, the fire from heaven… 

Now, is the hard stuff.  If everything has a purpose, He’s hurting me on purpose. If some things happen outside of God, why didn’t He save me from it, especially when I prayed for guidance? If my petty world can’t fit in His hands, where else can it fit?  

The truth is I don’t have any answers. I don’t know right now.  

I want to believe He loves me, and that he guards me and protects me, and that He’s moving me in the best direction. But when I can’t learn from an event, and I can’t understand it, and it means nothing, it connects to nothing, and the only thing it is produces is pain…It makes it that much harder to have that childlike faith that I so easily had at one time.

I guess I said all of that to say, I don't know where God fits anymore. And if I don't know where God fits, I don't know where I fit. Where life fits. Where anything fits. Life becomes harder and uglier.

 

ps. I wrote this in pure honesty, which is mostly due to the fact that I'm not posting it, and I've deleated my facebook account...giving me a feeling of freedome.